#9k words of gay shit and wretched pining
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Do you have a footie!louis rec?? I really love ones where he is a professional player. Thank you!!
YES, I DO! Here you go, darling!! :) :) :)
                    Football Louis Fic Rec
I made a map of your stars by brightbluelou
Words: 5k
or, Harry is the shy boy in the back of the class that no one really notices. Louis is the loud, outgoing football player that everybody likes.
I Long For You by itsprobablylarry
Words: 6k
Harry gets hit in the head by various objects and falls for a boy with blue eyes.
say i hate you but i always stay by clicheannaÂ
Words: 8k
Or the one where Harry hates Louis, he's almost sure Louis hates him, and they live together. Driving him to football practice everyday is not apart of Harry's plans, but Louis is pretty adamant if it means annoying Harry.
Satan's Got a New Headscarf by larryscape
Words: 9k
Louis: senior captain of the uni football team, president of the literary magazine club, possible theatre major, official loather of anyone who acts a certain way just to fit the theme of their Tumblr
Zayn: senior, does not understand sports, claims to not be addicted to cigarettes, is addicted to cigarettes, proud roommate and bestfriend of Louis
Liam: junior, best friend of Niall Horan and also spell-check, shows up at literary magazine club but has yet to publish anything that does not look like the twitter page of a twelve-year-old
Niall: junior, famous for sonnets about bacon and other breakfast-related items, says he is on the football team, is not really on the football team
Harry: sophomore, wearer of headscarves and skinny jeans, apparent fan of 20th century poetry, unsurprisingly dabbles in the ukulele
we're the new romantics by lovefernÂ
Words: 16k
Alternatively, a high school au where Louis pines and Harry is not who he seems to be. Featuring peanut butter banana milkshakes, motorcycles, and first times.
say that you can see me (i'll speak up i swear) by coffeelouisÂ
Words: 20k
or, the liberal arts COLLEGE AU where Harry knows Louis as the best friend of the boy he has been hopelessly in love with for years now and Louis knows Harry as this boy he wished would look away from Zayn long enough to notice him.
Monsters at Home by theteapirate
Words: 21k
High School!AU. Everyone's eyes are on Harry, the beautiful, charming new student. Harry's only got eyes for the school golden boy: football captain Louis Tomlinson, whose homophobic father complicates matters a bit.
Ain't That A Kick In The Head! by lesbianharrie, wreckingtomlinson
Words: 22k
In which Harryâs a disaster gay who doesnât know shit about soccer, Liam drinks too many blue raspberry Coolattas, Niall knows everyone, Zayn looks dead, and Louis is Not Happy about sharing his breakout moment with âDrunk Hawaiian Guy.â
Barefoot in Blue Jeans by indiaalphawhiskey
Words: 24k
AU. Louis Tomlinson is trying desperately hard not to fall for his sonâs au pair, but he canât, for the life of him, remember why.
Find Another One, Cause She Belongs To Me by AFangirlFantasy, larrysfootballfairy
Words: 25k
or a Girl Direction Uni AU, where Louis is desperately in love with her best friend Harry, who might not be as straight as she thought, Ziam can't fool anyone, and Niall is just happy with football being her only relationship.
You Make Me Want To Sin by lonelymisfit
Words: 28k
Or the very bregruding college AU where Louis is a bad ass frat boy and Harry is a shy and conservative catholic boy who wants to know whether Louis can show him what else he can do on his knees besides pray.
so grab your passport and my hand by infinitelymint
Words: 32k
The one in which Louis plays football and Harry sings a lot, and somehow that means they're meant to be. They'll figure it out soon enough.
Galileo by 13ways
Words: 63k
Louis was captain of the state championship high school soccer team. Harry was that gorgeous, scarf-wearing, long-limbed British kid in his art class. They weren't supposed to be friends.
But somewhere along the line, Louis Tomlinson opened the locked mystery that was Harry Styles.
I hear you calling in the dead of night by Thelonelycoast
Words: 72k
No one really notices Marcel Styles. In fact, Marcelâs so invisible that if his teachers donât call on him in lessons - and they rarely do - Marcel can go whole days without speaking to anyone other than his mum, his sister, Gemma, his cat, Dusty and the school librarian, Alma. And if he just so happens to have a tiny, miniscule crush on the footie captain, Louis Tomlinson, well, thatâs no oneâs business but his own. Until Louis notices him back...
This Offer Stands Forever by Tomlinsontoes
Words: 78k
Harry is who high school kids would define as a nerd, he loved going to class and studying, he was just good at school work and saw nothing wrong with liking it. He signs up to tutor students at the middle school down the road where he ends up helping Lottie Tomlinson, younger sister to the ever popular and gorgeous Louis Tomlinson who is also a senior and in a few classes of Harry's. Harry might have a crush on him and not so sure how to act around Louis but hopes he can get close to the other boy and learn everything about him.
i want you so much (but i hate your guts) by becauselarry
Words: 83k
AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.
That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.
Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow by 1DiamondinthesunÂ
Words: 84k
Harry spends most of his time in an empty house or a lonely darkroom, dreaming of leaving his small town for art school. He's invisible to most people. And then Louis Tomlinson sees him. Life will never be the same.
Or, the American high school AU loosely inspired by She's All That.
Bring Your Body Baby (I Could Bring You Fame)by theboyfriendstagram
Words: 84k
A self-indulgent AU that takes place over the summer of 2015. 18 year old Harry hates pining after people he can't have, and 23 year old footballer Louis loves flirting with people even though it never means anything.
For Reasons Wretched and Divine by indiaalphawhiskey
Words: 94k
Ten years ago, Harry Styles was just a nerdy kid with one friend and a debilitating crush on the captain of his schoolâs football team. He thought the stars were smiling down on him the day he and Louis Tomlinson were paired for their end-of-term Literature project. But because Harryâs life is decidedly not a fairytale, the budding friendship quickly leads to the least happy ending of all time.
Now, Harry Styles is a household name. Barely twenty-seven with two Grammy nominations to his name, the singer-songwriter is poised to take the music industry by storm with his highly anticipated third album. So, what happens when the best producer in the business is also the only person Harryâs vowed never to speak to again?
Learning to Breathe by youcomecrash
Words: 110k
Heâs playing football at one of the top universities in England and he should love everything about his life right now, but instead heâs moving backwards. How does your past fit into your present? Louis is still figuring it out.
Now In A Minute by thealmightyavocado
Words: 150k
13 feels like yesterday for many people, but for Louis it actually was.
More than anything in the world, Louis Tomlinson dreams of growing up. Simply skipping over all of the awkward, embarrassing years of teenage existence and getting on with life. Real life.
So when thirteen-year-old Louis wakes up in the body of his thirty-year-old self, he expected everything in his adult life to be picture perfect. And maybe it is. He has it allâŠor so it seems.
Except his favorite person and lifelong best mate, Harry Styles, is totally missing from the equation and Louis doesnât understand why. He has a lot of catching up to do and as adult life turns out to be more than what he bargained for, Louis canât help wondering why a life that seemed so perfect, feels so empty.
Or the 13 going on 30 au that should have been done years ago.
Unbelievers by isthatyoularry
Words: 136k
Itâs Louisâ senior year, and heâs dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, heâs also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies âwith benefitsâ was not exactly the plan.
Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely arenât friends, and football is everything.
Pull Me Under by zarah5
Words: 140k
AU. As the first British footballer to come out at the prime of his career, it helps that Louis Tomlinson is in a long-term, committed relationship. Even if that relationship is fake. (Featuring Niall as Louis' favourite teammate, Liam as Louis' agent, and Zayn as Liam's boyfriend, who just happens to be good friends with one Harry Styles.)
You've got to see yourself from far and wide by Emm77
Words: 286k
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five times bridget saw frankie (and one time she didnât)
i have literally maybe only ever finished two stories in my entire life, and this is now one of them. iâm proud of how it turned out and so iâm posting it here. read on for gay smooches, angst, and pining. also see my sad gay feelings playlist for the soundtrack to this dumb little fic. enjoy~
1.
The first time Bridget sees Frankie is a hazy summer day. A party. Theyâve just finished their junior year of high school and thereâs this pervasive sense of freedom in the air, a yearning towards something; hundreds of sticky sweaty bodies in need of a distraction.
Summer parties happen at Briannaâs house, because Briannaâs got a swank mansion with a giant pool and incredibly permissive parents, and pool parties are a good excuse to be more naked than usual. Rampant hedonism and red plastic solo cups. Things get pretty crazy at Briannaâs summer parties.
Thereâs terrible music and screaming-giggling girls, a splash as someone is âaccidentallyâ knocked into the pool, and Bridget is sitting on a patio chair by herself feeling like a sad loser. Her and Brianna are fighting againânot that Brianna would ever actually admit thatâand her and Ryan are fighting because her and Brianna are fighting and her other so-called friends are ignoring her and Bridgetâs actually pretty sure she wasnât even invited to this stupid asshole party and like honestly, she didnât even want to come anyway, she has no idea what sheâs even doing here, this is the fucking worst and sheâs going to leave and thenâ
She sees her.
Frankie.
Frankie is standing there in a halter-neck top straight out of an episode of I Love Lucy with a coordinating pair of high-waisted polka-dot patterned shorts, looking all innocent and batting her pretty little eyelashes. Talking to Ryan and pretending like she doesnât notice the way heâs sizing her up like a goddamn meal. God, fuck her. Okay, so maybe it isnât necessarily Frankieâs faultâBridget was the one who suggested she and Ryan go on a âbreakâ in the first place, and more importantly, she fucking hates him right now because he fucking sucks but, still.
Itâs Frankie.
Bridge has hated Frankie since middle school. She canât even really remember how it started, but Frankie doesnât exactly make it hard to hate her. Sheâs just so fucking stuck up, all the time. Sheâs so weird, and she has to be doing it on purpose for attention, no one is just genuinely like that. And, okay, so theyâre probably definitely way too old to keep doing this Mean Girl shit, but still. Itâs one thing to have to put up with Frankie in classâalways the teacherâs pet, the gold star favoriteâitâs quite another to have to deal with her here, so perfect and pretty waltzing around like the Indie Romcom Sweetheart with her stupid pink hair and her stupid vintage clothes and her stupid instant camera and her stupid cat-eye glasses andâandâ
Just who the fuck does Francine Takahashi think she is, anyway?
And before Bridget even knows what sheâs doing, she finds herself headed towards them, towards Ryan with his fucking shirt off and water glistening on his carefully sculpted abs, standing too close and just leeringâand Bridgetâs already got some stupid plan half-formed in her head.
2.
The second time Bridget sees Frankie is about two weeks later. Sheâs done her best to put the whole stupid drunken night behind her, as much of it as she can remember anyway. Which is not a lot, but enough to know that Bridget hopes she never has to look at Francine Takahashi again. Ryan and Bridget are still not talking but sheâs back to orbiting around Bri, because she doesnât know what else to do with herself. And then, one day, Bridget finds herself in a mall food court, realizing not for the first time that teenage girls are fucking awful.
âBridgie oh my God really?â Brianna whines behind her, voice Valley-Girl perfect. âSo now youâre just gonna throw a fit and walk away? Okay fine, later loser!â
Bridget is walking away but she can practically hear Briannaâs eyeroll, her âoh Iâm so totally not affected by this at allâ put-upon sigh. Of course, she knows Bri way too well to buy that. She is pissed. Good. Fucking whore.
Bridget storms halfway across the food courtâimpulsive, anger sparking along her nerve endingsâand thatâs when she notices her.
Frankie.
She is perched at a table near the escalators by herself, drinking a smoothie and reading a book. Because of course she canât scroll through her phone like a normal human being. Annoyance flares in Bridgetâs eyes for a second, irritation tinged with regret, but somehow, she finds herself headed towards the other girl anyway.
âUh, hi,â Bridget says once sheâs close enough, all these mixed emotions settled in the pit of her stomach like a lead weight, and sheâs already deeply regretting her choices thus far.
Decades, eons, a literal eternity passes before Frankie finally looks up from her book, setting it face down on the table and quirking up an eyebrow slightly.
âOh, hello,â she says, politely enough. Maybe thatâs a good sign.
âC-can I sit here?â Bridget blurts out. What the fuckâoh my god noâwhyâwhat are you doing?!
Frankie half shrugs up a shoulder, casual, and then just sits there, staring at her. Blinking. Waiting. Bridget takes the opposite chair.
Frankie blinks. Bridget swallows.
Silence. Itâs awkward.
And thenâ
âOkay no, I gotta ask,â Frankie finally says, half to herself, âwhy?â
âUh, why what?â Real smooth there Bridget, she thinks, bitterly.
Frankie makes aâa sound, strangled in her throat, her nostrils flaring; and then suddenly, sheâs talking, or more like yelling, words spilling out of her in a barely-restrained angry huff.
âOhh no. No no no, you know exactly what Iâm talking about. How the fuck are you gonna sit there pretending likeâlike you didnâtâlike, okay, sure I get the first time. Letâs play spin the bottle and embarrass the Lesbo! Ha ha, very funnyââ
Bridget winces with embarrassment. She wants to run away again, wants to hide, to pretend like it never happened, but the lead in her belly keeps her anchored at the table. Like, like she deserves it somehow.
âIâIâmââ
âOh what, are you sorry?â Frankie snaps back, eyes hardâglintingâthis mean little half-smile on her blue-painted lips, and itâs just fucking weird seeing that expression on sweet-innocent-perfect Frankieâs face.
Bridget shrinks back a little, almost subconsciously, but that doesnât stop Frankie. Sheâs on a roll now.
âFor which part are you sorry Bridget? The part where you tried to play the lamest prank on me in the history of ever, or maybe, do you mean later when you came and you found me and youââ
âStop!â Bridget feels her throatâtight, constrictedâsomething sour and ugly bubbling up from the lead in her stomach. She doesnâtâshe canâtânot here, thereâs too many people here.
âStop what?â Frankie sneers, arms crossed in front of her chest, nails digging into the skin. Everything about her is like a pit bull on a chain, snarling and ready to lunge, and it makes the dread in Bridgetâs stomach boil higher. âYou fucking kissed me, okay, and Iâm not a fucking idiot. I know the difference between a prank andâand that. Donât fucking do that.â
âIââ Bridget is frozen. She knows, oh God she knows.
âWell? Say something Bridget! Tell me how it was all just a big funny joke, tell me how when you moaned against me you were just totally kidding, no homo. Come on Bridgetââ
âShut up!â
To Bridgetâs surprise, Frankie actually does. Her eyes big and wide and shocked while a couple at a table nearby stares at them. Bridget will probably definitely die of total mortification about this later, but for now all she can see is Frankie, all that hurt and anger her face andâfuck. Guilt tightens Bridgetâs throat; the sicksour dread and anxiety of it all, and if she could zip herself out of her own skin right now, she totally would.
âIâm sorry okay!â Bridget shouts back, words bubbling up from her stomach to her too-tight throat, all of it crashing together and spilling out in a horrible jumble. âIâm sorry it was stupid and I shouldnât haveâshouldnât haveâjust, I please, just please, please Iâm sorry! Are you happy now? Okay? Iâm the worst and you should probably just hate me forever like everyone else does andââ
Bridget knows sheâs about to spill over into a full-blown emotional breakdown. She can hear how hysterical she sounds, but she canât stop it, like her whole bodyâs on autopilot and sheâs just screaming trapped in her brain trying to hit the buttons but theyâre not doing anything, and the small rational part of her left just wants to melt into the floor from the embarrassment of it all. Especially when she feels tears welling up in her eyes, a couple drops breaking free to spill over her cheeks with that horrible wad of wet, messy emotions still caught in her throat.
âUhâŠâ Frankie looks at her, caught somewhere between utter confusion and rage, which must be a weird emotional place to be in, and Bridget will definitely be dying about this later.
âDoâI meanââ Frankie attempts, while Bridget feels the hot red splotches on her cheeks, and then, still just completely and totally mortally embarrassed about it all, gives a hiccupping little gasp of a sob. âHere, letâs uh, letâs go somewhere moreâprivate.â
And then Bridget finds herself being more-or-less dragged to the womenâs bathroom. Frankie deposits her in front of the sink, handing her a handful of paper towels while Bridget stares intently at the tile floor and tries to get her breathing under control. She blots ineffectively at her eyes, feeling like a complete and utter lunatic standing there under the harsh fluorescent lighting and completely losing her shit.
âAre you alright Bridget? Wait, no, that was dumb, I meanâlook. Iâm sorry, I didnâtââ
âYouâre apologizing to me?â Bridget looks up at Frankie, tries to laugh it off, but it mostly comes out as a teary little blub.
âYeah? I mean, Iâm still pretty fucking pissed off, but I didnât mean to like make you cry or anything. I justâI wanted you to at least acknowledge what you did to me.â
Frankieâs expression darkens for a moment, a shade of that cruel angry glare from before, but then she sighsâresignedâand continues, almost defeated sounding, âI, I wanted to know why.â
God. Bridget really wants to melt into the floor now. Even if sheâs never been particularly fond of the girl, Bridget has the self-awareness to acknowledge that what she did was messed up, and it makes her skin feel all itchy. Guilty, she thinks pointedly, thatâs all Iâm feeling, just guilt, nothing else. And then before Frankie can make her feel any worse the excuses come pouring out of Bridget, another jumbled mess she only half-understands as sheâs saying itâjust, anything, whatever she can think of to make Frankie stop looking at her like that.
âIâm sorry Frankie. Really, I am. Iâve been acting weird for weeks, Ryan and I are fighting right now, and not that itâs like your fault, you didnât even know, but Iâm still so fucking mad at him, and youâjust, when I saw you talking to himâI guess, I went kind of crazy?â
âKind of?â Frankie chuckles, but it somehow manages to make Bridget feel a little bit less like the scum of the earth, so sheâll take it.
âOkay, fine,â Bridget rolls her eyes, âI went full-on psycho bitch.â
They share a small laugh at Bridgetâs expense, and a part of the knot in her throat maybe almost starts to loosen, just a bit.
âI know itâs fucked up to take it out on you. I donâtâI was drunk and stupid and weird and such an asshole, and I didnât mean to lead you on or anything. Iâm a fucking mess right now but thatâs got nothing to do with you, Frankie. IâmâIâm sorry.â
Thereâs another silence while a pit opens up in Bridgetâs stomach, a yawning cavernous void of anxiety as Frankie gives her this look, likeâlike she doesnât really buy it, but then, finally Frankie sighs, nodding, and that deep black pit in Bridget closes up. At least a little.
âAlright. Thank you for explaining Bridget.â Thereâs a pause as Frankie gives her a wicked sort of smile and then continues, âI will be the bigger person and choose to forgive you.â
And then she laughs, a real honest laugh, deeply amused at her stupid not-quite-a-joke. Bridget rolls her eyes, but it is actually a relief that Frankieâs gone back to being her normal annoying self. Receiving sympathy from the girl is almost worse than being shouted at by the mean angry cruel Frankie from before.
âOh thanks,â Bridget snarks at her, but in spite of herself, she laughs a little bit too. And then she realizes how they must look, the two of them still standing in front of the sink, face-to-face weirdly close together, Frankie with her arms folded loosely around herself, near enough Bridget almost feels the warmth from her body while Bridgetâs a tear-streaked mess, holding onto the wet paper towel and sniffling softly. So, she takes one precise step back and away from Frankieâs bubble, straightening herself, blinking away the remaining tears in her eyes.
âAnd donât worry Princess,â Frankie is saying, all smirk now, âI wonât tell anyone about your meltdown. Secretâs safe with me.â
âOh, shut up,â Bridget replies. Sheâs decided the best course of action is to go back to pretending like none of this happened and she doesnât have feelings, like Frankie totally didnât just watch her sobbing in a mall food court, and that she isnât still holding that snotty crumple of paper towel.
She quickly tosses the offending ball into the trashcan and then goes back over to the sink to wash her hands. As if that would somehow help. God, her face is all puffy now, ugly blotches of red on her cheeks, her nose.
Frankie moves to lean against the back wall, watching Bridget in the mirror and looking far too amused at the entire situation. But at least she doesnât say anything else; perfectly silent as Bridget tries in vain to fix her mascara.
Maybe, Bridget thinks, she really will be good on her word and wonât tell anyone, and then Bridget can bury this brief horrible moment way deep down inside her with all the other ones. She hopes so, even though she has no right to. It would only be fair, after all, for Frankie to use this newfound upper hand to give Bridget a taste of her own medicine. After all those years of torment Brianna and Bridget put her through? She wouldnât blame her.
Bridget winces again, guilty just thinking about it. All throughout middle school Bridget and Brianna and Brooklyn did whatever they could to make Frankieâs life miserable for no other reason than she was weird and they could. Hell, they practically tortured the girl, every day for years, and sure Frankie was annoying and stuck up, but still. Looking back on it now, the whole thing just seems so petty and pointless.
âHey Frankie?â Bridget says with a resigned sigh, meeting Frankieâs eyes in the mirror before looking back down again. âIâm sorry Iâve been such a horrid bitch to you for like, ever.â
âYeah, you were kind of the worst,â Frankie laughs, and Bridget is about to get defensive again but Frankieâs still talking, all casual and breezy like theyâre just having a chat about the weather outside and not the multiple years of bullying (and Bridget canât even pretend like that wasnât what it was, not in her own head) that they put her through.
âBut that was like forever ago, everyone was a terrible monster when we were twelve. Iâve gotten over it,â she shrugs.
Bridget wants to say âReally?â all incredulous, how could anyone just shrug and be over that, but then she meets Frankieâs eyes in the mirror again, and she looksâmaybe not exactly pleased, but definitely not traumatized or anything. Maybe thatâs something.
âThank you for apologizing, dude,â Frankie continues when Bridget doesnât respond, still staring uselessly down at the counter. âI appreciate it.â
And she sounds like she really means it.
âYouâre welcome, I guess?â Bridget replies lamely.
Thereâs another silence then, the soft drip drip of the faucet the only sound between them, but itâs a tiny bit less awkward now. Maybe weâve bonded, Bridget thinks sarcastically.
âSo maybe letâs get out of the bathroom yeah?â Frankie says, gesturing over her shoulder towards the door.
âUh yeah, probably.â
Frankie turns around and heads back out to the food court and Bridget, at a loss for what to do, follows her.
âWhat are your plans for the day?â Frankie is asking as they walk together, looking over at Bridget like sheâs actually interested in the answer.
âUhââ Bridget stops to think about it. Brianna has almost certainly ditched her ass by now, and she wonât be able to get a ride from anyone else for a while. Sheâs not sure if she really wants to anyway; the mall is cool inside and being here is better than being stuck at home. Even with Frankie it might not be so bad, maybe, the two of them wandering around together.
Bridgetâs sure then, thatâs she well and truly lost it, suffering from heat stroke or psychosis or something. But she plays it cool.
âNothing really,â she says with a bit of a shrug, âBrianna was my ride.â
âOh,â Frankie chuckles again, âwhoops!â
âYeah.â
âWell, come on then,â Frankie says expectantly, waving for Bridget to follow her.
âUh, what?â Bridget says instead.
âLetâs have an Adventure!â
And then Frankie stops walking, turning back around and giving Bridget this look that gleams, bright, mischievous, and Bridget is definitely not sure she likes that look. But since today is already strange enough as it is, Bridget sighs to herself, shrugging again. Fuck it, why not, she thinks.
Itâs not like things between them could get any weirder.
Together they walk around downtown, something that Bridgetâs done maybe hundreds of times, but following Frankie is like seeing it all for the first time again. Of course, she knows all these obscure places off the beaten path where tourists donât usually go. A thrift store, naturally, with one of those weird fortune telling machines out front; a racist caricature in a turban that vaguely predicts something that may or may not be happening to them in the future. An actual photobooth in another random little boutique, a shitty arcade where Frankie wins Bridget a weird stuffed alien toy, record stores and stationery shops, and then they top it all off with vegan ice cream from a quaint local parlor that does strange flavors like black charcoal, or something called Unicorn Vomit. But itâs surprisingly good (even though Bridget sticks with tried and true vanilla, thank-you-very-much) and, in spite of herself, Bridget finds that sheâs actually like, having fun?
They talk and they laugh while Bridget is pulled this way and that, clutching her new little alien friend and posing for dumb photos, and she finds that itâs quite an enjoyable afternoon.
With Frankie.
Wonders never cease.
But of course eventually all things must end. Itâs getting to be early evening now, and Bridget realizes she was supposed to be homeâJesus, an hour ago. So they make the trek back to the mall, back to where Frankieâs car is safely waiting for them in the parking garage. And of course, Frankie drives a lime green Volkswagen Beetle with white daisy decals on the sides, of fucking course. Frankie drives her home blasting a Beach Boys tape the whole wayâbecause of course her car is old enough to still have a tape deck, and of course Frankie listens to the fucking Beach Boys on cassetteâand somewhere along the way Frankie asks Bridget for her number, oh-so-casually, like it barely even matters, and Bridget doesnât think twice before she gives it to her.
And then suddenly Bridget is home, walking up to her room, ignoring the lecture her mom is currently shouting at her from the kitchen while she holds her phone in her hand, one new message from an as-yet unsaved number blinking up at her: hay gurl hay. And Bridget feels this lightness bubbling up from her, from where the lead weight and the anxiety-pit had been before. Not even her asshole mother can ruin her mood. For the first time in what seems like a long time, Bridget feelsâgood. More than good. Happy, she realizes.
And isnât that pathetic? Sheâs happy from just one afternoon spent hanging out with her former mortal enemy. But Bridget canât deny that she is. Sheâs happy, and she had fun, and she decides that sheâs just not going to think too hard about why.
3.
The third time Bridget sees Frankie, she canât actually see her very well at all. Theyâre at the Garden Arts Cinema, a small local movie theater, and itâs all dark and cool inside. Too dark to see much of anything. Which of course hasnât stopped Bridget from trying to sneak sideways glances whenever she thinks she can get away with it.
They go to a lot of movies for a reason.
Itâs been a few weeks now and Bridge is finding herself enjoying this weird sort of secret friendship theyâve got going on. Frankie has found a way, somehow, to make all the normally annoying things about her magically endearing. She loves telling dumb jokes and she loves to laugh, and her laugh is so infectious that Bridget usually canât help but start laughing too.
Sheâs basically stopped talking to Bri and Brooklyn right now. Besides a random âwhere r u???â text and a couple Instagram messages they havenât really interacted at all since that fateful day at the mall. It doesnât seem like Bri misses her company, and Bridget doesnât really miss her either. She prefers her Adventures with Frankie. With Frankie itâs just so easy, she doesnât feel like she has to put up a front. She can just let herself exist, for once.
Frankie seems to enjoy her company too. Desperate, she had told Bridget. All her friends out of town, on their own vacations. And Bridget carefully felt nothing at all about it, when Frankie told her that she was essentially her last resort. It doesnât matter. Theyâre just having fun together.
Frankie comes and picks her up in her ridiculous little hippie Bug and they hang out wherever sheâs decided. Thrift storesâof course Frankie knows all of themâwhere sheâll try on atrociously tacky clothing just to make Bridget laugh, or theyâll hit up the arcade and compete for the most tickets. And then, of course, movies. Frankie likes Garden Arts because they do a lot of classic cinema and weird indies and every Tuesday tickets are five bucks.
Bridget likes that no one their age ever goes there, and on a sunny Tuesday afternoon even with $5 tickets, the theaterâs almost always basically empty. Safe and dark and private. Itâs not like Bridgetâs ashamed of being seen with Frankie or anything like that. She justâshe doesnât want to deal with the questions she knows people would ask her. And she shouldnât have to! This isâtheirs, their thing. Their secret sort-of-friendship, born of desperation, and that doesnât have to mean anything.
Frankie doesnât complain about it, thankfully. Hardly seems to notice at all, really, that Bridget studiously avoids going anywhere somewhere might recognize them, doesnât let Frankie come inside her house or see her friends. Honestly, she probably wouldnât want to hang out with Bridgeâs horrid Mean Girl clique anyway. Bridget barely wants to hang out with them.
So instead they go to Frankieâs places. Quaint cafes, weird restaurants. Empty movie theaters.
Frankie picked their movie todayâthey trade offâwhich means theyâre watching a really bad horror movie from probably the 70s. Bridget has never voluntarily seen so many horror movies; it took her literal years before she could make it all the way through a Saw. Just, all that blood? No thank you. But sheâs a Good Friend, and so she lets Frankie pick. Frankie has suffered through several bad romcoms for her, so itâs the least she could do. And Frankieâs kind enough not to make fun of her for being startled by the jump scares or hiding behind her during the goriest parts.
Like now, for instance.
âGod please tell me when it stops!â Bridget practically squeals, squeezing her eyes shut and clinging to Frankie for dear life.
Frankie chuckles softly under her breath, but she doesnât say anything.
And maybe Bridget lets herself cling longer that she strictly needs to, head turned into the crook of Frankieâs neck, breathing in the smell of her. Her shampooâwhich always smells amazingâand her perfume and just her, her skin, and then Bridget realizes how fucking weird that is and she stiffens, pulling away and rearranging herself back into her seat.
Okay. So, Bridget officially has A Problem.
Sheâs not quite sure when it started, she didnât notice when the change happened. When she suddenly stopped thinking of Frankie as the annoying stuck up hipster, or the slightly-less annoying girl sheâs kinda casually hanging with, toâwell. This. Itâs just, sometimes Frankie just looks at her, when Bridget has cracked a particularly amusing joke, or even when theyâre just sitting next to each other at a cafĂ© saying nothing much at all, and itâs enough to make Bridgetâs stomach go allâŠflippy and weird. Or sometimes Bridget will catch herself staring at Frankie and realize she hasnât really heard anything sheâs said for the past couple of minutes. She keeps getting distracted. By Frankieâs lips especially.
It doesnât help that Frankieâs always wearing something on her lips. Whether itâs sparkly lip gloss or something stranger like black, or one time, memorably, fucking sunflower-yellow lipstick; and it draws attention. Like a bright yellow traffic sign. And it doesnât help either that Frankieâs got a fucking obsession with candy. Lollipops that she keeps stashed in her purse and pulls out randomly, sucking on them for hours. Or, if not lollipops, then bubblegum; blowing giant ridiculous bubbles and popping them, over and over. And Bridget fucking hates it. Itâs like Frankie knows, somehow. Like sheâs doing it on purpose just to torment her.
And it definitely, definitely doesnât help that Bridget still remembers what those lips felt like against hers. She canât stop remembering it, in perfect painful clarity. It keeps her up at night, that wretched first kissâand then, even worse, the second. It makes her stomach feel like sheâs swallowed hot coals, like she canât breathe. And it most definitely doesnât help that Bridget canât stop fucking wondering what it would feel like to have Frankieâs lips pressed against other places.
Seriously, itâs a fucking problem.
Suddenly thereâs a blood-curdling scream from the pretty blond meat on screen and Bridget practically jumps out of her own skin, reaching out for Frankieâs arm again, her heart pounding in a sympathetic rush of adrenaline. And then, Bridgetâs heart threatens to pound right on out of her fucking chest when Frankie just reaches over oh-so-casually and tangles their fingers together. Bridget thinks she might actually be having a heart attack right now, her stomach doing somersaults while she tries to remember how to breathe like a normal person.
Frankie doesnât even look at her, her attention focused on the screen of course, taking a sip of her giant cherry Icee with her other hand, but Bridget can almost swear she sees the faintest hit of a smirk on the other girlâs face, limned in light from the screen.
Those lips. Cherry red today.
Oh no. Wrong thing to be thinking about while theyâre fucking holding hands. Oh God oh God oh Godâ
But then, just as sudden, Frankie pulls her fingers free so she can grab a handful of popcorn from the bucket balanced on Bridgetâs lap, and Bridget absolutely hates the way she misses that brief contact.
The rest of the movie passes in a blur. Frankie doesnât try to hold her hand again and Bridget holds herself stiff as a board in her seat. Sheâs actually pretty sure that sheâs died in fact, and this is her eternal torment in Hell, for being such a shitty person or something. It seems fitting.
âAlright? Movie didnât scare you too bad, right?â Frankie is asking her as they stand in the lobby, just a hint of playful mockery in her voice.
âWhat? Oh yeah. Yeah, Iâmâfine,â Bridget replies absently. Sheâs just a bit distracted at the moment. Why is my hand tingling right now?
âHa ha okay. Come on, letâs get you home before midnight, Princess,â Frankie laughs, and Bridget especially hates the stupid flip her stomach does every time Frankie calls her that stupid nickname.
They head out together into the late afternoon summer heat, and before Bridget even realizes what sheâs doing, sheâs reaching down and grabbing Frankieâs hand again. Fuck. Frankie doesnât say anything about it, hardly seems to notice, really. She just walks hand-in-hand with Bridget, laughing about something dumb that supposedly happened during the movie.
Meanwhile, Bridget is basically on the verge of a goddamn meltdown, the warmth of Frankieâs hand in hers making her heart go all stupid again. She thinks itâs probably a little weird (and definitely incredibly stupid) to be walking hand-in-hand with another girl when theyâre seventeen years oldâa gay girl no lessâand itâs probably even weirder that sheâs so fucking freaked out about it. Bridget wants to let go but she also kind of doesnât, and sheâs totally way overthinking holding hands with someone, this is officially insaneâand, and Frankieâs laughing again at some joke Bridget missed.
Inside Frankieâs car they sit and waitâitâs old enough the AC takes a while to kick inâand itâs quiet except for Frankieâs favorite Beach Boys tape. The poppy fun music is completely at odds with how Bridget is currently feeling, too distracted by the rapid beatbeatbeat of her own heart to make casual conversation.
âBridget,â Frankie says suddenly, entirely too serious.
âYeah?â Bridget turns to meet Frankieâs eyes for the first time in, God, hours.
Sheâs caught in Frankieâs deep brown gaze, those eyes practically magnified by the ridiculous glasses she wears, surrounded by thick dark lashes, and Bridgetâs throat goes dry. She swallows. Thereâs a beat as she hangs suspended for a moment in that tension, and then, because Bridget has evidently gone completely and totally one hundred percent absolutely nuts, she leans in towards Frankie and thenâ
Then, before Bridget quite realizes itâs happening, Frankie leans in too, over the center console; close, too close, and thenâand thenâ
Then Frankie is suddenly fucking kissing her.
Itâs just a quick little peck, barely anything at all really, but it still somehow feels like lightning sparking down Bridgetâs spine; and then just as fast Frankie is pulling back with a wicked little smirk.
âThere. Now weâre even,â she giggles.
Oh for fuckâs sakeâBridget feels like sheâs gonna vomit up her own fucking heart. Thatâs it. A girl can only be reasonably expected to take so much torment. So she grabs Frankie by the shoulders and pulls her in close and then kisses her for real, goddamnit.
Apparently her memory is a liar, because this kiss feels nothing like the other ones did. Those hazy nightmare-dream kisses that still fucking haunt her. No, this one is way better. Maybe itâs because she isnât drunk off her ass and miserable this time, but God, this is. Right. She feels the crushing weight of her heart hammering away in her chest, and she thinks she might actually explode with it as Frankie leans in and kiss her back, and itâs all just so different-new-thrilling-exciting-terrifyingâand Bridget knows sheâs definitely dead now, because sheâs actually pretty sure sheâs stopped breathing. Her grip on Frankieâs shoulders is white-knuckled, and she doesnât stop until her lungs burn.
When they finally part for air Bridget canât help but notice the way Frankieâs gone all breathless, and that does something absolutely stupid to Bridgetâs heart.
âFinally,â Frankie says, relieved, giddy, some other emotion Bridget doesnât have a name for.
âWhat?â Bridget blinks at her, lips tingling as she sits there stunned stupid, feeling like a moron.
âHonestly, Iâve been waiting for like a week now for you to get over whatever your deal is and kiss me already, but youâre a pretty stubborn lady, you know?â
âYouâyou knew?â
Oh, wow Bridge, not even gonna try and deny it, huh?
âUh yeah?â Frankie says like itâs obvious. âI mean, I hate to tell you this sweetie,â and there goes Bridgetâs heart again, âbut you havenât exactly been. Uh. Subtle.â
âIâI donât know what you mean.â
âOh come on Bridge, Iâm not blind. I can see you staring at me when you think I donât notice. You blush. Either Iâve got a second head growing out of my neck I havenât noticed that youâre too embarrassed to tell me about, or youâre into me.â
âWhatâIââ Bridget sighs. She really canât pretend not to know what Frankieâs talking about, not when her stomach feels like itâs flipped all the way inside out and her heart wonât stop fucking beating, and all she can think is I wanna kiss her again. Itâs hopeless.
Bridget wants to grab Frankie again and kiss her silly, and it terrifies her.
âSorry,â Bridget mumbles, a supremely weird mix of embarrassed and horny.
âYou donât have to apologize, Bridge. I was trying to take things slow, give you space. Didnât wanna freak you out. I thoughtââ
âWhat?â
âItâs silly.â
Bridget gives her a look.
âWell, okay, but I thought if I flirted enough, youâd get the hint? But goddamn you are oblivious, or maybe Iâm worse at flirting than I thoughtââ
âYou wereâwere flirting with me?!â Bridget blurts out before she can stop herself.
âOh. Okay, so I guess I am worse at that than I thought.â
And is it just Bridgetâs imagination, or does Frankie sound embarrassed?
âNo! Shut up thatâs not whatâI, Iâm sorry. I justâwhy?â
And now Frankieâs staring at Bridge like sheâs the one with the second head.
âUh, because I like you too?â Frankie says, as though Bridget had asked her what color the sky was. âOkay, just so weâre clear here, I uh, I really kinda like you Bridget? And Iâm pretty sure you like me too, I meanââ
Frankie waves vaguely to the space between them while Bridget feels her face heat all over.
âAnd uh,â Frankie stops, swallowing. Holy shit, sheâs nervous. Finally, it isnât just Bridget freaking out by herself. âI dunno, maybe you wanna go out sometime?â
And then Frankieâs round freckle-dotted cheeks go absolutely bright pink, and Bridget is definitely in trouble, because itâs the cutest fucking thing sheâs ever seen. Sheâs sure now. Sheâs died, and maybe sheâs not in hell, but this is clearly some weird afterlife-fantasy scenario. There is no way this is really actually happening.
Bridget stares at Frankie for a minute, lost for words.
Frankie, with her neon-pink-orange bob and her blunt bangs that make her look a bit like a comic book character, with her thick black cat-eye glasses and her delicate features, her softly almond-shaped eyes so dark, dark enough to get lost in; with her elegant pale throat and the black choker wrapped around it, and the voice that comes out of it, the one Bridget canât stop dreaming about.
Frankie, who is a complete and total weirdo and so deeply, genuinely sincere about it. Bridget canât believe she used to think it was some kind of act. She knows better now of course, knows that itâs impossible for Frankie to be anything other than herself. This goofy sweet silly smiling pixie, who is just so fucking beautiful that it makes Bridgetâs heart ache.
Frankie, who for some unfathomable reason, actually likes Bridget too.
Why? What could Frankie possibly see in her?
In Bridget, the never-quite-as-pretty one, the boring one, the side-kick-in-her-own-damn-life one. She honestly has no idea why Frankie would like her, why anyone would, for that matter. But maybeâmaybe it doesnât matter. Maybe, she couldâmaybe, just maybeâ
Why not, Bridget thinks. She might not understand it, but she wants to believe Frankie, believe that another person, this person, could know her and still want to be around her, be with her. So, she pulls Frankie close and tries to tell her with a kiss, since she canât say the words.
Yes yes yes I wanna go out I like you so much I wanna be your girlfriend please like me too please oh God please donât stop kissing me, never stopâ
âSo, is that a yes?â Frankie says, all sweet and innocent, once theyâve parted again.
Bridget rolls her eyes. Sheâs the worst, Bridget thinks, but then, God Iâm totally into it arenât I?
âUgh. Fine. Yes.â
Her stomach, miraculously, does not manage to come up her throat with the words, as much as it threatens to.
âGood,â Frankie laughs, the sound making Bridgetâs stomach flip back over, and then she kisses her again.
That night Bridget goes to bed with a heart full of glitter, all her nerve endings spark-fizzing with joy while warmth blooms down deep in the pit of her stomach. She swears she can almost still feel the pressure of Frankieâs lips against hers, the slick wet heat of their mouths pressed together, the taste of Frankieâs cherry-flavored lip gloss.
God, Bridget thinks, lying in bed and staring at her phone, the text message from a still-unsaved number (several sparkly heart emojis and a ridiculous kissy face) that makes her feel like sheâs flying as she runs a finger over her screen. God, I am in so much fucking trouble.
4.
The fourth time she sees Frankie, Bridgetâs sprawled out on a picnic blanket watching her, watching as Frankie dances to the music theyâre playing off her phone, watches her twirling and singing along enthusiastically and generally being a complete and total dork. Just to make Bridget laugh.
This is their Fifth Official Date (not that Bridgetâs been counting or anything); an almost disgustingly adorable picnic in the park. Frankie has brought an honest-to-God picnic basket and everything. There is iced tea and sandwiches carefully cut out with a heart-shaped cookie cutter, because of course there is.
Frankie just does shit like that. Itâs absolutely ridiculous and she doesnât care. She doesnât care if someone might make fun of her or call it stupid, she takes Bridget on cheesy-romantic dates and sends her âgood morning babe,â and âsweet dreams hon,â texts every single day and makes her actual mixtapes and heart-shaped goddamn sandwiches, and it all drives Bridget absolutely crazy. It makes her heart feel like itâs about to explode into confetti.
Today is a beautiful almost-breezy late afternoon and theyâve managed to find a nice shady spot under some trees and down a steep hill thatâs relatively private. No oneâs around to bother them for playing their music too loud, and even better, thereâs no prying eyes to judge her when Bridget decides she canât take it anymore and pulls Frankie down on top of her.
Frankie giggles like crazyâwhich always makes Bridgetâs stomach feel like sheâs swallowed a bunch of butterfliesâas she tumbles into an awkward heap on top of Bridgetâs lap and into her waiting warms, laughing and squirming as Bridge assaults her with kisses wherever she can reach.
Itâs pretty fucking incredible that she can just do that, now.
So far theyâre trying to keep it casual. Well, as casual as Frankie can be. Bridget is quickly discovering that Frankie has a hard time being casual about anything she feelsâif the mixtapes and picnics are any indicationâbut, itâs casual enough. Taking it slow. Itâsâitâs not like Bridgetâs ashamed or anything. She just hasnât told anyone yet.
And itâs not like she has to, anyway. Itâs no oneâs business but their own. Just the two of them. This little world theyâve created, these little stolen moments. With Frankie everything else just disappears for a while and Bridget doesnât have to worry so much about everything. She doesnât have to care what people would think, what they would say; she doesnât have to care about anything but this girl.
This impossible wonderful ridiculous girl with pink-orange hair and strawberry lip gloss, who makes Bridget heart-shaped sandwiches and makes her head spin. This thing, so precious and pure. Is it so wrong that she wants to protect it as long as she can?
She hopes Frankie understands. They havenât exactly discussed it, but Bridget thinks that she does.
âHey you,â Frankie says, still sprawled on her lap, arms resting casually around Bridgetâs shoulders, hands tangled in her hair. Rubbing idly at the back of her neck. That feels nice.
âHey yourself,â Bridget replies, with a giant ridiculous grin on her face, looking up at Frankie and the plastic pickles that are dangling from her ears. Because of course, Frankie has a pair of earrings shaped like plastic pickles.
God Iâm just absolutely stupid for her, arenât I?
âPenny for your thoughts?â Frankie asks her.
Bridge shrugs. âItâitâs nothing. You. This, I like this.â
She waves a hand between them.
âHmm, me too.â Another casual kiss to Bridgetâs cheek, and Frankie smiles, that smile that just lights up every single corner of Bridgetâs stupid idiot heart.
Casual, she warns herself. Easy. Nice and light. Sheâll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. To keep the rest of the world away from them.
5.
The fifth time Bridget sees Frankie is the worst, because theyâre fighting. It seems like theyâre always fighting these days. Theyâve been whatever they are for over a month now, and Frankieâs frustrated. Clearly. Tired of keeping it a secret, of hiding. And Bridget knows that, she hates making Frankie feel like sheâs ashamed of her, of what they have together.
But.
She justâ
Brianna has started noticing things. Theyâre talking again, and sheâs asking questions. Questions Bridget doesnâtâcanât answer. Doesnât have the words to even begin answering them. And Ryan tooâChrist theyâre still technically dating, arenât they? They made up before he left, and now heâs still texting her, even away at football camp, and she texts him back and it makes her feelâ
Rotten.
Even her parents have almost caught them twice, and she canât keepâshe canât keep doing this.
Bridget is scared. Sheâs panicking, she knows it, and she canât stop. Canât stop the anxiety that bubbles up whenever sheâs not with Frankie. And lately, even when she is with her. Like now for instance. Theyâre at their spot, their safe private spot in the park but Bridget swore she saw someone from school walk by and now sheâs totally freaking out. This is way too much, way more than she asked for.
Itâs justâitâs, itâs too good.
So, Bridget pushes. Pushes Frankie away, and of course Frankieâs so stubborn she just pushes right back, and lately all they do is yell at each other, andâ
And it just sucks so fucking much. Bridget knows that she picks fights with Frankie on purpose, some part of her just knows that Frankieâs way too good for her, so sheâs decided to burn it all down before Frankie has a chance to get sick of her, to hurt her first. And Bridget hates herself so fucking much for it, for doing this, but somehow, she just canât stop.
Coward, she thinks bitterly, as Frankie storms off, and Bridget immediately regrets it. The words she said still echo like a firework, like gunshotsâwhy are you so fucking clingy all the timeâand Bridget wants to call her back, to apologize. To beg and plead and make promises she canât actually keep, to do whatever it takes just to see that smile back on her lovely Frankieâs face.
But she canât.
Coward.
So the next time Frankie texts her to apologize, Bridget doesnât respond. Through all the time theyâve been hanging out, sheâs never once ignored a text from Frankie, but she just. Canât. So she doesnât.
And when Frankie texts again, worried, asking if sheâs okay, Bridget just deletes the message, heart sunk like a stone deep in the black void of her stomach.
Bridget keeps deleting them, feeling her heart crack open a little more with each new notification, each new message more and more worried. And then the worried messages turn to angry messages, and itâs what she deserves, so Bridget doesnât delete those. She reads every single one and lets them pierce through her empty cavernous chest, the ruined crater of her heart, all the while thinking coward, thinking monster, thinkingâno knowing that sheâs the worst person who ever lived.
And then finally, horribly, the texts just stop coming altogether.
Bridget pretends like she isnât dying inside, looking down at that last message from Frankie: okay fine fuck you too you fucking bitch. It makes Bridget feel like sheâs swallowed broken glass, seeing those words there. But she canât fix it. This is what I deserve.
Instead she goes back to Ryan, back from camp now looking all boyish charm and tan and big muscly arms, and itâs just easy, so easy to flirt and to bat her eyelashes and let him woo her again; and she goes back to Brianna and Brooklyn, and they donât ask questions.
And the worst part of it all really, is that Bridget canât tell anyone about it. No one even knows. The whole wretched summer is locked away in some alternate universe and she canât say a single goddamn word. And then, even worse: the one person who could possibly comfort her in a situation like this, the one person who had so quickly become her biggest emotional support, so vital to her, is the exact fucking person she canât turn to, because Bridget is a fucking monster who has ruined everything good in her life.
So, she pushes it all back down, way deep down into the pit of her, to rot with the rest of her emotions. Bridget had been well-practiced in the art of bottling shit up way before she had ever met Frankie, and she can do it again. She can smile and laugh and be pretty and perfect and popular. With her handsome wonderful boyfriend and her two best friends. All of it just so fucking perfect.
But no, thatâs not even the worst part.
The worst part comes a week later, at the tail end of summer, when she gets home from Briannaâs house one evening to find her parents waiting for her in the kitchen, her laptop open on the table and a small box sheâd somehow forgotten about sitting next to it. Bridget recognizes that box instantly, and it feels like a bullet straight to her heart. She stops dead in her tracks, voice caught in her throat.
That box. Random empty packaging from a birthday present, kept hidden under her bed. Secret, safe. And afterâafter everything, sheâd simply forgotten all about it, forgot to throw it away. The things inside arenât that important; photobooth strips and a couple silly little arcade prizes, the mix tapes, cute notes folded into origami heartsâbut then, not quite so meaningless: the ring. It hadnât been anything like, crazy, just, theyâd been them for a couple weeks, and Bridget had spotted this pretty rose gold ring in one of their favorite thrift stores. It was a small, delicate thing, shaped like a wreathe of intricate little leaves. No stone, but elegant and dainty and nothing like Bridget had ever owned. So Frankie had surprised her with it the next time they went out. And absurdly, Bridget had almost wanted to cry when Frankie gave it to her.
She never wore it, of courseâthat felt like too much of somethingâbut even just keeping it near her, in her little vault of treasures, it wasâ
Ryan had never bought her jewelry before.
Seeing that box now, on the table, it feels like Bridgetâs entire chest has been sliced open, every awful weeping oozing thing sheâs been trying to keep bottled up leaking out all over their pristine tile floor. She feelsâflayed. Raw. She wants, bizarrely, to laugh almost; and then suddenly, she wants to cry, and the rush of emotions makes her feel dizzy.
They know.
âBridget,â her father says, his voice so cold hard angry that it gives Bridget goose bumps. They. Know. âYour mother and I found someâconcerning messages on your phone last night, on your computer, and weâd just like to talk to you.â
They know oh God they know how did theyâ
Itâs all come tumbling down, crashing in on her, crushing her under the weight of it. Catching her breathless and she canâtâBridget canâtâsheâso she does the only thing she can think to do. She lies.
When itâs all said and done, her parents know all about poor Bridget and her Psycho Lesbian Stalker. She pours it all out of her, exactly what they want to hear. How sheâs just so sorry she didnât tell them, how she was so scaredâbecause Frankie scared herâthey were just friends, Bridget was being nice because she pitied her until Frankie got all crazy and delusional and obsessed with her and Bridget couldnât tell them, she wanted to so bad of course, but she couldnât, she was just so embarrassed about it all.
Thereâs threats of a restraining order; a tense meeting between her parents and Frankieâs parents and lawyers (itâs almost ironic, Bridget thinks, that this is how she finally meets Frankieâs family), and when itâs all said and done, Frankie promises to stay away from Bridget at school, promises not to try and contact her again so they donât have to involve the authorities in this ugly business. Frankie will leave Bridget alone and no one else has to know.
And the whole time, Bridget canât look anyone in the eye. She decides then, sitting in that horrible office watching Frankie caved in on herself, defeated, that she is done feeling things for good.
She doesnât tell Ryan or Brianna anything about it. She couldnât do that to Frankie. Not that. Of course it doesnât matter, it couldnât possibly make up for the colossal mountain of horrible things Bridget has already done to Frankie, but still. She doesnât want to talk about it anyway.
And then about four days later Bridget finally breaks up with Ryan for good. Sick of him, sick of being near him and pretending. Sheâs sick of seeing the way Brianna looks at him, like sheâs mentally inserting herself where Bridgetâs standing next to him. And of course, theyâve barely finished typing their goodbye textsâamicable enoughâwhen Brianna is suddenly calling her, utterly, utterly heartbroken but wanting to know if Bridget minds, maybe, if she asks Ryan out. Apparently, she had just dumped Matt, her so-called True Love, the day before.
Bridget honestly does not fucking care anymore. She feels emphatically nothing about it, about either of them. Fine. Let Brianna have him. Bridget honestly canât even remember why she wanted him so badly in the first place, except because Brianna did too. Whatever. She hopes they get married and have a bunch of perfect fucking children and grow old together and die.
She lets it go. All of it, she keeps on Not Feeling Things all the way until school starts. Right until the night before, when she wakes up suddenly, startled by a nightmare, her heart aching with fear and guilt. Bridget reaches outâstill half-asleepâlike somehow Frankie would be there, would be beside her telling her that itâs alright and to go back to sleep. But all Bridget feels is the empty sheets instead.
And then, Bridget is done pretending she doesnât feel things. All at once it all bursts out of her, all the regret and shame and guilt and anger and wretched awful heartbreak pining, all the gross ugly tears sheâs been keeping locked up for way longer than this summer. All of that pain finally pouring out, spilling out all over her, and Bridget just hopes she doesnât sob too loudly.
Thankfully no one wakes up or comes to check on her, and thatâs almost worse, somehow. Bridget curls up into a ball on her floor, and thatâs when she notices the a small forgotten plushie under her bed. She recognizes it instantly. Herman the Alien. The very first thing Frankie had given her, before, before everything, before theyâd evenâit was that very first time they hung out together, at the arcade. Heâd somehow come out of the box and managed to escape the Great Purge.
Bridget looks at him through the tears streaming down her face, his giant black eyes and tiny little smile, and this stupid green alien plushie just breaks something inside her, another wall come crumbling down. So, fully aware how completely and totally pathetic she must look, Bridget crawls over and pulls him out, cuddles him close. Wishing it could somehow bring her comfort, that it could somehow bring Frankie back.
Stupidly, Bridget wishes that she could go back in time and undo the entire awful summer, that she could fix this, and sheâs not entirely sure which part she wants to change. She hardly understands anything anymore, really, except that she misses Frankie, right down to her marrow, and she hates it so much.
Most of all, Bridget wishes that she was a different person, a better person. Somehow who could have deserved something as sweet and as good as what she had with Frankie. She wishes that she hadnât been such a colossal idiot, a coward about it, and that she hadnât thrown it all away.
But itâs useless. Bridget is not a better person. Sheâs known that all along, of course. This is what she deserves. She is a horrible monster who fucked everything up, and she canât ever fix it. So instead, she holds a dumb stuffed alien and she cries and cries and cries.
It doesnât help.
6.
The first day of school, Bridget walks up to Green Valley with her head held high. There are rumors swirling around, but there always are, and Bridget is too used to pretending she doesnât hear them. Everyone knows about the Ryan-Brianna situation by now of course, and the looks of pity people shoot her would normally drive her nuts, but Bridget doesnât feel anything anymore, so she hardly notices them. She finds Brianna waiting at their normal spot, her and Ryan standing close together like they had been made for each other in a lab somewhere, his paws draped all over her. Obnoxious. And the rest of their friends stand there too, all of them talking and laughing and just so fucking perfect.
Bridget canât help but notice that Matt is conspicuously absent, however. She doesnât blame him.
Of course, her and Brianna and Brooklyn have all their classes together. Theyâd set up their schedules at the end of last year, before the summer, beforeâeverything. It had seemed natural, logical, at the time. The three of them always had all their classes together. Now though, Bridget walks into first period wishing she could join the witness protection program and move to another country where no one speaks English.
Their first period is Chemistryâwhich is already torture enough, honestlyâand she comes in and sits at their usual spot, back corner, forever Briannaâs right hand woman. The two of them talk like they donât secretly hate each otherâs guts, performing for their audience.
And so of course in first period Chemistry with Bridgetâs blood near boiling, simmering rage and everything carefully hidden underneath, all bottled up but almost leaking out of her, thatâs whenâ
God. She walks in.
Frankie. In one of her fanciest tea-length floral-print vintage skirts, all perfect poofy petticoat and hair freshly dyed a bright aqua-teal color; bangs straight, eyeliner sharp. Looking for all the world like a woman on a mission. Determined. Proud. Bridgetâs heart aches.
She watches Frankieâs eyes scanning the room, looking for something, and thenâshe sees Bridget staring at her and her mouth drops open in a small, startled âoh.â Almost like, like sheâd forgotten, somehow. Bridget feels what remains of her heart shatter into impossibly tinier pieces, feels like sheâs about to vomit up every single wretched shard right there on the table and soâ
So, Bridget looks away, and she pretends she doesnât see her.
#my stuff#oc talk#sad gay feelings#tongue tied#9k words of gay shit and wretched pining#this does Not end happy sorry#5+1 fic
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