Masha woke up, and immediately regretted it. As they turned around and pulled the covers back around over them, they had to suppress the urge to open their eyes to look at their clock. What did it matter what time it was? They already knew how the day was going to go, after all. This was reality, and in contrast to the world of dream they were just rudely ripped from, it was the same each time they entered into it.
A sudden jolt of memory carried them up In one quick motion, as they recalled that today would, in fact, be different from all the other days. Today, Masha had the opportunity to escape from this place that they once called home.
Today, I can be better, they thought, as they swung their legs out of bed, foregoing the warmth and comfort that it granted for the coldness of their room, their one safe spot in this house. Well, ascomfortable or safe as someone could get in this house.
They put on some fresh clothes, looking into the mirror, before giving themself a whispered quiet pep talk, soft enough to not alert Father
"Okay Masha, you can do this. You can do this. Reclaim yourself," Their mirror self mouthed along, a perfect copy of the person standing in front of it, and yet still so wrong. The mirror presented what other people saw, not what Masha was. It reflected a mask, a facade. Then, in a spurt of enthusiasm, the two gave each other a quick finger guns
"Go gettem, enby!" Even this little bit of encouragement felt like an act of rebellion, giving a small rush of adrenaline. Enough to step across the room, kneel down, and open up the small drawer. They leaned in a bit, their eyes adjusting to the dark, checking if their treasure was still there. Masha was sure that they had hidden it well, in a place that he would never see. Still, their fingers shook as the drawer opened, and they moved several stacks of clothes out of the way. Every layer increased the building tension in their veins. Is this what the clothes were arranged like yesterday? Did someone move them? Lost in thought, their eyes glazed over, not realy looking at what they were doing. Masha almost jumped up out of shock as their hands grabbed paper instead of cloth. The noise it made as they grabbed hold of the bag sounded deafening to Masha, who's heart was beating even louder than the crinkled paper. Closing their eyes, they calmed their breath, chewing on their lower lip as the opened the bag, careful as to not make any more noise. The four bottles of nail polish might have well shone like gold.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Masha closed the bag, then stuffed it into another, less conspicuous bag.
Keeping tools for self-expression in my closet, they thought with a grimace. It's like poetry, it rhymes.
Satisfied that they had everything, Masha got up from the floor, blinking a few times to clear the final bits of sleep from their eyes. The room was dark, illuminated only by the vague shimmers of the early morning that fell through their closed window blinds. As they tried to make out the basic shapes, they briefly considered turning on the light, before deciding against it. It might wake Father. The thought alone made them slow down their step and breath, as if he might hear them. They shook their head for a moment to clear out the panic that had been rising through their throat, and started to maneuver through the half dark space
They navigated the room based on a memory that they had built up over all the time they had spent holed up in there. The steps they had to take appeared clear in their thoughts, rehearsed a hundred times before. Stepping over the risky floorboards, they squeezed themself past their desk, a necessity to move through the tiny space left between it and the wall. As they moved, they were careful not to put any weight on it, leaning against the wall instead. Then, the door. Slowly, Masha reached for the handle. Patiently, they pushed it down.
Creaak
The handle squeaked as they turned it. The small noise might as well have been a banshee's scream in the total silence of the sleeping house.
Masha sharply breathed in, instinctively holding their breath, listening for any sign that the noise had been noticed. In a single moment, an eternity passed. And then another. And another. Masha breathed out in relief, then slowly opened the door. They stuck their head through the doorframe, looking around as if checking for danger.
This was truly ridiculous; at least they didn't have to worry about this at the camp.
The thoughts of Reality Check placed them in between a rock and a hard place. Either they stood here, and get stuck recalling the experience there, or they moved further into the house. Choosing the latter, Masha began to walk.
The house itself was wrong. Every step Masha took was slow and heavy, like they were moving through ice cold water. And there was a cold to the house, a cold that cut right through Masha's clothing, and turned their blood to ice, blurring their thoughts. Not that the house had done anything wrong, it was just a house. But the house was poisoned, defiled by its lord and master.
It was his touch that did this, his presence that made the hallways stretch out for eternity, that made every picture on the wall radiate sickness. And it was his presence that made Masha dig their nails into their shoulders are they walked, in an attempt to ward off the feeling that every picture was watching them from their places on the impossibly high walls, with stares that burned with distaste.
Despite Masha's every instinct, they halted their step. Despite their better knowledge, they let their gaze drift over one of the photos. Despite their better judgement, they let their vision linger mor just a moment too long.
And like a moth to a flame, their vision was drawn to a certain part of the photograph, and slightly cowered as they locked their eyes on it.
The picture itself was one of the many family photos on the wall -'Family', Hah!-
The space that Masha was looking at was filled with a person. It was an almost exact copy of what Masha looked like when they were smaller. The appearance was flawless. But no matter how perfect the look may have been, this wasn't Masha, and it could never have been Masha. Now, that might not have been obvious to the average observer. Hell, it might fool Father.
But to any observer that knew Masha, not that those were common, or even existed, there were a few obvious clues.Masha's vision trailed along the picture, until they landed on the smoking gun that they knew would be there.
Masha shuddered as their eyes locked onto the impostor's shoulder, where a hand was resting. Father's hand.
They winced as their own shoulder grew heavy in the memory of his touch there. They looked back at the young replica, inexplicably drawn to it. The copy that looked like them was smiling. That's what gave it away. Masha wouldn't smile in a situation like that. The person in the picture could have been them, once. But not now, and never again. They ripped their gaze away from the wall, and started to walk away. Their nails dug deep into their palms, they took a moment to glare at one of the snapshots of Father. And in a singular act of defiance, Masha muttered an insult under their breath.
"Bastard,"
The word cut through their mind, clearing up the fog, thawing out part of the ice, and focusing their thoughts. How long had they been there, lost in the images? With their mind clear, the hallway seemed to take its normal proportions again, even if it didn't do anything to clear out the ice, or the sickness from their body. They swung their bag over their shoulder, the ghost of Father's touch still lingering as they walked towards the stairs. As they neared the bottom, they started to register a fact that scattered the illusion of composure that they had just built up.
The downstairs light was on, and that could mean only one thing: He was up. Or there's a break in going on, Masha thought hopefully. Alright, you can do this. They took a breath, held it, and breathed out. What better way to start the day than to face the hardest challenge it could possibly throw at them? Masha straightened their back, and stepped into the light. It was time to face Father.
The moment Masha crossed the threshold, they got overwhelmed by a wave of panic that washed them out of their body, and into their mind. It felt like they were watching everything unfold from a distance, without being actively there. They were still looking through their eyes, but it was like there was a screen between Masha, the person, and Masha, the body.
As their body entered the room, it blinked a few times, letting its eyes adjust to the sudden light, a luxury Masha had denied themself in order to avoid the attention of the very man sitting in front of them now.
"Good morning, Masha," His voice was soft, but it still had an impact, the words triggering a small spike of anger in Masha's distant mind.
not with you around.
They didn't let out. The block in their throat wouldn't allow it. Instead, they watched from a distance as their body went against every single instinct telling them to just flee, to run, and sat down. Father towered over them, towered over the table. It was like he filled all the space in Masha's vision, looking down with a gaze that bored itself through the panic, and made Masha sick to their very core.
The sickness ripped them back into their screaming body, back into the presence of Father. Not that that was any better. They vaguely noticed that they had stopped breathing, their airways sealed tight by a nauseating terror.
"You're up early," Father spoke, and Masha shrunk, putting their head in between their shoulders.
Yeah, apparently for nothing.
His lingering presence could be felt everywhere he'd been, on everything he touched. It was like a thick cloud of smoke filled the space he was in, making it hard for Masha to breathe, and poisoning the place he called home. Here, the poison was the worse. Here, it had killed every last memory of what the word 'home' even meant.
"So are you," Masha mumbled, not catching the mix of anger and disappointment in their voice until it was too late. As they sunk even deeper, almost sliding off the chair, they wished they could take it back, try again. But why would they take it back? wasn't this exactly what they wanted? To stand up for themself?
Well, yeah, but on my terms, not on- Their thoughts were torn apart by Fathers voice,
"What did you say? You mustn't mumble, dear. I can't understand you when you do."
Part of Masha wanted to thankfully reach for the helping hand Father was extending, the opportunity to fix their mistake, out of fear for any consequences. A year ago, that instinct would've taken over.
They'd have groveled for the opportunity to swallow their words. But that was old Masha, and old Masha had to deal with a new Masha now. A new Masha who had been formed by their experiences at camp. And that Masha wanted to bite the outreaching hand, to crush it, for daring to call them 'dear.' But since neither had full control, and since panic was still raging through Masha's every action, they had to compromise. So, Masha bit their tongue, and with a carefully measured tone, responded,
"I was wondering why you're up so early," before adding in a hasty "Father."
Father put his newspaper down, Masha following its trail to the table with their eyes. Anything to not look at him directly. Looking at Father directly was a lot like looking directly into the sun, except instead of blinding Masha, it closed of their ability to speak or think clearly.
Father continued talking, and Masha really wished he hadn't.
"Well, I was just here to see my daughter before she left for her first day of her new job." Anytime he spoke, regardless of tone or intention, each word fell like a hammer, echoing through Masha's ears. They'd sort of gotten used to the constant shelling, to the constant pounding.
But these words came as more of a shock. Masha's stomach dropped, as their vocal cords were overwhelmed by a mix of rage and panic.
Deciding to just skip breakfast, they nodded, hoping that if they wouldn't respond, this conversation would be over quicker. But they hadn't considered the fact that not speaking left a silence, one that Father would take as an invitation to keep talking.
"Have I told you how proud I am of you, Masha?" Father asked. Masha gripped their own hand, almost crushing it, as a wave of dread came over them. The time bore father spoke again were torment, as possibility ravaged Masha's mind with what Father might say, each possibility worse than the last. "I'm really proud of how well you adjusted. It's clear that Reality Check really had a positive impact on you." He smiled, a genuine smile. The smile only made the words cut deeper.
Masha sill had trouble speaking due to the lump in their throat. But for once, they were glad for it. They wanted to shout, to scream at Father that they didn't 'adjust', that they survived, that they had to endure things that no parent should ever allow their child to go through.
But even if Masha had bee given the choice to speak, they would have tried to keep their mouth shut. Revealing their opinion would only make things worse. They were so close to leaving now, so close to freedom, just a few minutes more-
"Im also so happy that you focused your obsessions into something healthier."
Internally, Masha scoffed. The only 'healthier' thing about this job was the opportunity to get away from Father.
The simple act of thinking that caused a wave of nausea and shame, a reaction learned from years and years of living with Father. But among the usual storm of feelings, there was something new, something that was given by the newer side of Masha. The thought became a spark, a spark that they wouldn't allow to drown. This shame wasn't their own. It didn't belong in their mind, it was placed there as a saboteur.
Using that knowledge, the spark of defiance grew into a flame, burning out the thick panic that clouded their thoughts and body, and allowing them to think and speak clearly once more. Their voice became quiet, calm, measured, every word carefully picked.
"Thank you, Father. But I really must get going now." The words were as genuine as the Masha in the picture, but Father seemed to buy them. Please just go with it.
He raised an eyebrow, and Masha wanted to sink through the floor. They realized they'd stopped breathing, and quickly tried to start it again, grateful for something else to focus on.
"Isn't it a bit early to leave already? You haven't even had breakfast yet."
A handful of excuses raced through Masha's head as they tried to construct one that Father would buy.
'I'm too nervous to eat'? No, that wouldn't do, Father would insist on them eating something 'I need to get fitted for my uniform?' No stores were open yet. Then, they found it. The argument that would appeal to Father's image of Masha. They focused, clearing every tone of panic or hope from their voice, and carefully spoke.
"My boss wanted to have breakfast with me to get a good second impression, and explain everything to me. He wanted to sow me around before I began," they lied. It was carefully constructed to fit every one of the lies Father had bought into a single falsehood. It fit perfectly with the false image of themself Masha that they had carefully constructed. The perfect, polite child, who always did the best to impress people, always eager to please. And Father ate it up, his face beaming with pride.
"I always knew you could do it. It's of the highest importance to maintain a good relationship with your colleagues, and it seems that you have made a good impression indeed," He stood up, moving his hand through their hair. Masha stopped themself from recoiling by pressing their nails into their hand. Hard. "Well, of you go then! I wouldn't want you to be late!" The words were kind, but not aimed at Masha, they knew. Father was addressing the person he thought Masha was, not the actual Masha. He was speaking to the child in the picture. What Masha cared about was the underlying words, "you are excused." As they swung around, they had to resist the urge to bow to him. The door was in sight now, freedom was at hand, just a few more steps.
The walk to the door was accompanied by a constant feeling of suspense, like something might attack Masha at any moment, jumping from the shadows. Don't run don't run. They reached the door, grasped the handle, and pushed, the door feeling impossibly heavy as it opened, and Masha stepped out into freedom. They unleashed the breath they were holding, tension sliding away as the door closed, as if it was bound to the house, recoiling from the outside air. They were safe now.
The city never slept. Rather, it ebbed and flowed between periods of high and low activity. It was early, and Gravesfield was just getting started, as a thousand lives happened through the early morning fog. Among them was Masha, who was trying to take everything in at once. Gods, I've missed this, they thought, breathing in the fresh air. Well, as fresh as you can get in a city. It was cold outside, but it was a good cold, a calming cold. The chill inside the house had cut deep to the bone, chilling Masha's entire being. But this cold was embracing, staying outside, only touching skin and cloth.
With every breath Masha took, it was like they became a little more whole again. It felt like the air was coming in with every breath, like the sea calmly hitting the beach. And like that water, every breath washed away a bit of poison with it, slowly cleaning the filth out of Masha's veins. They moved their hands through their hair, in an attempt to clear the feeling of defilement that Father's touch had left.
There's a certain freedom that is given by being part of one enormous moment, Masha thought as they walked. A freedom that extended to their own mind. Now that they were out of the house, they could think of Father more freely, more negatively, the waves of guilt and shame that would previously rise at them now only a background itch; still annoying, but not a problem. Here, among a stream of other people, Father seemed smaller. Masha looked as they walked, studying people, thinking of what their lives might be like. It was early, so early that people had not yet started racing to get where they needed to be. Everyone awake now was either up by choice, or didn't go to sleep. The other group, those that needed to be somewhere, was too small to create the constant atmosphere of frustration that came with the morning rush.
Masha watched. They watched as a woman leaned on the roof of a car, coffee in hand, chatting to someone inside the car. They watched as someone looked through a bundle of keys, searching for the right one to unlock his door. And as they watched, they thought. They thought of the woman, and mused on what could have happened to have her having a conversation in such an inconvenient location. Maybe she was in an argument? Maybe she didn't get to meet this person often? Masha didn't know, and probably never would.
They thought of the man, and what could have gotten him here. Why did he have so many keys in the first place? Maybe he was a guard, or maybe he liked collecting them? Again, Masha was very sure they would never know, and they were okay with it. They'd rather leave it vague, leave it open.
There's a certain magic that comes from existing in the early morning, Masha thought, as they watched. And just like that, the thoughts that they hid from Father, the thoughts that he had tried so hard to crush, they returned. They began to see the opportunities for magic in the city again.
And Masha watched, and began to notice the little things, the details that so many people waved off as tricks of the light, or an overly active imagination.
There was something fey-like about the woman wearing shorts and a Hawaiian shirt that stumbled out of a cab into the cold of a winter morning with a dreamy expression on her face, who Masha noted seemed to be completely unfazed by the cold that would have sent anyone else running for warmer places in that outfit.
And Masha didn't think they were that strange for looking at the man in a trench coat and hat, talking to himself and scribbling something in a notebook, and thinking of a wizard. Masha's eyes grew wide as they watched him, when the man walked straight into a streetlamp- no, Masha could have sworn that he had walked right though the thing-, before continuing on like nothing even remotely noteworthy had just happened.
And of course, there were the old alleys, their entrances framed by arches that made Masha think of portals, the arches that would make even the most grounded of people shudder as they passed through, unsure that they would step out into the same world they entered from. Masha briefly contemplated what it would be like; to actually walk into another world. On any other day, they would have ran through the arch, just because there was the tiniest chance. But today, they had an opportunity to improve their life here, on Earth. So, they continued on, allowing themself only a short, longing glance back at the doorway.
Eventually, Masha arrived at their destination: The Gravesfield town square. As they looked around, the realization set in that they weren't just here for a quick trip- They worked at the Gravesfield historical society now! Their safe space for years, their sanctuary, and it was now theirs. And best off all, Masha still loved it for the same reason. Camp hadn't broken them.
They didn't break me.
I won.
excitement surged through their body- a body that really needed food in it. For a moment, Masha regretted skipping breakfast, before they continued the thought, and remembered that they would have needed to stay with Father for the duration of the meal, the thought almost making them lose every bit of appetite they might have had. But they were so hungry that appetite didn't matter anymore.
Steered by their hunger, Masha turned their eyes to a building that stood out like a sore thumb. It was a diner, one that Masha hadnt noticed ever before. How much would you like to bet that it was placed there by a witch a venus fly trap? The thought made them smirk.
It really would be a perfect fake; A glowing neon sing above the door reading TIBALT'S illuminated the clean white wall and large glass window- Masha wasn't sure they could design a more diner looking diner if they tried.
Their gut feeling said that it was probably a magic trap- or it would have if their gut wasn't also begging them to go inside and eat something. So Masha shrugged, and approached.
What if it is actually a trap?
Well, if two children of eight could stuff a witch into an oven, im sure I could take one witch in a fistfight.
I needed a place to do my nails anyways.
Masha swung the door open, and stopped. The first thing that they noticed were the lights, buzzing loudly, illuminating a standard black and white checker pattern, reminding them of the copy-paste approach that Reality Check had taken. As memories welled up, Masha's nails dug into their palms, as they forcefully closed their eyes.
One particular image came up: Rows and rows of tables, with almost identical children sitting there in identical uniforms, eating identical tasteless slop. Masha turned around, the door half closed behind them, when they heard the laughter.
Laughter was not something that Masha associated with their experiences at camp. They allowed themself a look back inside, drawn to the laughing. Two girls sat at the counter, drinks in hand, engaged in conversation. Their colorful clothes contrasted heavily with the white, blacks, and reds of the interior design, but they were reassuring.
Gods, the councilor's heads would explode at those clothes,
Masha smirked at the thought, letting themself slip into a daydream about Jonas and Kailey freaking out over something as dumb as orange tights. They were shaken from their thoughts by the door closing on its own. So, Masha breathed in loudly, and gathered their confidence.
And for a moment, they weren't Masha Fumor, sad urban myth enthusiast, But Masha Fumor, enby cowboy, swinging open the door to the local saloon, as all conversation ended, and all eyes turned to the mysterious stranger that swung it open. All eyes on Masha.
That thought shattered the image, as a sudden spike of anxiety took over. Masha looked around. Was anyone watching them? The two girls in their colorful clothes (Masha made a special note of the cyan pants/purple jacket combo) sitting at the counter werent, the tired owner seemed to be too busy with the dirty glass he was holding, and the person in the corner, bound over a piece of paper. No one seemed to see them.
Masha considered taking a seat next to the girls, and joining in with their conversation. But they decided against it, feeling the bottles grow heavy in their bag.
What might they think of me? What if they're like Father?
So instead, Masha walked to a table next to the window, before realizing oh wait, its next to a window. Scanning the room, they found an empty table, pushed away from sight, close to the lone girl scribbling something under the cover of shadows.
Masha slowly walked over to the empty booth. With every step, they glanced around. Did that girl just look at me? The thought alone gave them the urge to turn and run out of the diner immediately, a feeling that rose whenever they got the slightest idea that someone was staring at them.
Somehow, they managed to reach the booth, and slide onto it. Biting their lip, they reached into their bag, pulling out the brown bag and putting it in between their legs. With one hand, they grabbed the menu that stood on the table, alternating between looking at it and scanning the faces of the other guests.
With their other hand they began pulling things out of the bag. Four bottles came out, with Masha quickly glancing at each one, the small objects illuminated by sharp white lights.
They grabbed bottle after bottle. Purple, Yellow, white, black. They'd double checked the colors a dozen times.
All of them were there. Masha spread the bottles out on the table in front of them. They chewed the inside of their cheek for a moment, reconsidering the order. White, black, purple, yellow.
They shuffled the bottles around, looking at their treasures with a satisfied smile. Or was it purple, yellow, white, black? More shuffling. More loud noises as the bottles scraped over the table. Masha winced, looking up to see if anyone had heard.
With a small sigh of frustration, Masha grabbed their phone, unlocked the device and, with shaking fingers, typed in their question.
Ah. Yellow, white, purple, black.
They put their phone down, and place their hand next to it, reaching for one of the bottles-
"Hiya, whatcha you doing there?" The voice rang out clear, enthusiastic.
Masha's heart jumped to their throat at the noise, shock taking their breath away as they hurried to cover up the bottles. Their right arm swung around perfectly fine, but when Masha raised their left hand from the table to cover up their work, their hand hit one of the bottles, the force of the panicked blow sending the bottle tumbling through the air.
Masha half-leaped across the table, knocking the other bottles over in the process, getting caught on the table, smashing onto the shiny red surface, and making one more grab for the nail polish
But despite their best efforts, the grab missed, the bottle sailing gracefully towards the floor. Masha could see the scenario in front of them: the bottle shattering, paint everywhere. Suddenly, the bottle stopped, its arc halted by a hand.
Masha allowed themself to release their breath, and flicked their eyes up the hand to see its owner.
The girl that was looking back at them was dressed impeccably, Masha noted. She was wearing a long royal blue trenchcoat, the type you would expect on a noir detective.
Gods, I want that coat.
They also noted the fact that it was a crumpled mess. A coat shouldn't be so messy and yet look so good on someone, they thought with a pang of jealousy. The coat wasn't the only thing that was a mess though. The girl wearing it looked like she hadn't slept in a while, indicated by light bags under her eyes that she obviously hadn't tried to conceal.
The clear neglect of self-care contrasted an incredible amount with the frozen lucidity of the diner, Its perfectly shining tables and checkered floor illuminated by ever-buzzing lights. It was like someone had built an exhibit of what a typical diner should look like, and never allowed anyone to use it out of fear that the slightest touch might ruin the illusion.
This atmosphere clashed heavily with the girl, who was far from clean and maintained. If she was a place, you'd describe her as clearly lived in. The contrast gave her an otherworldly feel, like she stepped into the wrong film studio and just went along with it.
Or the wrong timeline, Masha thought, chewing their lower lip.
"Here, you dropped this," the girl said, holding out the bottle with a smile that was so genuine, so open, that it made Masha look away in a feeling they couldn't quite place.
Then it hit them; was that- jealousy?But why would Masha be jealous? The girl was just wearing her feelings on her face, like she wasn't even trying to hide herself from the world.
Masha reached out to accept the bottle, suddenly becoming very aware of the several pricks in their stomach where they were laying on top of the other bottles. They took the polish, and tried to get up, supporting themself with their hand- in which they were currently holding a bottle of nail polish.
As Masha laid there, they became painfully aware that their struggle was being watched. In an attempt to curl up into a smaller form, they just ended up half sprawled over a table, moving the bottles of polish along the table.
They realized that the girl had moved, right before feeling hands grasp their arms, making every thought immediately stop, body completely freezing up, as they were dragged back into a sitting position.
"There you- hngh- there you go," the girl grunted, sliding onto the booth, and placing herself next to Masha, who put themself up against a wall, grabbing their shoulders where the girl had grabbed them, while staring at her, closely watching the way she moved.
The girl's eyes went a bit wide with shock at Masha's reaction, as she immediately began to apologize
"oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to-" she stammered, reaching out a hand at Masha, before immediately retracting it, folding her hands together at their chest.
Masha relaxed a bit at her reaction. It wasn't often that people paid attention to the way Masha reacted to touch, and even less Common that they respected the boundary.
"Thanks for the help, I just-" they rubbed their hands over their shoulders to clean the lingering feeling off. "I don't like being touched." The girl nodded, kneading her hands together.
She slowly reached over to the bottles that Masha had knocked over, eyes never leaving them. When Masha didn't stop her, she began to move faster, lining the bottles up. White, purple, black-.
She extended her open hand to Masha, nodding at the row of bottles, and nodded at the one Masha was still holding. The meaning was clear, and Masha cautiously handed her the bottle, which she placed in first in the row, before looking back at Masha.
"I assume that's what you were trying to do?" Masha gave a simple nod, then cocked their head.
"How did you-"
"I guess I have an instinct for these things" -she gave Masha an apologetic smile- "and I may or may not have noticed your phone."
"You were watching me?" Masha blurted out, not giving any thought to their words, swallowing down a vague feeling of betrayal.
She nodded, "I was interested in your nail polish. I saw you were having trouble"-she nodded to the table next to where they were sitting- "and came over to see if you needed any help! I'm sorry for spooking you, I really didn't mean to!" She was grabbing her wrists now.
Masha followed her nod, looking to the table that she indicated, before something caught their eye, and a small grunt of envy escaped from their lips.
"Not fair," they sighed. "You even have a fedora.'" And its blue.
"You like my hat?" the girl giggles. There's something so honest, so open about the giggle, that invites Masha to expand on their previous statement, unafraid of being burned again.
"Yeah I do!" Masha gave a small wave at the girls coat. "I mean, a trenchcoat and a fedora! It's a classic combination!"
The girl looked down at her hands, and back up at Masha, who couldn't help but notice the small smile. "Do you really mean that?"
Masha nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! And the color! The combination itself is amazing, but royal blue? Just- Cheffs kiss." And as they talked on, finally sharing some enthusiasm with someone since- well, since her- their passion grew, like exposing a flame to oxygen, or like a train gaining speed.
Masha looked at the girl sitting across from her, who was simply staring at Masha, in a sort of daze.
'people don't like it when you interrupt them, Masha,'
Johan's scolding voice rang through their head, enthusiasm quickly flowing away.
"Oh my gods, im so sorry!" Masha stammered, "I just kept on talking, and didn't let you get a word in, and-"
"What? No, you did nothing wrong!" the girl interrupted them, smiling from ear to ear. "I was just indulging myself in your compliments a bit too much. Please, continue!" She leaned forward, and her long black hair fell over her eyes as she did. "Oops! I'm so used to having it tucked into my hat!" She giggled again as she put it behind her ear.
"I really like your nail polish as well," the girl complimented, in such an honest and enthusiastic tone that Masha almost felt intimidated by it. They hadn't expected the girl to be so outgoing, since she'd struck Masha as a bit shy, not filled with the whirlwind of energy that some people possessed.
"But I guess you already knew that, since I came over to you because of it!" She gave Masha a sheepish grin that made them feel like they could talk about anything without getting reprimanded, like maybe, the councilors had been wrong.
They were drawn from their thoughts by the girl waving her arms in the air, going
"Hellooo? Planet earth to daydream city?"
Masha simply couldn't help themself, and let out a giggle. The act of genuinely laughing sent a tingle through Masha's brain. It felt good. It has been way too long since they got the opportunity to freely enjoy themself.
Masha rubbed their left shoulder as a smile slowly spread across their face. They felt as if a strange sort of ice was melting from them, as their hand slipped down, joining the other one in their lap.
"thanks for the compliment! I'm kind of new to-" they cut themself off before they could continue, memories of father's reaction flashing through their mind, as their smile faded again. "-nail polish."
The girl didn't seem to notice. Or she did and just doesn't care.
"that's not a problem, because im here now! I can help you if you'd like!"
The tone was like the one Father had taken earlier, but there was one key difference: the girl was speaking to Marsha, the real Masha.
Slowly, they nodded, every nod feeling like a step towards a cliff, before Masha jumped off it, eyes close, taking a leap of faith. "Thank you, I would- I would appreciate that."
The girl- I should really get her name -Made a sound of joy, bouncing a bit on the couch, before grabbing the yellow bottle from the table. She reached towards Masha's hand, then stopped.
"I'm going to need you to hold your hand still, okay?" She asked, getting a nod from Masha.
A nod really was all they could muster past the newly formed lump in their throat at the small gesture of accommodation as they put their hand down onto the table. But no matter how much they focused, they couldn't get it to stay stable, and for the second time that morning, Masha regretted skipping breakfast.
"I'm sorry, my body is just being really stubborn today," they said, allowing themself a small smile.
The girl laughed, and reached out again, stopped, and looked at Masha, who understood the message, and after a few seconds of hesitation, nodded. The girl mouthed a quiet thank you.
Her grasp was warm, and soft. Masha could tell how careful she was being as she gently took a hold of Masha's index finger, and started to apply the nail polish. After the initial tension had subsided, Masha allowed themself to relax, and just watch the girl do her thing. She stuck the tip of her tongue out of her mouth in concentration as she worked, making Masha think of-
"And that's one done!" The girl proudly announced. As she was putting the bottle away, she stopped, as she seemed to remember something, "Wait, do you want me to apply a second layer? It'll make it last longer."
Masha considered for a moment, before a thought set in. They'd have to go back to their house eventually, and they really didn't want Father to see.
"Nah, I'd like to see how it looks on me first," they lied. These lies -the ones that covered Father related things- came easy. The girl nodded,
"that's smart," she said. She leaned in a bit, looked around, and lowered her tone to a conspiratorial whisper like she was sharing a great secret.
"You know, when I was a little girl, I really wanted to get my naisl painted, but my mom wouldn't let me, so I," -she stifled a laugh- "I used permanent marker."
Masha laughed, genuinely, fully laughed, putting their free hand on their mouth as they did. Instinctively, they tried to draw their other hand back as well, but the girl was holding it in place. The sudden jerking motion made her draw a stripe of white paint across the table. She tried to wipe it away with the sleeve of her coat, which only made the blob of white larger, making her laugh as well. The two sat there for a bit, just laughing. Someone might have looked at tehm, but Masha didn't care anymore.
The girl gently drew a finger across Masha's nails, then nodded approvingly. "It's dry! Also, I don't know how you've accomplished it, but your hands are shaking even more than before."
Masha gave them a guilty grin, admitting, "yeah, I kinda sorta may have not eaten anything yet today."
Seeing the girl's mock-judgy expression, they added, "I know, I'm silly."
The girl's face lit up. "Hi silly, I'm dad!" She laughed. Masha, meanwhile, didn't know how to respond to the thoughts of Father that were now coming up In their head. So, they focused on the girl in front of them, and pushed the thoughts away,
"If we're introducing ourselves, let's do this properly." Masha extended a hand. "I'm Masha."
The girl looked at the hand, then at Masha, then back and forth again. Masha gave her a reassuring nod, and she took it.
"I'm Emily! Nice to meet you, Masha!" Even after their hands disconnected, Masha felt the grasp linger. But this didn't last as long as Father's touch had, and didn't feel nearly as bad. For starters, they didn't have the urge to wash the touch off. Then, their brain caught up to their ears, and they stared at Emily.
"You're kidding," their voice was filled with disbelief, but Emily nodded enthusiastically. "As in-"
"Yes, as in Emily Narik," She sighed. "Yes, I know I really look like her."
The mention of the series caused a roar of excitement inside Masha, "You know the show?" They asked hopefully. "I thought I was the only one!"
Emily gave them a smirk, "how can I not know it, when it gets brought up all the time?" -She gestured to her coat, that now hung over the bench- "I just decided to fully lean into the aesthetic," she almost gave Masha a playful punch on the arm, but stopped.
"But you can't distract me," Emily smirked. "I'm not letting you avoid breakfast, young-" she stumbled for the right word, and just sighed-. "And you can't stop me!" She sprung up from her seat, darting off to the counter.
She returned a few minutes later, holding a plate of-
"Are those pancakes?" Masha asked, raising a single eyebrow.
"Yup!" Emily replied with a grin that made Masha want to sink into the bench. "Emily, I can't-"
"Can't accept? You should have thought of that before you chose to not eat anything this early in the morning. You'd be waiting," -she looked at the clock on the wall- "approximately six to seven hours before eating anything, and I don't know why you're here, but that's not healthy."
Masha sighed, rolling their eyes. In truth, they only put up protest out of habit. The sting in their stomach made it clear that refusing wasn't an option.
"Okay, fine, you win. But what if I can eat gluten? Have you thought of that?" Emily snorted, putting one hand on her hip, covering it with her other hand.
"Yeah, right, because you would actually show up here if you couldn't eat, oh, about all of the items on offering here," she said while sitting down next to Masha, in a tone so dry that it was probably watertight. Masha stuck out their tongue at Emily, who simply laughed.
"I mean, you're here, and I don't see a plate or anything over at your seat," Masha pointed out, gesturing at the now empty seat. Actually, come to think of it, why was she here? It wasn't exactly the most relaxing place for writing, and the benches outside were much better if you needed a place to sit. Actually, any place might be better, considering how strangely sticky some of these tables seemed to be.
"Well, you see, I actually have a great reason for being here!" Masha noted that Emily's heart didn't seem to be in her defense, the 'actually' being spoken with so little enthusiasm that she could have been reading it from a script, under threat of force.
Either she was holding back and trying not to hurt anyone, or she was very, very tired. "I'm trying to gather my thoughts for some writing I'm doing." Seeing Masha's raised eyebrow, she quickly added, "like you have such a great reason for being here. Who does nail polish in a diner? Well, besides you, of course." Masha laughed again, and wished that they would never have to stop doing that; smiling, laughing, grinning. It just felt so good.
"Well, I'm here because I was hungry," Masha said, before realizing their mistake.
"Ha! Hungry, yet you don't eat anything? You're a very strange creature, Masha," Emily teased.
Masha found themself lacking in words to form a witty response, so they stuffed a piece of pancake into their mouth to get time to think. The swallowed, and were still hopelessly out of ideas.So, in a move that, in retrospect, probably wasn't very smart, they blurted out the first thing that they could come up with to divert the topic, which just happened to be in the general direction of the worst thing they could've said.
"Both struggling to find ways to express ourselves, eh? Glad to see that I'm not the only one."
At that moment, a hundred terrible outcomes flew through Masha's head at once, the worst one also being the most likely one: Emily pushing them on it. But for some reason, she didn't do that. She just looked at Masha, and then, to Masha's eternal thanks, continued talking like nothing happened.
"So, Masha. What at you actually doing here, at this horrendously early hour?"
"I just got a job at the Gravesfield historical society, across the square!" Masha explained, their voice rising in enthusiasm as they realized the reality of what they were saying, and the fact that Father wouldn't be there to reach them. Their excitement exploded at the wonder in Emily's eyes, rising even faster at their following words.
"No way! Oh, I love that place. I've always liked the place, although the guy working there previously-"
She looked over at Masha, caution clear in their eyes, a caution reflected in Masha's own mind. It occurred to Masha that they might both be warry of expressing their true feelings, out of fear that it would clash with the opinions the other held of Jacobs.
Masha realized that they didn't want anything to do with anyone that liked Jacob. Although, Emily might get a pass. Masha closed their eyes, and pulled. Pulled on their own fear, like a great plug, and let out the words. And so, they spoke, and they spoke true.
"Oh, Jacob? Yeah no, I always got a terrible vibe from him. I'm glad he's gone now." They bowed their head, looking down at their lap as they dug their nails into their wrist, feeling the calming warmth of their own body, as they awaited their judgement.
"Oh, thank whoever," Emily sighed, relief clear. Masha wasn't good at people, but they were very good at recognizing the mask people put on to hide themself from the outside world; they wore it at all times. Except this one, of course.
Emily was very obviously not happy with the topic, and Masha, in a rare instance of social outgoing, did what they believed needed doing,
"So, I haven't seen you there much, even though I am pretty much a regular- well, there was a small period where I wasn't able to go, so unless you went there in that period-" Their voice trailed off
"I could ask you the same question," Emily said. "I haven't seen you around at all."
"Well, I do spend most of my time in the archives, so unless you're there as much as I am, I can see why I didn't spot you," Masha explained. And it was just that, an explanation, and not a lie told out of self-defense.
"Ah yes, that would explain it. I mostly just walked around the museum like portion of the place. I like the atmosphere. I never really saw the appeal of the archives," As she spoke, she seemed to catch herself at the end of the sentence. "that doesn't mean that your enjoyment of it is any less valuable!"
"I was mostly in the archive because I like the atmosphere. I'll have to show you sometimes."
Emily smiled, nodding. The nod sent a jolt of electricity up Masha's spine. It was a warm smile, a true smile.
"So, speaking of going to the Gravesfield historical society, it's getting late," -she noticed what she was saying, and corrected herself- "it's starting to be a reasonable time, and I believe the place should be opening yet." Masha got a feeling that they couldn't really place. Luckily, they could find a great comparison.
It was a similar feeling to when they were young. When they still liked getting up in the morning, and their bed was comfortable and warm, but the day ahead was bright and filled with wonder. Both situations great, but a need to step out of one into the other.
But if I don't show up, Father will hear.
The thought broke their trance, and sent ice through their veins, starting to freeze them up yet again. In a rush, Masha grabbed a hold of their bag, and stood up. With pain in their words, but masked from their voice, they said,
"I'm sorry, but I can't be late. I have to go." Emily nodded, swinging her legs aside for Masha to walk past.
"Ah, don't you worry, I'll just stop by today to come see you! Now, go out there and show them what for, Masha!" She meant what she said, of course, but she didn't know how it made Masha feel. Emily entered into their innermost thoughts, and Masha had braced themself, and assumed a fighting stance. But instead of smashing the room, or being scared off, Emily had helped them, by simply providing a patient ear and helping hand. As Masha walked towards the door, they looked at their nails, now shining with a public display of who they were, and smiled, chewing their cheek as they thought of the girl that had just stormed into Masha's life, and offered them the bet thing they could have hoped for: A friend.