AN: It's been too long, I know. I do a lot of different creative projects these days, so time and energy to write isn't easy to come by. Hopefully it's still up to scratch.
It's been nearly a week since I told Joan any of our story—work at Al's hasn't been that hard, so it's not that holding us up. It's actually Joan. She's been pensive, very tentative about stuff around me the last couple of days. Kristoff says she's been talking to him, but I'm still concerned. I'm afraid I scared her, quite badly, revealing my trauma like that. I was in my twenties, and still had a lot of growing to do. She's only fifteen. I… I might need to apologise. None of this is her fault, but I know she would've seen the look on my face as I was recounting that story. The first time I made major progress in therapy.
I'm an idiot, yeah, but I don't think either of us would've foreseen this.
So I'm just doing busywork around the house, because she's out at swordfighting—last night for the year—and probably having too much fun beating up everyone else. Maybe she'll manage to get to the grand tourney next year, assuming she steals no more cars from our garage, and doesn't break any more limbs. It surprised me too, but it also felt kind of… I dunno. It means banning her from going to the tourney didn't have quite as much sting anymore.
Anyway, busywork, dishes, putting things away, and of course having a shower myself before she tries to use all the hot water. We even let her use the car tonight—and that's why Kristoff isn't here, she still needs a licensed driver coming home, because it'll be so late. Half an hour later I'm back downstairs, just sitting on the couch, actually kind of engrossed in this documentary about the special effects industry, and then I hear keys in the door.
"Hi mom!" She seems bursting with energy—and slightly filthy. "Guess what?"
"You won?" I hazard a guess.
"Uh, actually Merry did. She's really good now." She's still smiling though. "I came second!"
"Awesome!" I'm off the couch now, hugging her. And smelling quite a lot of sweat, and maybe a slight tang of something else. "Wait, are you hurt?"
"Not really," she rolls up a sleeve. "Got a scratch on my arm is all. And had a bleeding nose from tripping over trying to carry all my gear in one trip."
"I told you." Kristoff's standing just inside the door, locking up.
She brushes it off. "Yeah, yeah. It's like mom said, I gotta make these mistakes for myself sometimes."
"Well, right now I think the biggest mistake would be not having a shower."
She turns to me now, a little less enthused. "Hmph. Okay. But can we talk later?"
"Of course," I smile for her. "About what?"
"About… well, lots." She's got that pensive look again. "I—we—need to talk about it, I think."
I give Kristoff a significant look at this point. He gestures vaguely towards me. "It's in your court now. Her choices."
"Okay then," I turn back to Joan. "I'll be waiting down here when you're ready."
This time she was surprisingly quick in the shower, but I also notice that her hair isn't even damp. I give her a look, and she just shakes her head at me.
"It's fine, mom. I'm not going out again for a while anyway."
"Okay, okay." Once again we're sitting at opposite ends of the couch. "So, you wanted to talk?"
"Yes. I…" her hands are moving idly as she's trying to gather her thoughts. I remember you doing that sometimes too. "I really do want to hear more of your story. Yours and Elsa's. But right now, it's… hard? No, not the right word. When you talked about what Hans did, that was scary. I didn't like it. I think… I think I kinda understand why you're talking about it, but…"
"I could always skip over some of it, or edit it down for you?"
"No." It's surprising how vehement that is. "I mean, scary as it was, and as bad as it made me feel for you, you don't have to do that. It's just been… I mean, I have been processing it; trying to understand what you went through. Trying to understand all those feelings—especially the ones about your body betraying you, or lying to you—and it's hard. I want to understand, but also, a big part of me really doesn't, because I don't want to make you have to live through that stuff ever again."
"Wait…" I sit up slowly, looking into her eyes. "You're afraid this is hurting me?"
"Mom, seriously, how could I not be afraid of that?" I can see tears welling up there. "I saw your face when you spoke about being… being raped."
I facepalm. "This whole week; this distance, I thought I'd scared you off. Or hurt you, or something like that… and…" I sigh heavily. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did that to you."
"Why?" She's just looking at me. "Why should you be sorry?"
"Because this isn't something any fifteen—and a half—year old should have to deal with." I look down, at the blankets between us. "I was in my mid-twenties, and that healing took me a while. I should've thought more carefully about just how much to tell you."
"Maybe," she sniffs, voice soft and pensive. "But maybe not having to put it together myself; maybe hearing the raw truth—maybe it's better not having unknowns that could give me nightmares."
"I—"
"It's okay, mom. Really." I can see her smile. "Just how well you tell the story, and how honest you are, and how raw you show your emotions. It's not always easy to watch, but I appreciate it. So much."
I sniffle slightly. "Elsa would've been so proud of you, I know it."
"I really hope she would," and now she's leaning back, yawning and stretching. "I want to hear more of your story, but I also think I need a couple of days. Dad's helping me process, but if there's gonna be more like that in the future, can you warn me?"
"Of course I will."
"And do you think you can carry me up to bed?"
I eye her, and the stairs, with some suspicion. "What happened?"
"Champions league!" It's just below a shout. "And I was second, so that's like seven? eight? rounds in the ring. And yeah, I'm athletic enough, but even having a shower was an effort. I'll clean myself properly tomorrow morning, okay?"
"Okay," I throw the blankets off, then try and grab her. "Oof, you're getting heavy."
"No…" she drags it out. "You're getting old."
I drop her back on the couch so I can put my hands on my hips. "Now that's just uncalled for."
She pouts, curled up on the couch like that, on top of the blankets.
"If you're that tired, you could always sleep down here."
"Maybe." She yawns again, eyes drooping. "You really can't carry me?"
"Ill try," I start again, lifting carefully. I whisper in her ear. "You're not a little a kid anymore, you know?"
"Like… feeling… mhmm, cuddles." She really must be tired, I can already hear some half-snores.
It takes me longer than I'd like to admit to make it all the way up the stairs and into Joan's room, but I manage, and tuck her in under the covers as she mumbles in her sleep, pulling the blankets tighter around herself. It reminds me of after our first time, that night… the way you tucked me in, made me feel so safe, and warm, and wanted. I never wanted that feeling to end. But that's a part of the story she doesn't need to hear.
Christmas Eve. It's a day, and it's been kinda crazy. This time we're in Joan's room. I helped her change her sheets—I still have no idea what was hidden under the bed last time, and I haven't asked. Apparently Tina wants to come over for Christmas dinner, and Cara's okay with it. Personally I find it a little odd, but something tells me it would've been hard to stop the pair of them. Better that we know where they are, and apparently Tina likes visiting here a lot more than Joan likes going over there.
So yeah, Joan's on top of the covers, resting with her feet on the pillow, head hanging upside down over the foot of the bed, next to mine as I sit cross-legged and survey a couple of the new posters on the wall. Much more risqué than she would normally let me see, I think. Or maybe it's a challenge—but we've known she likes girls, and from a young age too. Or maybe I'm just reading too much into things, and ignoring the mess that is her toy box. Or crafting desk. Or bookshelf. I'm actually not sure what she's using it as right now given everything it's buried under.
"We're dealing with that after Christmas." I point at the mess in front of us.
She groans, then sighs, resigned. "I should've done it earlier. Now I can't even remember half the stuff I've left there."
"Another day," I pat her on the shoulder. "We've done enough for now. You think you're up for hearing more story?"
"Sure. Nothing too heavy?"
"Nah, I think this one's cute. Dragging you up to bed the other night reminded me of it."
—∞—
Elsa was waiting for me when I got back from therapy, which I thought was strange—until I remembered I'd taken a bit longer in the recovery room. Twenty minutes, at least, and getting stuck in traffic. But still, I knew she must have made very good time—possibly even speeding a bit—to get home before me. Especially when I saw she'd prepared some things.
"Here," she was standing just inside the door, waiting for me to strip off my riding leathers. "I made you some tea."
I hung my jacket up on the hook, then slithered out of the pants, finally taking the mug. "Thanks."
"You sounded so hurt after therapy, so I thought maybe is my turn to pamper you, for this afternoon."
"Please tell me you're not cooking."
She just laughed. "No, you are safe from my cooking, Anniken. I was thinking we can just order in. Be lazy. Let me take care of you."
I almost collapsed onto the couch, stopping at the last minute because of the mug in my hands. Am I really that exhausted? I was. Or it certainly felt like I was. I sat down slowly, letting out a heavy breath.
"I—" Where to even begin? I honestly had no idea. I just shrugged, then took a sip of the tea. Chamomile. Not a bad idea. I looked up at Elsa, just confused.
"I thought you might be wanting calmness. We can have music, if you like. I found some easy listening stuff for a playlist."
"Please," I set my mug down on the side table and just curled up, dragging a blanket around me. Something with a slow melody drifted in the background. "It hurts, living through it again." I wasn't sure which one of us I was telling. "I think it needs to, though. Understand, move forward. The pain was then, not now."
"Anna?" She was picking up another blanket. I just nodded. "You are not okay right now, are you?"
I nodded, then shook my head. "I'm sad, and hurt, and angry, and disappointed. Guilty, ashamed, worried, and then… then… just… content?"
She was tucking the other blanket around me, making soothing noises.
"And I know it's okay. It will be okay. I know that, but I can't… feel?… that. Not yet. Part of me wants to forget all of this. But forgetting it, hiding it away, isn't going to help me heal. So I have to face it, and even though I'm scared I might not be strong enough, another part of me is scared how much it might change me if I am. Will I be a different person? Will you still love me if I change that much?"
"Idiot!" She really did try to flatten me with that cushion.
I sat up, spitting out dust and fluff, trying very hard not to laugh at her. It was just so stupidly normal.
"You tell me you'll love me long after I am dead, and you wonder if you change a little bit I'll stop loving you?!" I blocked the pillow with an arm I'd managed to wriggle free. "You are the worst wife." There was no hate there. Just sly humour. "So I guess, maybe you will be perfect wife for me."
"I love you too," I tripped her, pulling her down on top of me. "So much."
We kissed. I heard something fall over as we moved around.
My tea. "Well, shit…"
Elsa forced me back down onto the couch. "You stay, Anniken, I will clean. It is okay."
She tucked me back into a blanket burrito, then hurried into the kitchen for some paper towels. She was half hidden by the corner of the couch, and from the way she moved it was quite clear this wasn't how she would normally clean a spill like this. Of course, I wasn't going to complain either. No, what I wanted to do was reach out and grab something. More than just grabbing. And… I want her to touch me. The thought hit so hard I swear it left a mark.
She crouched at the end of the couch, a sly smile crooking the corner of her mouth.
"So, this pampering…" I gave her a questioning look. "Does it involve touching me?"
"Yes?" She dragged the word out, turning it into question.
"A lot?" I think my eyes gave it away.
"If… If you want." She was assertive now.
"Can I—Can I touch you too?"
She smiled, bright and warm this time. "Of course."
"But not right now."
The confusion on her face was so cute.
"Just come here—maybe… under a blanket?"
"Anniken?"
"I really appreciate everything you're doing for me, but what I want right now is so simple it's kinda stupid."
"What?" But she had grabbed a blanket, joining me on the couch. I unwrapped part of myself, inviting her to share my blanket too. I put my arms around her, holding her close, my head against hers. I just closed my eyes and the tears began to fall. I felt her fingers on my cheek, drying my tears. I never even thought about trying to pull away. I didn't flinch. I just held her tighter until I felt her arms around me. Right now, this moment, it was all I needed. So simple, but…
"It's not stupid, Anna," I felt her kiss my forehead. "Wanting to cuddle is never stupid." She kissed me there again, and again. "I think it is very sweet."
I blinked, and kissed her just once, softly.
"If all you want to do is hide under a blanket with me, then we can do that as long as you want."
The weight of the day washed over me, and before I knew it I was asleep in her arms. Content, and happy. Becoming whole again. It was the safest I'd ever felt. It was just… nice.
