The night she finds out her boyfriend (such as he is) is cheating on her with the school's #2 lesbian (cause, let's face it, Amy's #1 and always will be cause, well, people like her), Lauren remembers sitting down in the hall.
And not much else.
That's not entirely true. She remembers brownies. Three of them, to be precise (and Lauren is nothing if not precise.) And she remembers Liam or, more accurately, a lack of Liam (and she also, vaguely, remembers not feeling like that was the most horrible thing ever except that it left her unattended around the brownies and that was a bad thing.)
(very bad)
(supa bad) (cause she only thinks words like 'supa' when she's high or drunk) (she thinks) (first time high after all) (drunk… that's a different story but that was back in Dallas and back in Dallas people had her back and she wishes she was back there and that's an awful lot of back in one tiny thought and oh… she remembers chips too)
Mmmm… chips.
The night she finds her boyfriend (and really, that was only cause he was the only even remotely suitable choice in the whole school cause Shane is gay and the next best option was Tommy and… no) giving Karma Ashcroft all he's got (think carrot) (baby carrot) Lauren remembers sitting down in the hall and she remembers brownies and chips but she doesn't - no matter how hard she tries - remember how she made it from the hall to the bed she wakes up in. The clock sitting on the bedside table tells her it's like an hour later than she last remembers but it refuses to tell her (even when she asks) (politely) (and yeah, she's still high) how she got there or, even more importantly (at least to her first ten seconds she's awake brain) why she still has no chips.
At eleven seconds, the rest of her brain (the parts that aren't still sorta high or thinking about chips, which is far fewer parts than she might like) kicks in and Lauren realizes (again) that she's in a bedroom (not her own) and in a bed (also not hers, though quite comfy) and she's tucked under a duvet (totally the wrong color for the room) and it's pulled up to right under her chin, like she's six and might wriggle free and fall out of the bed and injure herself and she feels, for a moment, mildly insulted.
And then she remembers sitting down. In the hall. So, yeah, maybe a little six-ish. Just a bit.
Lauren stares down at the duvet which is, wrong color notwithstanding, semi-stylish though the feel of it tells her it's not all that high a thread count and so, really, it's faux quality. Trash disguising itself as high end (by the end of the night that idea will take on an entirely new meaning for her) but she refuses to look under it.
Nothing good can come from that. Nothing.
At worse, Lauren figures, she's naked. And even the high parts of her brain (still quite a few, but fewer by the moment) don't want to think about that and not just because they're still wondering where the chips are.
Or maybe she's not naked. But there is a long surgical scar up her side and she's missing a kidney… but… wait… that would take longer than an hour (right?)... and she'd have to be in a bathtub full of ice for that (and Shane used all the ice for the beer) (she thinks) (it was a lot of ice) and not under one of the faux-decent duvets in one of the Harvey's bedrooms… unless… what if Shane's family maintains its status (not Booker level but then, who is?) with money from an illegal organ harvesting black market and that's what his mom sells out of the trunk of her car?
Or maybe that's just the brownie talking. The third one.
(and she's totally not afraid to run her hand along her side just to make sure) (she will) (soon)
Most likely (like at least 65%) she's still fully clothed and she's got all her internals and someone was just kind and semi-thoughtful enough to help her out of the hall and into the bed and tucked her in for her own safety and there's nothing nefarious about it at all.
Maybe.
Probably.
Likely. At least 68%.
But, seriously… where the fuck are the chips?
The door opens and Lauren grabs the top of the duvet (and she so should have checked under it but too late now) as someone walks in and she can't see their face at first, in the shadows by the door, but she can see the plate and the bottles of water and, she notes, she doesn't see a brownie anywhere.
She's both relieved and disappointed all at once.
The door shuts and the face she can't see comes into the light and Lauren recognizes her instantly (like anyone at Hester wouldn't know Amy Raudenfeld) and it isn't her boyfriend and she's relieved and disappointed all at once. Again.
(but mostly relieved and yeah, that should really tell her something)
But then Lauren realizes it's Amy (like the Amy)and suddenly that urge to check under the duvet returns tenfold cause yes, she knows lesbians don't want every girl they see.
But she's … her.
Amy shuffles around the room with the plate and the bottles balanced on her arms, like a waitress and Lauren vaguely remembers hearing something about the tall blonde working at that little cafe (Twin? Twat? Oh… Twain) downtown. She sits down on the other side of the bed (a safe distance away, almost… respectful) and plops a plate and water down in front of Lauren.
"Thought you might be hungry," Amy says but she doesn't actually look at Lauren, focusing instead on cracking the cap on her own bottle of water.
Lauren doesn't move (cause maybe naked) but she eyes the plate, her hunger at war with her suspicions. It's piled high (no pun intended) with munchies from snack table, including a generous helping of Cool Ranch goodness and Lauren feels a momentary flicker of appreciation, which is instantaneously overwhelmed by a flicker… no… a fire… no… a fucking four alarm blaze of desire to pick the plate up in both hands and shovel it all into her mouth in one titanic gulp.
This, she knows, is why she doesn't do drugs. She'd be three hundred pounds and living on Liam's couch while his servants hooked her to Cool Ranch IV's and she mainlined carbs.
Mmmm… carbs.
Amy watches as she takes a long sip of her water, eyeing Lauren over the top of the bottle, and she can't miss the way Lauren's eyes focus in (like lasers) (hungry lasers) on the chips.
"You kept mentioning them," Amy says, nodding at the Cool Ranch stack. "Like over and over, you were almost… moaning."
There's a hint (a little more than a hint, really) of a smile on Amy's face as she describes this moaning, the word almost a whisper as she says it, like it's a secret or something just between them, something she might breathe into Lauren's ear as her hands slowly…
Fuck.
Lauren tightens her death grip on the top of the duvet and ignores the some kinda way the word (moaning) tripping off Amy's tongue in that (moaning) whisper might make her feel cause that is all bullshit and being high and it doesn't mean a damn thing.
She's sure.
(at least 38%) (give or take)
"You're fully dressed under there, I promise," Amy says and now there's no mistaking the smile and Lauren frowns, her grip not loosening in the slightest. "So, if you're feeling hungry…" She nudges the plate in Lauren's direction and the tiny blonde reaches out, slowly (of course), her eyes never leaving Amy as she plucks one chip (the biggest, natch) from the pile.
Two bites in and Lauren's sitting up, the duvet pooled around her waist (and she is fully dressed, so score one for Raudenfeld, two if you count the chips and Lauren so does) and the Cool Ranchers are disappearing at an alarming rate.
Amy watches with more than a little bit of awe (which, considering it's Amy, is saying something) as Lauren takes down the chips in handfuls. "One too many brownies?" she laughs.
Lauren pauses, mid-chip, and glares at the other girl. Sure, she is high (sorta) (still) (just a little) but that was an accident and clearly not her fault and she doesn't need anyone (not even the bringer of the chips) broadcasting her… indiscretion… to the world.
What would her pageant friends think? Or colleges? Or grad schools or the constituencies of her eventual Congressional (and, sooner or later, Presidential) campaigns?
"I'm not high," Lauren says around a mouthful of chip. "And I don't appreciate you suggesting otherwise." She bites off one last chip, but they've lost their flavor and she drops the rest of her handful back onto the plate.
"Right," Amy says. Her nod shows agreement, the smile says otherwise. "Not high. Not even a little bit." She snags a chip from her own plate. "You just felt like the hallway floor looked especially comfy, like a perfect spot for a nap." She fiddles with the cap of her water bottle, rolling it back and forth across her knuckles. "Been there, done that, totally wasn't high when I did it it either."
"I," Lauren says, again, putting a bit more force behind the words, making it crystal fucking clear that she means it. "Am. Not. High."
Amy stares at her for a moment, the cap stalling between her ring and middle fingers and Lauren gets the idea that she's mulling it over, her brain working through all the possible comebacks and punchlines and sarcastic retorts (Amy strikes her as something of a sarcasm queen… or a princess, at least) and Lauren waits for it, waits for the inevitable moment when Amy goes from possibly nice hall-rescuer and chip-bringer to the total fuckboy she really is.
Or, you know… the lesbian equivalent.
"OK," Amy says, finally, the cap resuming its journey, but she stays right where she is, sitting on the edge of the bed, sipping her water and watching Lauren like it's all perfectly normal, like it happens to her all the time and Lauren can't help wondering if maybe it does. Maybe, she thinks, Amy makes a habit out of plucking young and innocent (or mostly innocent cause, really, it doesn't count if it's done to you and not by you, right?) girls up off the floor and plying them with chips and water and… nice… and that's how she gets hers.
But then she sees the ring on Amy's finger, the one with the little heart pointing inward, the one that the water bottle cap keeps rolling over and Lauren remembers that her chip savior is also the 'my' in Karmy (and God, how she hates 'ship' names and no, that has nothing to do with being one half of Booper) (yes it does) (it so fucking does.) She remembers that somewhere out there, in the midst of the drunk and the stoned (and, not that she knows it yet, her boyfriend) is Amy's other half and though she's never actually met Karma, she's seen her enough (though not nearly in as much… detail... as she will) and she's always by Amy's side, attached at the hip or the hand or the lips and so, no, she guess Amy probably doesn't need hallway floor girls to 'get hers'.
So, maybe, Amy's just being nice because Amy is nice and that is something Lauren's not used to, not in the slightest.
And she doesn't fucking like it. Not one teeny tiny bit.
"Look," Lauren says, reasserting control of the situation because Lauren. "I appreciate you bringing me in here and all and not leaving me in the hallway." Amy nods (nicely) and takes a bite of her chip before crinkling her nose and dropping it onto a napkin Lauren never even saw her bring in. "But if you think that -"
"You were out there," Amy says, cutting her off. "And people kept stepping over you and some of them were starting to joke about doing… things… and… Liam… was nowhere to be found, so…"
There's a tone to her voice when she says the name (Liam) and Lauren recognizes it immediately. It's the same tone she used to hear them say her name in, back in Dallas, always in whispers in the halls or in dark corners at parties, always by the people who were just popular enough to be there or knew someone just popular enough. The people who would go back to their faux-quality-duvet-like lives the next morning while she stayed.
They hated her. They hated her for it.
Or maybe because she hated them for it. She could never be quite sure.
"Well…." she says, trying to ignore the tone because, let's face it, Liam really is worthy of that and she knows it. "Thank you then. And I'm… sorry… if I had any… misconceptions about why you might have… saved me."
Amy pauses, her water bottle inches from her lips. "Misconceptions," she says, like she's letting the word roll around in her mouth, tasting it, getting a feel for it. "That your fancy way of saying you thought I brought you in here to fuck you?" Lauren's eyes fall on the duvet and she may as well be holding up a giant neon YES, I THOUGHT THE LESBIAN WANTED ME sign.
But come on. She's her.
"Or maybe," Amy says, her tone never changing or wavering and she may as well have been asking Lauren out for ice cream after the big game. "Maybe you thought I was gonna cut you open and steal a kidney." She cocks her head slightly, frowning. "But then you would have been in the tub instead of the bed and I would've needed ice and Shane -"
"Used it all for the beer," Lauren says without thinking and out of the corner of her eye she sees Amy smile at her and there's just a bit of shock (and maybe a little impressed) dancing in the other blonde's eyes. "I'm high, not stupid," Lauren says. "And… you were… nice. So, thank you. Again."
There's a look on Amy's face, one Lauren will get to know quite well (the one she has in the exact moment one week later, the very second before she pins Lauren against the closet door and kisses her) a look that screams 'I want to say something but it's so not a good idea but when has that ever stopped me before but I'm trying to be better'.
Right then (and a week later, in her room, against her closet door, with Lauren wearing nothing but her doughnut shirt) Amy's better angels win out and she keeps her mouth shut.
Two weeks later, in the quad, watching Karma verbally shred Lauren (the phrases 'fake ass bitch', 'cheating whore' and 'cheap Dallas trash' will all be used) while what seems like the entire student body watches?
Amy's better angels will take a vacation.
But this night, she settles for a nod and standing up. "I'm gonna get back out there," she says, though she doesn't make any move toward the door or even away from the bed. "Unless you… needed something else?"
"I'm good," Lauren says. "I should get back out there too. Make sure Liam hasn't wandered off into traffic or something." She says it too but she doesn't make any move either.
"Yeah," Amy nods (again), "he does have a habit of doing stupid things when he's high."
(she'll find that out for sure in about five minutes)
"And the rest of the time too," Lauren says before she can stop herself. "I mean… you know… sometimes… I mean we all do stupid…"
She hangs her head. Fucking brownies. Even her damage control sucks.
"It's OK," Amy says. "Your secret is safe with me." Lauren eyes her skeptically (cause Lauren and trust… yeah… right.) "What?" Amy asks. "You think you're the only one to ever hook up with someone you can't hold a conversation with?"
If Lauren had been (not high) thinking, she might have remembered the stories, the ones she'd heard when she first got to Hester, the ones about the true and perfect love of the legendary Karmy, the ones whispered in her ear.
They were each other's firsts. They've never even looked at anyone else. Amy would die for Karma. Karma truly cares for Amy.
If she wasn't high and was thinking, Lauren might remember those and that might have put Amy's comments in… a different light. But Lauren is high and she isn't thinking and so…
"We're dating," Lauren spits. "We are not hooking up. Why would you think that? What have you heard? What did he say?"
Amy takes a step back, a tiny bit of confusion (and maybe a hint of fear) (like 12%) (maybe) in her eyes at Lauren's zero-to-one-hundred. "Nothing," she says. "I haven't heard anything and even if… he… said something, he sure as hell wouldn't say it to me, so…"(and there's that tone again.) "I didn't mean anything by it," she says, "I just… assumed…"
She knows it's the wrong thing to say even as it's leaving her mouth and Amy has to admit, she's surprised.
This is like the longest she's ever gone without saying the wrong thing. A personal best. And that, really, doesn't mean much and she squeezes her eyes shut and prays for an earthquake or a forest fire or a mudslide or the fucking Rapture to come right then and there because any of that would be better than…
"You assumed?"
Fuck. No Rapture.
"I didn't mean -" Amy tries (though not too hard) to defend herself, but Lauren's having none of it.
"No?" she asks. She's up now, shuffling on her knees to the edge of the bed which puts her right about eye level with Amy. "You didn't mean to suggest that just because I'm dating someone I must be putting out?"
Amy's momentarily sidetracked by 'putting out' (but not enough to laugh cause she's not that stupid, the last three minutes notwithstanding) but then Lauren's jabbing a finger in her chest and she focuses again on the tiny blonde on the bed.
(and if that thought, the whole tiny blonde on the bed thought, makes Amy feel something, maybe a little something she hasn't felt in a while, and makes her subconsciously twirl the ring on her finger and maybe stare at Lauren a little too long?)
(yeah, she's ignoring the fuck out of that)
(for the moment)
"So," Lauren says with a bit of snarl (and that shouldn't be nearly as hot as it is), "you weren't implying that I'm one of those girls?"
"Which girls?" Amy chokes out, the words already slipping free even as she realizes that which girls, specifically, doesn't matter in the least.
Lauren't jabbing pauses for a second, the tip of her finger still pressed against Amy's chest (and no, neither of them is noticing a thing about that.) "Those girls," she snaps. "The kind that might fall for the whole knight… or knightess (is that a word?)... in shining armor bit. The ones that get their validation through dating someone hot and rich and popular and keep him by giving up whatever it is he wants, settling for a couple of minutes of getting off so they can feel better about themselves, at least for a week or two or until the next time they get drunk or high and have to consider their life choices and just how shitty those choices have always been."
There's a look on Amy's face (not that look, not the better angels one) and for a long moment, Lauren thinks the taller blonde is about to break, about to crack and cry and lose her shit and she's got no idea what to do with that.
But as quickly as it appears, the look vanishes. "Oh," Amy says. "Those girls."
Lauren teeters back on the bed, her outburst (and that look) having reminded her that she's still (sorta) high. "Not that it's any of your business," she says. "But I don't hook up. My self esteem, self image, and self worth are all just fine, thank you very much and I don't need some dude's five minutes of fumbling around down there to make me feel worthy."
"Clearly," Amy mumbles and that look is back, for a second, but then she grabs her bottle of water and nods, turning for the door. She pauses, just for a moment, her hand on the knob.
"What?" Lauren snaps.
Amy shakes her head. "Nothing," she says. "It's just… those girls?" Her thumb rolls the ring around and around and around on her finger and she stares at the wall, unable to actually look at Lauren. "It's a shame, really," she says. "It's sad, you know? How they sell themselves and… everyone else… so short."
She glances back at Lauren as she opens the door and there's something in her eyes (that look again, only worse, past cracking and breaking and crying, almost… lost) that Lauren doesn't understand but it makes her want to jump off the bed and cradle Amy and hold her until it passes and Lauren really doesn't know what to do with that.
But it doesn't matter.
Because then Amy is gone, out the door, leaving Lauren there, in the bed with her chips and her water and the last fading remnants of her high. And she's never quite felt so alone.
