A/N: there's mentions of blood, alluding to self-harm, in this chapter. Just a warning in case any of you find that triggering.
"What the fuck is this?"
She's holding up a small polythene bag of powder, and her fingers are shaking, partly because she's never seen the stuff in the flesh, and partly because she's so angry, so scared. Nicky turns to look at her, panic in her eyes, and Lorna feels her heart sink, can already taste bile rising in her throat. She wraps her fingers around the packet, feels tears gathering in her eyes, even as Nicky is trying to talk her way out of it.
"Lorna- I haven't... I haven't touched it, I swear."
"Then what is it doing here?" she's surprised by how well her voice is holding out, how strong she sounds, even with the bag tight in her fingers, her knuckles turning white, nails digging into the palm of her hand.
"One of my old friends... y'know, he insisted... I haven't touched it. I'm not going to. I just-" she's running her fingers through her hair, twitching, can't stand still.
"What? You just couldn't say no? You really wanna give up four years for one little high?" Lorna shakes her head, moves backwards, hits the couch with the backs of her knees and sits down.
"It isn't like that. Please, you gotta understand. I just... need to... god, I don't even know how to begin to explain it to you, y'know? You weren't around when I was on this stuff Lorna. You don't know how-it gets into your head and it won't get out. You have a bad day, and you keep thinking about it, keep thinking- I wasn't going to take it, I swear to you."
She's taken Lorna's face in her hands, is kneeling in front of the couch, trying to get Lorna to look at her, but there's tears in her eyes, and she can't see straight, and Nicky's face is the last thing she wants to see right now.
"You should have told me," she says, her voice cracking, "if you were having a bad day, you shoulda talked to me."
"Look, I might put on this brave face, try to pretend everything's fucking brilliant, but you have to remember... I have a minimum wage job, I live in an apartment paid for by a woman who I fucking loathe, and I have all of about two friends out here... I thought as soon as you were out, and we were together, everything would be great and I could get on with my life but-"
Lorna falters, looks at her, "it's me," she whispers, her eyes wide, "it's me, isn't it? I'm-I'm not good enough. I-"
"No... god, no. It's not like that. It's just... it's hard..." she strokes Lorna's hair, wipes at her tears, "it's so hard. I wish I could explain it to you."
"No, it's me. It's me waking you up in the middle of the night not knowing who I am or where I am. It's me refusing to get out of bed for two hours, or refusing to go to bed. It's me breaking down in the middle of fucking Olive Garden and embarrassing you in front of our friends. All of this... all of this is down to me."
"Lorna..."
Nicky's shaking her and she's crying and crying and crying, and the drugs are clutched in her hand so hard it hurts and Nicky's kissing her and saying her name over and over and—-
Lorna wakes up.
The bed sheet is so tight in her grasp that her hand has gone stiff, her fingers ache. She lets go, blinks, tries to figure out her surroundings.
Nicky's holding her, and she looks terrified (an expression she's definitely never ever seen on her before), knelt over her, panic in her big brown eyes. She lets go now that Lorna's definitely awake, moves back, lets her have some space. The room's spinning, and Nicky's saying things but Lorna's too far away to hear them, too zoned out inside her own head. She can feel tears drying on her cheeks, and she feels too hot, sweaty, but at the same time cold, shivery, like she's going to be sick again.
"W-what happened?" she stammers.
"You fell asleep in the car, I helped you up here... you zonked out. I come in and you're screaming, fighting something in your sleep. Are you okay?"
Lorna nods, running shaky fingers through her hair, "I... I'm fine. Are you okay?"
Chuckling softly, Nicky touches her face again, kisses her forehead, "Me? I'm great. You don't gotta worry about me, you know that."
But Lorna does worry. She can't help herself, not now. She's spent so much time trying to fix herself, trying to force herself into acting like a normal human being, that she's buried Nicky's problems, pushed her baggage aside, labelled it unimportant. This is all you're good at, she thinks, ruining people. You lean on someone so hard, they topple over. It's a domino effect. She can't bring Nicky down with her, so she'll have to walk away. It's not worth the inevitable pain, not worth ruining someone else's life over.
Nicky climbs into bed, turns out the light and wraps herself around Lorna, an arm possessively over her stomach, and Lorna rolls onto her side. She knows she should try to sleep, that her body has been telling her all day how exhausted she is, but she can't. Her brain won't switch off, and if she wasn't sure before, she knows she is now. It makes her chest feel tight, her breathing heavy. She's lying in silence, listening to Nicky's soft breaths, trying so damn hard not to cry.
Eventually, she drifts off, and if she has the same dream, she wakes up unable to remember it.
The following morning, she wakes up to a plate being put in front of her.
"Breakfast," Nicky shrugs, "just don't tell Red – she'd totally flip if she knew I was feeding 'those pieces of cardboard trash' to you," she does Red's accent, eyes squinted, and Lorna can't help but laugh as she eyes the pop tarts on the plate.
Once Lorna is awake enough to sit up, she realises Nicky's already dressed in her red and yellow work uniform. She presses a kiss to the top of Lorna's head whilst she eats, and then continues to get ready, pulling her hair up into a ponytail whilst humming something in the mirror. If home is a sensory thing, then this is it, Lorna thinks, bathing in the sound of Nicky getting ready, the smell of processed, toasted chocolate.
All at once, she remembers the night before, and her smile falters.
"Right, kid, I've gotta get going," Nicky dips to capture her lips in a quick kiss, "you gonna stay here?"
"Uh, yeah, I think so,"
"Cool, there's leftovers in the fridge if you get hungry. I'll be back at like 5."
Lorna watches her leave, her chest suddenly so tight that she's struggling to breathe normally, can't think properly. As soon as she's sure Nicky's gone, she jumps out of bed, and before she can really process what she's doing, she's opening drawers and digging around through Nicky's stuff, erratically moving from one place to the next, not bothering to put things back as she goes. Drawers are spilling clothes, and the closet won't close once she's kicked all of Nicky's shoes over, but she doesn't notice the mess, can't quite focus on anything other than the thought that keeps repeating over and over in the back of her head.
She doesn't find anything. Of course she doesn't find anything, because there's nothing to find. Having successfully pulled apart half of Nicky's apartment, she stumbles back into the bedroom, curls up in the bed and can't quite stop herself from shaking. It's not satisfaction that she feels, nor relief. It's only a matter of time. It's not that she doesn't trust Nicky, not that she doesn't think Nicky has the self-restraint. It's not Nicky at all. It's her. She's poisonous. She pushes people into things they don't mean to do, don't want to do. Isn't that what they said at her trial? More of a danger to others than herself. Lorna laughs sourly. She's enough of a danger to herself, what hope does anyone else have? Not for the first time, she feels a rage building inside herself, a frustrating need to break things, but rather than take it out on Nicky's soft furnishings, she drags herself to the bathroom, seeking something to vanquish the headache that's steadily building behind her eyes.
Of course Nicky's bathroom cabinet is empty. She shouldn't be surprised because she doesn't exactly expect an ex-addict to keep a fully stocked drugs cabinet, but she still finds herself slamming the door closed with so much force that the glass shatters, dropping into the basin and onto the tiled floor. She stumbles around, trying to get the bin so she can clear up the mess, but she can't see straight for tears. She sits on the toilet, allows herself to cry, to calm down a bit, before she walks back to the bedroom. The mess can wait. She'll clean it up, but she needs to clean herself up first.
The trail of blood that follows her from the bathroom, along the wood flooring of the landing, and onto the plush cream carpet in Nicky's bedroom, is the first indication that something's wrong, and upon further inspection, she finds a large shard of glass buried in her bare foot. She hadn't even noticed it, hadn't felt the pain of it until she saw the blood, and once she's sitting on Nicky's bed, she yanks it out, only wincing a little. She's left a trail of destruction behind her, but she ignores it, turning the glass over and over in her hands. The point of it is sharp. She runs her finger along it, and it scratches the surface of her skin, tiny dots of red sprouting from her finger tip. It's been such a long time that Lorna's throat feels dry, but there's a familiar buzz through her veins, a familiarity about the steady thumping of her heart in her chest, and she can't stop herself from staring at the way the blood pours out of the tiny cut, trickling steadily down her finger. She's always found it oddly beautiful, oddly peaceful. Blood red lipstick became her signature look for a reason, and it's been so long since she wore it anywhere but her lips.
The phone ringing snaps her back into reality.
She doesn't answer it, because it's not her phone, but she drops the glass almost immediately, and the room is spinning, and she's suddenly all too aware of the blood that's pooling on the carpet by her feet, the trail she's left behind, the clothes that are sticking haphazardly out of drawers and the closet, the books and magazines that are sprawled across the dresser instead of neatly stacked. She feels sick. Even after the phone stops, there's a ringing in her ears, and she's struggling to focus her eyes on anything, and she feels so sick, so empty all of a sudden.
Lorna springs into action. She finds bandaids for her foot, clears herself up. She walks into the bathroom and sweeps away all the glass. She starts to put the clothes away. By the time Nicky gets home, there's a blood stain on the carpet, and her cabinet is still missing a mirror, but nothing else to so much as suggest anything has happened.
As soon as Nicky gets back, talking about getting take-out and asking what movie she wants to watch, Lorna starts gathering her things to go home. Nicky walks in from the bathroom, her hair down, her work clothes discarded in the laundry, and Lorna's flattening out her cream dress, ready to go.
"What happened to my bathroom mirror?" Nicky asks, sitting down on the bed in her underwear, taking Lorna's hand to stop her from continuing what she's doing. She glances at the blood stain on the carpet, looks back up at Lorna.
"Uh... I had an accident."
"Okay," Nicky says, but it isn't okay, and there's a tired, weary look of concern in her eyes that makes Lorna's stomach churn, "you wanna talk?"
"No, not really!" her voice comes out too high-pitched, too cheerful, and she stands from the bed, wrestling her hand away from Nicky's, grabbing for her purse.
But Nicky doesn't make a move to get dressed. She runs a hand through her hair, stares at Lorna. Lorna's forced smile falters. She thinks of all the things dream-Lorna said, all the sadness in dream-Nicky's eyes, and she can see it reflected in the real woman across from her. It's me. I'm not good enough. She has to go. Has to leave. Why won't Nicky get up and just drive her home? She thinks that as soon as she's home, she'll be able to clear her head. She'll stay away for a few days. After a while, it'll be easier. It'll make sense for her to not keep coming over. Nicky can start to have a life again. Can start to-
"Please don't push me away."
Nicky's voice sounds so small, so raw, that Lorna feels a lump form in her throat. It's not the first time she's felt like Nicky's reading her mind, answering questions Lorna hasn't even voiced yet. She wants to go to her, to curl up next to her, to feel the warmth and comfort she's always sought in Nicky's touch, but she knows she can't. It isn't fair. It just isn't fair to rely on someone in that way, to let someone ruin their own life because you can't control yours. So she refuses to look at her. She refuses to let the tears that are pricking at her eyes to fall. Her entire life all she's ever wanted was someone to call her own, someone to come home to, someone who loves her unconditionally. Someone to fall asleep in the arms of. She has that. Nicky might not say the words, but it's there in the way she touches her, the way she kisses her, the way she looks at her. Her eyes say a thousand things Nicky's too scared to say. But now that it's a reality, Lorna doesn't want it. She can't want it. It's not the perfect little dream world she created when she was nine years old. It has consequences. And the consequences are too real, too painful.
"Can we go?" she says in a small voice, fighting back tears.
"No."
She feels Nicky's fingers wrap around hers, and she shakes her head over and over, trying to pry her hand away, but Nicky's stronger than she is. Tears are finally making their way down her cheeks, and she can't stop them. This isn't how it was supposed to go.
When she eventually turns around, Nicky's staring at her, and there's tears in her eyes, and she looks so broken that it makes Lorna's head swim. You've done this. You're doing this. Look at what you're doing to her. She knows she has to go, has to walk away.
"Please, Nicky, I need to go-"
"Whatever happened... whatever it is... just let me help, okay?"
Lorna shakes her head, can't form words. How is she supposed to explain? It isn't what's happened, it's what's going to happen, what she can feel happening already. This is what Lorna does. It's the only thing she's good at. It's not the first time and it won't be the last, but this time is the most important, and she can't do it, can't hurt Nicky more than she already has.
"Lorna? Damnit Lorna, at least look at me. Please?" she feels Nicky's fingers on her chin, guiding her face, forcing their eyes to meet, "talk to me?"
"I can't," she chokes out.
Nicky's eyes are searching hers for some kind of explanation, and her face is so close, her breathing so heavy. Lorna can't bear it, but she can't move away either.
"I love you," Nicky says, in a tiny voice, and the words are broken, but they're there. She's spent weeks trying to say it, but there's no satisfaction, no finally, I've said it, just desperation in her eyes, in her voice, and Lorna can't stop herself. No one's ever said it. No one's ever meant it before.
"I love you too," she finally whispers back, and Nicky's cupping her face, drawing her closer, and she stops fighting it, lets herself collapse into Nicky's touch.
She realises it's not staying that's going to destroy Nicky; it's going.
A/N: apologies for the very heavy chapter. Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews and comments. You guys are a dream.