#me to my therapist six months ago: i think my mom hates me

[arlathen]

when they tell you that moving out will improve your relationship w your parents. they arent lying.

[dunadaan]

.

Yknow like. I don’t like to talk about it publicly (or even privately all too often) but even when I vent privately and write out the things I am doing at home to avoid my dad….seeing it all written out makes me go “Kiran. This is not normal living. Normal people don’t live like this.” But I’m so used to it that I basically gaslight myself bc what if I’m wrong? What if I’m making it sound worse than it is?? It’s not *always* like this so surely it’s not that bad.

But god. My dad kicked me out of the house over the holidays and we never spoke about what happened even when I came back. He had yelled and screamed at me- eyes wide and literally spitting as he screamed over the fact that I wanted to spend xmas eve with my mom and xmas with him. As I’ve done every year….he is so jaded and bitter and angry abt my mom moving on after their nasty divorce that the vitriol with which he screamed at me was shocking how much he had in him. We got into a screaming match which I have only ever screamed *once* at my dad- that was at the height of my parents divorce, when my dad would trap me in the car to rant and I screamed and begged him to stop treating me like a punching bag and a therapist. It was awful. And again I had just screamed at him that I couldn’t win-there was no making him happy.

I don’t see my mom anymore bc I’m too afraid of my dad’s reaction. He would always get antsy and think I was leaving to move in with her. He always asked abt my younger sister, who he lost custody of. All he had to do was go to court mandated anger management for six sessions. He could’ve just pretended! Faked getting better! And he put his own fears and himself before her and never went through with it. I am so happy for my younger sister that she escaped. My older sister, too- she cut him off a long time ago. I’m the only one left bc I felt so guilty for leaving him alone, that no one would choose him. He genuinely has no one else in his life and it is such a heavy fucking burden to bear, knowing very well I’m all that’s left.

My older sister told me that I was enabling him by staying…and honestly, she was right. He didn’t change for my mom until it was too late. Not for my older sister. And he will never change for me. As much as I love him, I can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to be 30 at home regretting that I was too scared to leave and felt compelled to be there. But I have lived for so long never able to see a future bc I’m too scared of my dad. I have never planned more than 6 months of my life in advanced bc I could never see myself escaping. Never got my license bc my dad refused driving lessons for us and screamed at us while teaching us to drive- instilling a terror of driving in me. I dont want to give control of the car to him if he bought one for me and he demands to be part of the buying process so I just. Gave up.

While he’s somewhat mellowed out over the years, seeing how angry he was, how much he was holding in and directed at me was shocking. He hates that my mom moved on, hates that Trinity moved on, hates her bf, comes up with these delusional stories and thoughts that he feeds his anger on. Said that he didn’t want “sloppy seconds” (fucking gross) and to go spend the holidays with them. That he didn’t want to see my face until the holidays were over. And in that moment I was more angry and irritated than scared and I fought back.

I remember how I used to feel as a kid when my dad was furious- which was constant. Small and scared and alone, and at least I had my older sister then. Anything could set him off- a football game, a bad day at work, a piece of Mail, a phone call, using the wrong tone of voice around him. But now I have no one, and I just…I just didn’t care. The best way to deal with him is to be silent. To say nothing, no matter how much you want to, bc it’ll make it worse. Let him ride out his anger. And when he calms down and “apologizes” (there is always a “but” and a long explanation) it’s better to just say okay. Any time in the past I said it wasn’t okay, or that I don’t forgive him, he got more pissed and it got worse. My mom always put herself in front of us to protect us from him and have him redirect his anger at her because he was taking his anger out on kids!!! Why do you have beef with a 4 year old and a 7 year old!!! My mom even quit her jobs to stay home with us on the weekends bc we were terrified of our dad. I had completely blocked that out until recently.

But god I just stood in the kitchen so confused as he took his anger out on me. I’m an emotional person so ofc I’m not as brave as to not feel fear, but I told him to calm down and use his words (made him madder). He was so angry and nasty and I just said “why are you making yourself a martyr?” And his face went pale and he stopped in his tracks and he actually stopped speaking before telling me fuck you. I will never forget that I had that power over him for just one second. He was ranting about how he has lost everything and paid for it and still paid for it and couldn’t win and I called him out.

And of course it made everything worse, but still. We had a shouting match that just left me sobbing bc I couldn’t win. I can’t make anyone happy. Not seeing my mom anymore didn’t make him happy. Seeing my mom pissed him off. I crawled into bed and bawled so hard I got stomach cramps trying to be quiet. I don’t understand why I try or why I’ve tried for so long. I am so exhausted and have spent my entire life like this.

I’ve walked on eggshells around him since I could speak. I have to be hyper aware of his moods and how quickly he can get angry and try and anticipate that. I dread the rumble of his diesel engine and my day is “over” when he comes home. I constantly check the windows and the door window to see if he’s there. I listen to his breathing to gauge his emotions, especially his anger. I listen to how he WALKS, for fucks sake. I know his footprints and can tell his mood by it. I often have one earbud off to listen for him. I hide in my room any time I’m home bc it’s the only place I feel safe. There’s a lot more too but. This is my normal. I’ve never lived in any other way.

But today I was cleaning and walked into his room to put something away and got SO scared bc my brain tricked me into thinking he was there- it was a fan at the corner of the room instead. I legitimately gasped and felt a super sharp pang of fear in my stomach, and then heard the rumble of a diesel engine which made it even worse as I ran to check the window. It wasn’t him.

I’ve known for a long time that the way he treats me isn’t okay. I know by typing it all out it’s insane to go “am I the asshole?” Bc. In what world would I be. But my brain is so numb to it that it’s like “whatever.” And every time we sit down to talk my dad manages to twist my words and actions so thoroughly that I question myself with everything. Even if I’m confident abt something I can never trust myself bc what if I’m wrong? What if I am a bad person and do all these bad things and blaming it all on my dad? What if I really am what he says and it’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be? I second guess every decision in my life bc of this.

But the fact that I was home alone and panicked THAT badly thinking he was in the house….

I came home from spending Christmas with my mom and stayed until the 27th, so I had been dreading seeing my dad. My dad and I haven’t spoken much at all since then. He hasn’t apologized at all- we still haven’t even opened gifts. They’re just sitting there. He approached me the other day and said that he wanted to live in “peace” and that I needed to be an adult and open gifts and we can get pizza- he wanted to open gifts bc he wanted to take down the tree, and refuses to order pizza himself. He acted as though I were at fault for the atmosphere.

I have pretty much been hiding in my room since the 27th. I leave only when I hear him go into the garage or when I know he’s in his room. I stash some food in my room but I often don’t eat all day until he goes to bed at night and I’m running out of food to hide. I am probably eating less than 600 calories a day since I’ve been home. I am so tired of living like this and I need to have to spine to talk, but I don’t feel like it should be *me* to broach it. I wasn’t the one who caused all this and like….part of me is shocked he hasn’t outright apologized for how horrifically he treated me. And yet the other half of me knows that he’s always been like this..why would he feel remorse for treating me this way when this is how it’s been my whole life? That he never wants to take accountability?

I want to tell him that I’m done. That he isn’t going to change for me and I see that now. That I want to move out and go abroad. I have the most amazing opportunity to teach English and I have a potential roommate set up and friends and a support system. I have never had goals or dreams bc I was too afraid to leave him alone in fear that he would kill himself bc he talks about it a lot. How he would do it, how he wants to do it. More recently especially….and if I’m honest, he just bought a rifle which scares me. My mom took his shotgun to hide bc she had no idea if he’d finally go through with it (especially with me staying behind with him- apparently he’s threatened to kill himself my parents whole marriage.) For years I lived in fear of coming home and finding my dad’s body in the house. And I can’t live like this anymore.

My biggest dilemma is taking Posey with me. I feel evil and cruel for even considering taking her with me abroad. posey is just as much my cat as she is my dads, and he was the one who found her. But the thought of abandoning her, even if only for a year or two (or longer, who knows) is so horrifying to me. I can’t bear the thought of leaving her behind. But even now, after all this, I still feel terrible for my dad. That when I leave I’ll be the last person to do so, and to take the cat too??? He’d truly be left with nothing. I don’t even think he’d LET me take her. Do I steal my cat and take her?? Potentially damaging my already awful relationship with my dad? I’ll habe to leave a majority of my things behind and I don’t want to cut contact bc I dont want to lose access to these things eventually- whether I move out permanently or not.

If I tell him I want to leave idk what will happen. Maybe it’ll be a wake up call. Maybe he’ll become worse. Maybe I’ll be weak and break down and give in and not move out. Maybe he’ll end up killing himself or even me (though I highly doubt it…it’s not a 0% chance).

I’ve never moved out before. I pay my own bills and can cook and clean but the thought is terrifying. I’d leave everything behind if it meant taking my cat with me. There’s so many hoops to go through and I’m scared but I have to do this. I have to do this but I don’t know how to be brave. If I can’t even face talking to him, how can I be brave enough to be independent and escape? I am trying to take baby steps but god. I am so paralyzed with fear and don’t know how to start. I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want to go back to what’s “normal” for me. I want to live.

Idk. I am just so tense and emotionally fraught and frazzled. My body has been clenching so hard the last few weeks that my teeth are aching. My dad just pulled up in his truck and I am so nervous and anxious. My day is over now…idk how to do this. Idk how to face him bc we have to talk eventually. But in my heart I know it won’t go well.

[stuckincoolsville]

7/23/24: what's my name?

i absolutely hate these things. 

intros, blogs; it's all stupid, really. it's not even worth the effort of capitalizing, let alone proper grammar. 

who's gonna read this? who's gonna care about some random weirdo teenager moving to some random weirdo town? in OHIO, of all places. the meme is writing itself and dying as we speak.

but my therapist says this will help me. somehow. he says we don't meet enough, so he has no way of knowing how i'm truly doing or feeling. starting a little blog will, supposedly, help me get my feelings out.

i feel it's just another way for him to keep tabs on me, but whatever.

don't worry, i'm not dumb enough to reveal my actual name. just call me V. 

i recently graduated from a high school in New York. yes, i lived near bodegas. yes, i'd rather attend NYU, or a CUNY, or anywhere else besides Coolsville Community College. yes, i walk wherever and whenever i fucking want. yes, i miss the bagels. and the pizza. and the water.

so, that being said, what am i doing in Coolsville, Ohio? 

moving into the house i inherited from my mom. who i have not seen since i was...twelve? yeah, about twelve. i still have this vague memory of watching her pack up her car with all her stuff. her mouth, pressed closed. how she kept refusing to look at me, at my dad. and then walking back in the rain so she can get in her car and drive out of our lives.

yeah, that's rather grim...but it's also relevant. 

surprisingly, she's not the main reason i'm in therapy at the moment. well, not because she left. children are abandoned by parents all the time. most divorces are the result of a parent walking out on a family. i'm not special because i'm another statistic.

i'm in therapy 'cause of the other thing.

anyway, the relevance of this is that i haven't seen my mom in six years. no one seemed to know where she went. it was like she literally dropped off the face of the earth. and yet, a few months ago, my dad and i got a visit from a lawyer. my mother's lawyer.

he said my mother died of a tragic...accident (spoilers: i don't think it was an accident), and that the ownership of the house she lived in recently transferred to me. a house in Coolsville, OH.

if this was last year, i would have slammed the door closed in the man's face. or had my friend Johnny do a prank call and scam the guy out of his money. or maybe had Marcy

...

i think you get the idea.

but this year...it was like the guy handed me the solution to all my problems on a silver platter. after everything that had happened this year, all i wanted was to disappear. to go to a place where no one knew my name or who i was. 

you'd think that'd be easy in New York, a city of several million people on its own. but when you've gone through what i've gone through, when your picture has been published in enough NYC newspapers or blogs or anything with readership, it becomes difficult to be invisible again. 

i had to argue about it with my dad, but it was weak on his part. i think everything was starting to strain on him too.

so with a few bags packed and a rather emotional goodbye with dad & the few friends i have left, i hopped in my car and headed for Ohio.

took me a little bit to find this place. Coolsville is pretty obscure, even by most small town standards. if you can get past the sense of dread you get from Toledo—with all its emptiness and boarded up houses & buildings—you're already on the right track. 

go past the long highway. head east, towards where the trees gather most. down that long, long road that seems to be an entrance to another realm. towards the faint sound of rushing water flowing from a place you can't see yet. and suddenly, you're there. in a town stuck in time, struggling to embrace modernity as we understand it. a place that is just outside the border of the area considered to be part of Appalachia. 

it's like i walked right into the 1960s...or maybe early '70s. every house is painted in bright colors, the grass never seems to brown; and the flowers are always in bloom. and all the people seemed to dress like they go thrifting on the regular, their clothes are so...retro? vintage? any of those words work? and they always seem to have a smile on their faces. typical welcoming committee, wholesome small town edition, i suppose.

i was a bit wary at first. still am. but it's been a couple weeks since i moved in. no one's asked the questions i've expected yet. no mob is calling for my blasphemous head. everything and everyone i speak to actually exists, which is a relief. so things are okay. 

for now.

no idea what the future holds, but i recently registered for classes at the community college here. it's much more affordable than the schools in NY, even for a newcomer like me. (guess enrollment must be pretty low over here.) no friends, but the few neighbors i've met seem friendly. there seem to still be teens my age over here, so that gives me some comfort. the house my mome left me is already paid for and has all the furniture and appliances i need. i just need to pay for utilities and maintain the house.

that's why i got the job at the bookstore. it's pretty cool, run by this weird old lady who likes to cackle and rant about the new age occult scene. says my generation doesn't know how to properly communicate with the Old Ones, and that will lead to our ultimate downfall. 

things like that. 

she has a lot of weird takes, now that i think about it, but i'm not gonna argue logic and reason with the crazy lady signing my paychecks.

not much else to say at the moment. i mean, there's more but. this was just supposed to be an intro. i don't wanna vomit out everything in my head. not yet. 

(Dr. Dimaggio, if you're seeing this, you already know. so there's really no point anyway.)

so i guess i'll be signing off. i'll update this when something happens or if there's something i wanna get off my chest.

later.

signed,

V.D.

[speakingagain]

4/12/2024

It's been a hot minute since I posted. 3 weeks I think? I apparently forgot to post the last post but it was saved as a draft till I just opened the app.

I don't know why I'm explaining, no one will read this anyways. Maybe I will, in the future. I guess I should start adding dates to the top so I can get general time lines of my nonsense.

Hi future me. I hope your time has been going better than mine has been recently.

Our life these past few weeks have been absolutely garbage. This week especially. Today, the most. I'm feeling very discouraged.

I feel like an absolute failure. I feel like I can't do anything right, especially with these kids.

Mom suggested I quit and find another job. I haven't had as many jobs as I have just this past year. To be fair, it's only 4. And I worked two jobs at once for the last six months. But four jobs in a year?

That's not me...I spent 2 years working for Allied. Then another 2 at the RTC. I had three jobs in 5 years. I'm loyal to a fault.

I guess I can say I'm not tolerant of toxic work situations as much as I used to be....I dunno. I also like to find the positive in everything.

I just....I had such high hopes for this last year. I wanted to be living in New York by now with my sister. I wanted to be going back to school. I wanted to be closer to paying off my debt. I wanted to be making progress in things.

Just since April started, I lost my part time job, my health Insurance and therefore my therapist, and my will to live. I feel like I'm taking steps back.

I know. I know that progress isn't linear. I know that progress goes in a million directions and circles and bla bla bla. I know.

I know that it will get better. I know that I'm still making progress. I know that I'm better than I was a year ago. I know all that I just need to look at my goals and adjust as necessary and maybe break down my goals into smaller chunks.

But dear God, I feel like I'm such a failure.

I turn 25 this year.

I live with my mother because my marriage was an abusive failure.

I've lost three jobs in a year.

I lost my therapist.

I still can't afford to pay all my bills.

I've been toeing the edge of the line of spiralling. Like the line is narrowing by the day. I have no reasoning to not SIB other than "nah we shouldn't do that."

At what point am I supposed to be able to look at the opportunity to self sabotage and not want to do it for reasons other than 'its not healthy'?

Like duh, I know that. But it makes me feel alive in the moment, and that's more important to me right now. I want to feel something other than like a disappointment or a piece of shit or a failure or any other negative thoughts I can scrounge up at the moment.

I really hate being so self aware sometimes.

I miss being ignorant of my functions of behavior and knowing that I'm doing it for 'x' reasons and that there are ways to alter, decrease and replace that behavior.

I miss just doing the dumb thing and watching shit unfold.

Is that crazy?

[leshitshow]

Not a good person but it is what it is

I'm not a good person. Not a bad person but also just not a good one.

Talked to my therapist today and told her about how my uncle put my grandma in a dirty and poorly run assisted living home. He then sold her home out from under her and left her to die. She died of neglect induced pneumonia at the home within six months of his actions. For this, I told my therapist I am going to find a way to ruin his marriage. I do feel this to be justified. But, yea. While my uncle sucks, I am not really any better for coming for him.

It takes a lot to get me that mad, though. My uncle fucking deserves every ounce of hate and misery I can bring to him. External to him making his adoring mom's final months awful while he and his wife mocked her, in his younger years he inflicted racist violence against people of color. His brother told me a few awful stories. American X level bullshit. I'm looking at it this way - I am going to go one step further than punching a nazi. I am going to destroy his marriage and, with a little luck, his retirement funds. So, yea. I am not a good person.

I have a fuck around find out policy. BUT - you have to be a real piece of shit to end up on my list. You have to beat women and children and be in my direct line of sight. That's now, though. In my younger years it was basically, don't fuck with my family. And it still is, to an extent. I don't like my mother as much as I did in my younger years because I realize all the abuse I lived with was through her. And my lil' bro is a hot mess. If he gets into trouble I'd have to think real hard before getting involved today. But in my previous younger years, when someone fucked with mom or bro - that was it.

One example, a drug selling friend of my mothers robbed her. That pissed me off. I told every one of the drug dealer's neighbors that they were, in fact, drug dealers. And they lost their home and got divorced. I facilitated that.

Today, I don't feel great about it because I now know what a piece of shit my mom is. I did that two decades ago when I believed in my mother. We obviously never know the full story to anything, really ever - but knowing that means less to you when you're early in your 20s/late teens. I also don't regret what I did because the woman was a real piece of shit, too. But if I had known how much I know now about what a real piece of shit my own mother is I think I would've ignored the whole issue, and realized that's what you get when you are messing with drug users/dealers. Anyway.

There was another time I made a house of bullies vanish. I was in my teens and they were fucking with my little brother and mom, constantly. Keying mom's car and chasing him around and trying to beat him up when he was 8-years-old. At first I physically confronted and scared the shit out of his bullies. After that, they stayed the fuck outta my way and outta sight. But when they kept keying our cars at night - I decided I'd had enough and told child services that the kid's parents were selling meth. I mean, they were - so no lie there. But, I came for them too and the whole house found a new set residents with a quickness.

So no. I am not wholesome. I can be ruthless. I have some rules. Don't fuck with my family. Don't harm innocents I personally know. And - if I do come for someone, they won't know what is happening or where its coming from. I don't play. But I also really extremely dislike activating the processing of my shitlist. It's not like I'm out here picking rando lives to ruin. Just the ones that cross me in messy ways.

I told my therapist there's literally two people left on this shit list. My uncle is one and then the man who abused my brother, mother, and I for 20-years is the other. I am coming for my uncle. And, I already warned my mom's ex and he knows to stay the fuck outta my and my family's way. I haven't touched him. I do know he pissed off some other family in the UK, though by also treating them the way he treated us. I know that woman is after him too. So I'm hoping he takes care of himself without my intervention. I hope that when I do actually hear about him again, it'll be something like he tried to abuse and rob someone else, or the UK fam came for him landing his unalive ass under a bridge. But at this point I'm just glad to be free and clear of him.

But yea, I am not the best person I could be. But, I also recognize that I can't be a good person. I came from violence. The fact I am not violent and drug dealing for a living is better than where I came from. I do have baggage though and some of that baggage is tied to some egg shells that I realize I have no choice but to break as I continue my stupid journey through life.

It is what it is.

[spencestyles]

Love Letters

summary: the one where spencer and y/n have similar vows at their wedding reception

pairing: spencer x BAU!Fem!reader

warnings: fluff, daddy issue shaming (if you really squint it’s more of a joke), suggestive content (lowkey)

words: 1k+

enjoy!!!! i really like this one!!!

"I've been writing y/n letters ever since our first date," Spencer began, reciting his speech he had been practicing for months for your wedding reception. "It started as a way for her to know that I cared about her. Then it was our secret way to communicate around the team. Then it became just our thing. I always wrote her a letter, on special occasions, after a tough case, when I thought her hair looked nice. They could have been the simplest letter. I think one even said I like the color you painted your nails. Any way for me to tell her I loved her no matter how big or small."

You had a small tear down your cheek as you looked at your now husband.

"I also have a diary that I write in especially a few years ago, less now that I have y/n," Spencer laughed. "But I found this one entry that I think is important I share with everyone.

Dear Diary,

Today a new agent joined the team. Her name is y/n and she is a few years younger than me. She is very smart, but doesn't like to flaunt it. On the jet earlier, she listened to my facts. Actually listened. And she was interested in my facts. She was the first one to realize the unsub was a woman and not a man. No one could have realized it until she noticed the unsub was going after people she wished to be. I really like her, and I know my therapist says not to trust people so easily, but y/n is different. I genuinely laughed today. Everything about her is perfect. She has the brightest smile and eyes like the ocean. Maybe I'll try to ask her out, but I don't think I'm her type. She was really friendly with Hotch, maybe shes into older guys.”

“WHAT?!” you screamed, eyes bludgeoned. “No hate Arron, but what Spencer?”

“Okay continuing, I'm still going to become friends with her. I think we will be really good friends.

So obviously I was very unsure about if this day would ever happen. If me now told me then I was getting married to y/n I probably would have asked if I drugged her, but no I didn't. I love you y/n Reid." Everyone clapped for Spencer and now it was your turn to speak, you and Spencer decided on doing small speeches during the reception instead of doing long vows.

Spencer handed you the microphone signalling for your speech to begin, "As Spencer earlier said Spencer wrote me a lot of love letters. I mean a lot. I think Spencer thought I threw them out, but I have kept every one since the first time he wrote one. When I counted I think there was well over 600. It hit 600 and I stopped counting. So I decided today would be the perfect time to share some of my favorites.

Dear y/n,

I can't believe you agreed to go on a date with me. I will pick you up at seven, wear something nice. You'll look gorgeous in anything. After dinner I was thinking we could watch Star Trek at my apartment, let me know your thoughts. I think it is smart of us to keep this a secret from the team, at least until things become serious.

Yours truly,

Spencer

Dear y/n,

Today marks three months of dating behind the teams back. I can't believe they haven't figured it out. Some profilers they are. The past three months have been the best three months of my life. I can't wait to see how beautiful you look at Rossi's tonight, hopefully I won't blow our cover.

Always and forever,

Spencer

Dear y/n,

The past six months with you have been amazing. I will never be more grateful than right now, you're finally going to move in with me. I know when I asked you two months ago you were nervous, but now I think it may be time to tell the team about us. They're our family and they deserve to know. Tell me what you think about tonight, I'll pick you up at seven. Wear that one low cut dress I love on you.

Always and forever,

Spencer

Dear y/n,

I can't believe we finally told the team and I can't believed they had bets. Now I can kiss you, hug you, and love you all the time. Also you don't have to wake up early to cover your neck, I want them to know you're mine. I can't wait to stop having to room with Derek on cases, it got annoying when he'd keep asking me if I ever got laid. I want you to come with me to Las Vegas on our next break. You can meet my mom, she already knows about you.

Always and forever,

Spencer

Dear y/n,

You scared me during yesterdays case. I thought I lost you. I know we can't mix relationships and work, but seeing you bleed like that scared me. Meet me at the park we had out first date at tonight at six. I want to talk.

Always and forever,

Spencer

Dear y/n,

I can't believe we're finally engaged. I've spent the last year and a half loving you and the past five years being your best friend. I can't wait for forever.

I love you,

Spencer

These ones are obviously from the most important moments in our relationship and I will forever cherish these letters. Spencer Reid I love you so much. Here is to official always and forever." You looked over at Spencer who was smiling with teary eyes. He was shocked you kept all the letters. Spencer engulfed you into a hug.

"Always and forever."

[atlafan]

Wrecked - One Shot

a/n: this is slightly inspired by the wilds because I watched that recently, but it’s in no way as messed up or sad. psychologist/therapist!Harry is detective Nikki Reese’s ex’s best friend. They end up on the same cruise, and the two end up going overboard due to a freak hurricane. What happens while they’re stranded? Well, you’ll have to read to find out! Feedback and reblogs are super helpful! I really want to know what you all think of this one!!! (not proofread) You can support me here if you’re able!

Warnings: a lot of angst, a little fluff, and some smut. TW: trauma/dealing with trauma (Nikki is an SVU detective, so some things of that nature are brought up, but not in graphic detail)

Words: 14K

Pairing: Harry x OC

It was supposed to be a cruise, a ten-day cruise around the Caribbean to help clear her head. Well, it was originally an engagement present to herself and her ex, but since they were now broken up, it was to help clear her head. Nikki never would have thought she would end up in this situation, and especially not with someone she hated just as much as her ex…his best friend. As she lays under the stars for yet another night, she can’t help but think back to how she got herself into this mess in the first place.

//

She was packed and ready to go, excited even. Nikki had never gone on a cruise before, and she was looking forward to meeting some new people. She was never one to be nervous to go to things alone, she knew how to take care of herself and keep herself safe. She had grown up as the mom friend, so her purse was always stalked with essentials. She had one of those ones that was like a little backpack.

Nikki got to the docks a little later than she was hoping, but there was nothing she could do about getting stuck in traffic. She gets out of her cab in her white sundress, large sunhat, and sunglasses, and rolls her suitcase up the pathway to the boat. There was a bit of a line, but she didn’t mind. For the next ten days, she had all the time in the world.

There was a large area for her to check in at, and get her room key. She was surprised she wouldn’t be able to do it over her phone, but she knew that once they set sail the WIFI may not be as strong in certain places. She brought a spare lanyard to stick it on and everything.

“Hello, Miss.” The woman at the table smiles.

“Hello, I’m Nicole Reese.” Nikki smile.

The woman nods and looks her up in the system. She takes out two room keys and hands them to Nikki, along with a couple of pamphlets that were full of activity options, and where the boat would be stopping.

“Here you are, Miss Reese. We hope you enjoy your stay with us. It’s going to be an excellent cruise. Your other party has already checked in.”

“My who?” Nikki’s heart stops.

“There’s two of you signed up for this suite. A nice gentleman checked in about twenty minutes ago.” She taps a few times on the keyboard. “A Mr. Harry Styles.” The woman smiles. “Has there been a mix up?”

“Nope.” Nikki swallows. “Everything’s fine.”

Nikki quickly makes her way to her room. The ship was pretty easy to navigate. She was enraged. Had Kyle sent Harry in his place? Why the fuck was Harry even there? Did he suddenly acquire time off from work? She scans her key card, and enters the suite.

“Jesus, fuck!” Harry shouts. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?! What are you doing here?!”

“Kyle sold me his ticket…he…he didn’t think you’d still go.” His face falls. “Why did you?”

“Because I paid for my own fucking ticket, and I wasn’t going to let him ruin my trip! I planned the god damn thing, I should get to enjoy it. You need to leave before the ship does.”

“Sorry, I paid to be here too, I’m staying.”

“Don’t be a prick, Harry.”

“M’not trying to be. I got the time off last minute, I need a vacation just like anyone else.”

“And you came here alone?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Thought it would be nice to meet some new people…apparently you thought the same. Unless…oh no, did Alex come with you?” He groans.

“No, she’s not with me.” Nikki rolls her eyes. She knew it was useless to argue with Harry. “That couch should be a pullout, you can sleep on it.”

“But I’ve already started to unpack in the bedroom…you know I have a bad back, Nikki, come on.” He follows her into the bedroom. “It’s a king sixed bed, we can just share. I’ll even make a pillow divider if that makes you more comfortable.”

“I am not sharing a bed with my ex fiance’s best friend!” She looks around. “It’s bad enough we have to share a fucking bathroom.”

“Look, if I thought this boat would have any extra room, I’d go ask for one, but the woman at the desk said it was a fully booked cruise.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I know this isn’t an ideal situation…but think of this way, it’s nice to know at least one person here, right?”

“Wrong.” She shakes her head. “I came here so I could have some time to just not be reminded of Kyle for one fucking second! Now with you here…I’m gonna be reminded of him every single fucking day.” She blinks away a few tears. “You probably think I’m being stupid since it’s been three whole months since we ended things, but-“

“I don’t think it’s stupid…you two were together for three years, that’s a long time to be with someone.”

Nikki nods, and then sighs heavily.

“I think they’re going to make the safety announcements soon. Uh, let’s back out to the main deck, yeah? We can figure all of the sleeping arrangements out later.”

“Fine.”

The two silently head up to the main deck and listen to all of the announcements on how to stay safe, and other things they might need to know. There were a lot of passengers all around them. Nikki was hoping to have some type o rebound while on this trip. How the fuck was she supposed to bring someone back to her room with Harry there? Maybe he was thinking the same thing. His cruise could have easily just been ruined like hers.

“Have you told him I’m here?” She asks him as they move towards the railing to watch the boat take off.

“No.” Harry says. “My phone’s on airplane mode, I’m trying to unplug while I’m here. It’s really none of his business, Nikki.”

“That, or you just don’t want him asking questions.” She scoffs.

“Either way, I haven’t told him, and I’m not going to, okay? You can relax.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because the suite I thought I was going to have to myself has been infiltrated by a six foot, curly headed, no good moron!”

“Hey! I’m not the one who cheated on you, okay?! Don’t take it out on me. Maybe you should have been a better partner to him and he wouldn’t have felt the need to stray.”

“Fuck you, Harry.” Nikki huffs, and walks away from him.

He knew he shouldn’t have said that, but she shouldn’t have called him a moron. That was the problem with Nikki, she thought she was smarter than everyone else, but you don’t get to become an SVU detective by being stupid. It wasn’t her fault that her work was a 24-hour job. She was lucky she even had the time off for this. All activities on the boat were all inclusive, and she wasn’t going to waste it. When she gets back to the room, she starts to unpack so she can freshen up. Harry comes in shortly after. She was just getting out of the bathroom.

“Nikki, look, I-“

“The pillow divider should be fine…I’d feel bad if you hurt your back.”

“Are you serious?”

“We’re both adults, think we can share a bed without it getting weird. You were right before…it’s good to know at least one other person.”

“Nikki, I’m sorry about what I said before.”

“Don’t be. You were absolutely right. I drove him to it.”

She knew how to play the game and keep the peace with someone. It would be easier to play nice with Harry so she could enjoy her trip than it would be to fight with him the entire time. And he was right about one thing, he wasn’t the one she was truly mad at. A little resentful maybe, but she wasn’t mad at Harry.

“Do you…wanna head down to the bar?” He asks her.

“Yeah.” She smiles. “That sounds good.”

Nikki doesn’t stay with Harry for long. She finds herself talking to a cute guy that was seated next to her. Harry didn’t mind because he was talking to some other folks as well. Nikki has dinner with the cute guy, and eventually goes back to his room with him. She has her fun and goes back to her own room. Harry was there, just getting out of the shower, his towel hanging low on her hips.

“Hi.” Nikki says, blushing. “Are you done in there?”

“Yeah, it’s all yours.”

“I…I talk in my sleep sometimes…and sometimes I…punch.”

“Punch?”

“Yeah, I have, like, bad dreams because of work.”

“Oh…well, thanks for the warning. I’m sorry that happens to you.”

“I’ve learned to live with it.” She grabs something to wear to bed before going into the bathroom. She takes a shower, and then comes out. She smirks when she sees the pillows in the middle of the bed. “Thanks.”

“It’s the least I could do since I ruined your vacation.”

“You didn’t know I was coming.” She gets into the bed and turns the light off. “Just like how I didn’t know you were coming. I had a bad reaction before.” She sighs as she gets comfortable. “Nice bed.”

“Yeah, better than a hotel. Well…goodnight, Nik.”

“Night, Har.”

//

Harry was rustled awake around four in the morning. He looks over his shoulder and sees Nikki thrashing around. He sits up immediately and moves the pillows out of the way. She was drenched in sweat, so he rips the blankets back. She was gritting her teeth and kicking her legs.

“Nikki!” Harry grabs her shoulders to try to wake her up. “Nicole!” He straddles her hips to try to still her body. She was really strong. Her eyes burst open and she gasps for breath.

“What are you doing?!”

“You were having a bad dream!” He strokes her cheek, and moves her matted hair away from her face. Her breathing calms eventually and he gets off of her. “Do you want me to get you some water?”

“Please.” She sits up. Harry jumps out of bed and goes to fill up a glass. He comes back quickly and hands it to her, sitting on her side of the bed. She takes slow sips. “Thanks.”

“That looked pretty scary…do you remember what your dream was about?”

“Um, yeah, but I don’t want to scare you. I can’t really talk about cases.”

“If you need someone to talk to, I don’t-“

“It’s fine, Harry.” She snaps.

“Is…is this why you and Kyle never moved in together? Because you get these night terrors?”

“That…among other things. I don’t want to talk about him right now. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Don’t be.” He puts his hand on her leg, giving her a squeeze. “Why don’t I put the TV on, hm? We can just relax for a bit, and-“

“Harry, fuck, I don’t need you to be my shrink!”

“I’m not trying to be! Jesus, you cops all think seeing a therapist makes you weak, but it’s actually the strongest fucking thing you can do.” He huffs. “I’m turning the TV on so I can get back to sleep. I need the white noise.”

He grabs the remote off the dresser and turns the TV on. He flips around the stations until he finds MTV.

“MTV?” Nikki asks.

“They show music videos early in the morning. It’s what the whole fucking station was created for in the first place.” He puts the volume on low, and gets back into bed. Neither of them bother putting the pillow barriers back.

“You don’t understand the stigma. If we see psychologists…they think we can’t do our jobs properly.”

“So you just suffer in silence? Must be fucking terrifying to have nightmares so often.”

“It’s my problem, not yours.”

“But it doesn’t have to be a problem, there are a lot of things you can do to-“

“Harry, please just drop it.” She turns away from him, sinking back into the mattress, and pulling the blankets back onto herself. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Whatever.”

//

They barely speak for the next couple of days, which sucks because the first couple of days are just spent on the boat until they reach the Caribbean islands. Their first stop would be in Florida, and Nikki couldn’t wait to get off the boat and explore where they were getting off at.

“Hey, uh…do you think we could grab breakfast together this morning?” Harry asks her just as she was packing her bag for the day.

“Sure.” She sighs.

He nods, gets his own backpack together, and they head to the breakfast buffet. They both had started to make other friends, but Harry thought it might be nice to explore the Florida coast with her. Luckily, Nikki hadn’t had any more night terrors since that first night. Her head was really starting to feel clearer. They’re quiet at the table they choose to sit at. Harry sighs heavily as he sips his orange juice. He notices Nikki stuffing a few apples into her bag.

“What are you doing?” He asks her.

“We’re going to be out all day today, I wanted to make sure I had snacks.”

“You need three apples?”

“For someone else…if they need one.” She mutters. “I just like being prepared, I can’t help it.”

“Well, I suppose if I get hungry later, I’ll be thankful.”

“Oh, are we wandering around together today?” She raises her eyebrows, and takes a bite of her bagel.

“I was hoping so. I don’t like that we’ve barely spoken these last couple of days. We’re friends, Nikki, why can’t we act like it?”

“I stopped being friends with you the day I found out Kyle was fucking cheating on me.” She stands up and storms off. Harry groans, but follows her. It had gotten increasingly windy out, normal stormy morning in Florida. Although, it had started to drizzle. “Stop following me, Harry!”

“No!” He grabs her wrist. They were outside on one of the lower decks. Not many people were outside due to the weather. “I didn’t know, okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn’t know Kyle was cheating on you!”

“How could you not have known, you’re his fucking roommate! And apparently, it was going on for over six months!”

“He never brought her home! Any girl that he brought over was you, and any time he was gone for the night I just assumed he was with you…if I had known…” He steps closer to her. “I would have confronted him, and told him to cut it out. I would never condone something like that.”

“But you’re still friends with him! You just sat in your room while we were fighting!”

“I’ve been friends with him since uni! I was confused, I thought it’d be better to be on his side and keep the peace. I yelled at him afterwards. I told him he was an asshole for proposing to you while having someone else on the side. And I don’t live with him anymore, alright? I moved out a month ago, got my own place. We’re still friends, yeah, but I…I couldn’t look at him every day knowing what he did to you.” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “I always liked you, Nikki. From the second he started bringing you around, I thought he hit the jack pot, and he fucked it up.”

“He told me I drove him to it. That I wasn’t around enough, that I wasn’t giving him what he needed, but he didn’t feel like he could break it off because we already invested so much time. The fact that it was with his co-worker, someone I never even really trusted.” Nikki scoffs. “I’m glad we weren’t living together, sort of made things easier.” She looks down. “I can’t help that my job keeps me busy, and that I’m not always up to fucking my boyfriend after dealing with a sexual assault case.” She looks back up at him.

“I get it.” He sighs, and grips the railing. “Somedays I come home after a rough session with a patient…like, you know when it’s so bad that when you drive home in silence and go the speed limit?” She nods at him. “It sucks sometimes…being someone that makes other people’s lives easier.”

“Right, because telling a worried mother that her child was found dead and buried in the woods totally makes things easier.” She rolls her eyes.

“That mother gets closure at least. She knows where her kid was and what happened. It helps with the grieving process.” He looks at her again. “You know I work with a lot of victims and survivors, right? I’m not out prescribing anti-depressants to a bunch of rich fucks.”

“I guess I forgot about that.” She furrows her brows at him. “You really didn’t know he was cheating on me?”

“Nikki, I swear, I had no idea.”

Just as she was about to say something else, the wind had picked up. Everything happened really fast from there. Sirens had started to go off, a hurricane was whipping up the coast. It wasn’t supposed to, it was supposed to travel out east, but it didn’t. Harry and Nikki had grabbed onto one another, but it wasn’t enough to stay grounded. They both got flipped over the side of the boat. Nikki had just grabbed at one of the life boats that was attached to the side in time. She pulled the tag, it inflated, and they landed in the water. They were dragged under at first, trying desperately to hang onto the raft. Nikki wasn’t sure how much longer she could hang on for, though. Everything around her started to fade. All she could see was her hand grasping around the rope of the raft before everything black.

//

Nikki’s eyes fluttered open when she felt water splashing on her face. She sits up slowly when she realizes she was drifting along the shoreline. She stands up and tries to figure out her surroundings. She remembered the storm, but she could have been blown all the way to Cuba. She looks to her left and sees the orange raft. Her backpack was next to it, thank god. She stands up slowly and goes over to the raft to flip it over. She steps back when she sees Harry laying there.

“Fuck.” She breathes and kneels down next to him. She almost forgot he was swept away with her. She checks his pulse first, he’s alive. She starts performing CPR, just the chest compressions. Before long he’s coughing up water. “Oh, thank god.”

“What…what happened?” He sits up slowly.

“We got…blown off the boat, I think. There was a big storm that wasn’t properly forecasted. I wonder if anyone else got thrown off like we did.” She looks around, but doesn’t see anyone else. “I have no idea where we are.” She opens her backpack. Everything was wet, but still useful. “My phone’s fully charges and working.”

“How?”

“I have one of those waterproof cases.” She squints at it, raising it up. “No signal.” She digs through her bag and finds a small baggie.

“What’s that?”

“Personal hot spot.” She turns it on and connects her phone. “The signal’s weak, but it’s there.” She stands up and starts walking around. “Map app won’t work.” She groans. “Fuck, I just wanna know where we are!”

“Try calling the ship director, I bet they’re taking attendance for safety measures.”

“Do you happen to know what that number is?”

“No.”

“Well, neither do I. Let me call my partner. The WIFI calling should work.” She taps the number and puts the phone on speaker.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”

“Dan! Thank god you answered.”

“Woah, Reese, what’s wrong?”

“There was a freak storm down in Florida…I got thrown off the boat. I just woke up ashore somewhere, but I have no idea where…could be an island off the coast, or we could be in another part of Florida.”

“Can you try sending me your location?”

“The map app won’t work…”

“But you might be able to send your location over iMessage. Are you alone?”

“No…a man named Harry Styles got thrown over with me. He’s a friend of Kyle’s.”

“Gross.”

“There are worse people to be stranded with.” She smirks at Harry.

“Are either of you hurt?”

“I’m a little achy, but nothing’s sprained or broken. Harry, are you alright?”

“Yeah, m’fine.” He says as he stands up.

“Alright, I’ve got your location…shit.”

“Dan.” She sighs. “Where the fuck are we?”

“Cuba.”

“How the fuck did we end up in Cuba?!” She shouts. “The ferry here would be an overnight trip for fuck sake.”

“Don’t know. I’m looking into it now and it looks like a pretty powerful hurricane swept you guys away. It’s like it chewed you up and spit you out. You’re lucky to be alive. I have the name of the cruise ship, since you left me the contact info, I’ll alert them right away. I’m sure they’re taking stock of who might be missing. I’ll have to get special clearance to get you out of there. It could take a few days. Do you have any supplies?”

“Yeah, I’ve got my mini water purifier, and a couple of bottles, some fruit and granola bars…basic essentials.”

“Okay, stay where you are, try to make a shelter in case more rain comes. Don’t use your phone at all unless I call you. I don’t want your battery running out. I’ll get you out of there, Nik.”

“Thank you, Dan. You’re amazing.”

“I’m sorry your vacation got ruined. I’m sure Captain will give you an extended leave.”

“I’m not worried about that right now. It’ll be dark in a few hours and we need to get to building a shelter like you said. Keep me updated.”

“Will do, stay safe.”

Nikki hangs up the phone and looks around.

“What are you looking for?”

“Drift wood. We can use some and the raft to make a little shelter to huddle under. We also need to make a fire to stay warm. If we’re going to be out here for a few days, we need to think smart.”

“What if there are wild animals running around, or-“

“Harry.” She puts her hands on his shoulders. “I know this is really scary, but you can’t freak out, okay? Did you ever read Hatchet growing up?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Okay, so, that little boy got stranded in a fucking forest in Canada…in winter! We’re at least on a warm beach. We can still wash up, and I have a mini water purifier. We’ll be okay. I just need you to not freak out. I’ll need your help.”

“Okay, but after we’re rescued you better let me freak out as much as I want.”

“Deal.” She sighs and goes to her backpack. “Here, put on some sunscreen.” She hands him the sprayable can.

“What are you, the fucking grandmother from Halloween Town? Is that a bottomless bag?” He chuckles as he sprays himself with the lotion.

“No, but I’m a detective that helps people that go missing, so I’ve learned some things along the way. I never leave my house without a stocked bag.”

//

The two work together to move the raft back so it wasn’t near the water. They’re able to find some wood sturdy enough to prop it up for a small shelter. Next, they work on making a fire. Luckily, Nikki’s lighter was still working. Harry was able to keep things going as she checked their supplies.

“We’ll have to ration a bit. Apples are high in carbs, so they should keep us full enough. I’ve got two bottles of water in here. Once we finish them we can use the purifier. I even have two travel toothbrushes and toothpaste in here.” She smiles. “I have deodorant too, but no soap, sorry. We’ll just have to use the salt water to keep us clean.” She furrows her brows as she keeps looking at everything. “I have granola bars as well. Ugh, thank god I had my period last week. I’d be pissed if I had to deal with that too.” She takes out a couple of tampons. “Besides, these’ll be great fire starters.”

“I guess things could be a lot worse.” He sighs and sits next to her once the fire is good to go. “We’ll probably have to take turns watching it, huh?”

“Most likely.” She starts laughing.

“What could possibly be funny?” He asks.

“Nothing, just…wouldn’t it be hilarious if we were just in some rich family’s backyard?” She looks behind them. “I know we’re not, but it would be funny.”

“Yeah.” He smirks. “Well, now that most of the excitement is over, I’m gonna go take a leak.”

“Hey, if you shit, make sure you dig a hole first and cover it. We don’t need to attract animals.”

“Not that I have to do that right now, but you don’t have toilet paper in there do you?”

“I have a packet of tissues, but they need to dry out a bit. Got pads too, those could work…but I may hog them since I have more areas to wipe than you do.”

“Fair enough. Suppose I could use some leaves if need be. I’ll be right back.” He disappears into a discrete area so he can wee, and then comes back to find her rubbing lotion onto her bare arms and legs.

“I’m really glad I wore shorts today and not a dress.” He sits down next to her. “Don’t worry about your luggage back on the ship, either, Dan will make sure everything will get back to us.” She takes out a gun from her bag.

“Holy shit.” He flinches.

“Relax, it’s a flare gun. I’m saving it to use for when they come for us. No use in using it now. I don’t really feel like getting thrown into a Cuban prison.”

“Yeah, that’s not exactly on my bucket list.” Harry chuckles. “What did you do to the water bottles?”

“Oh, I used a marker to mark off how much we should drink at a time to conserve it.”

“God, if there was ever someone to get stranded with, I’m glad it’s you. You’ve thought of everything.”

“I’ve just been trained well.” She shrugs. “Wish I had some blankets or something. It’s gonna be shit sleeping on the sand.”

“We could lay our clothes out and sleep on those.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. We’d create more body heat if we’re almost naked.”

“Oh, so we’re cuddling?” He smirks.

“Not cuddling, surviving.” She corrects him.  “We could drag out some of the larger leaves too. Make a pellet of sorts.” She stands up. “Come on, let’s go search for some.”

“Okay.” He watches as she grabs a lipstick out of her bag. “Freshening up?”

“It’s to mark the trees so we don’t get lost.” She deadpans, and he follows her into the unknown territory.

//

“Four days?!” Nikki shouts into her phone.

“I’m sorry, that was the quickest I could get clearance for a plane to Cuba.”

“But it’s a rescue mission, Dan!”

“Yeah, into a non U.S. territory, Nikki. I spoke with the cruise ship director, you were the only two unaccounted for. Your things are safe. I flew down to Florida today and gathered both of your things. I made sure to get you both a full refund on your tickets. I also contacted the people on your emergency contact lists so they’re informed. It’s going to be okay, you just need to survive on that beach. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Try to get some sleep. I’ll call you in the morning if I get any new information.”

Nikki sighs heavily and lays back under the raft. Her and Harry had made a decent enough pellet with leaves so they could keep their clothes on.

“Four days we’re going to be stuck out here.” She shakes her head. “This is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry lays back next to her.

“If I hadn’t stormed off from breakfast, we never would’ve been swept off the ship!”

“Hey,” he turns on his side to look at her better, “don’t do that. Neither of us had any idea a hurricane was coming. At least we know someone’s coming for us. So we’ll feel a little hungry and maybe we’ll get bored. Let’s just pretend we’re on a really remote vacation.” He smiles at her.

“I have to pee.” She stands up and finds a spot to do her business before joining him back on the ground. “Let’s try to get some sleep.” She rolls away from him.

“Didn’t you say we needed to keep each other warm?”

“Yeah…I…prefer to be the little spoon.” She smutters. Harry wraps his arm around her, and gets his leg between hers. “Hold on.” She sits up and takes her bra off under shirt, then she takes her shorts off. “Need something to put under my head…and I can’t sleep with this thing on.”

“Good idea.” Harry peels his shirt off and puts it under his own head. They get back into position. She feels warmer with his bare chest against her back. “Goodnight, Nik.”

“Goodnight, Harry.”

//

The next morning, Harry wakes up alone. He sits up and gets his shirt back on. He squints towards the water and sees Nikki in her bra and underwear. She was about calf deep rinsing herself. She brushes her teeth and walks back towards their little campsite.

“Morning.” She says as she throws some wood on the fire. “Water’s warm. I was just cleaning off yesterday’s sunscreen.” She grabs the can and sprays her body, rubbing it in on certain spots. “What?” She noticed he was staring at her.

“N-nothing, uh, where’s that other toothbrush?”

“Here.” She tosses it to him, along with the toothpaste.

“Thanks.” He clears his throat and gets up. When he comes back, he sees that she’s put her other clothes back on. “So…how should we handle not dying today?”

“Think we need to treat it as a beach day, but in the shade. I don’t want us getting dehydrated.”

“I can’t sit around for four days, I’ll go bananas.” He sighs. “Can’t we go for a walk?”

“Sure, but we shouldn’t go too far.” She looks at her watch. “This’ll tell me when we hit a mile, how does that sound?”

“Works for me.” He shrugs. The two go for a walk. Nikki puts her phone and hotspot in her back pocket. “What’s your percentage at?”

“Eighty. I put it on airplane mode last night to conserve it. I know it won’t last a full four days, but I’m hoping Dan can get here sooner than that. Special clearance for a fucking rescue mission.” She scoffs. “This is ridiculous! Who’d you put as your emergency contact?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Harry.”

“It’s Kyle, alright?”

“Wow, so you can barely look at the guy, but you put him down for an emergency contact.”

“I’m British, my family lives in the U.K., he’s the only person close enough to me here that I could put down. Who was yours?”

“Alex.”

“She’s so annoying, I don’t know how you stand to be friends with her.”

“I happen to love her, so it seems like a you problem.”

“She’s never been nice to me.”

“It’s because she likes you and you don’t like her back, and she’s not great with dealing with it.”

“She likes me?!”

“Yeah, she thinks you’re cute.” Nikki shrugs. “Think you were still seeing Tina when I first introduced her to you, and then you broke up and didn’t make a move, she was sort of hurt, but to be fair she didn’t make a move either.”

“She’s pretty, but she’s not my type…sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. Can’t help you like, you know? I still can’t believe I was stupid enough to fall for a lawyer, especially with the business that I’m in.”

“You know, he used to talk about you all the time. He loved how were this strong, independent woman who was just…badass. He saw you as fearless, and he really liked that. We’re both needy guys…I think the busier you got, he just didn’t know what to do with himself. I personally would have tried to talk to you about it and not my colleague, but that’s just me.”

“He’s a brilliant lawyer, but he sure is a fucking moron. Has he…mentioned me at all since we broke up?”

“I know he felt like shit at first, but…th-the woman, Katie, moved in with him when I moved out…I’m sorry.”

“Well, they’ve been together nine months, perfectly acceptable amount of time to be together before moving in. I bet she never has nightmares.” She looks down at her watch. “We should turn around.” They do, and get back to walking towards their things.

“I know you were blindsided, but…I think things happen for a reason. You two weren’t supposed to get married. I…and this is just my inner psychologist speaking, but when I’d observe you two, you just never really seemed all that compatible. Especially as time went on. Your witty banter turned into hushed arguments. I think when two people get too comfortable, they’re too scared to break it off and start all over.”

“I wanted to marry him. He was the love of my life, Harry. And he…he ripped me to shreds. In my profession, it’s pretty male dominated, or there’s a ton of lesbians, which is fine, but…sometimes I don’t always feel like a woman first. Kyle…Kyle always made me feel like a woman first, and a detective second. It made me feel special.”

“Nik…he…he learned how to treat you like that because of me. He was constantly asking me for advice on how to deal with you.”

“How to deal with me?” They get back to their camp. “Didn’t realize I needed to be dealt with.” She huffs.

“See, that’s your problem right there. You’re extremely hot headed! Are you, like, the bad cop at work? Do you get into the suspect’s face, and scream at them?”

“No, I keep my cool at work. No one gives you information when you yell at them.”

“You’re constantly jumping to conclusions, Nikki. You look down on people when they can’t figure things out right away. He wanted to be with you, but he didn’t know how. So I helped him.”

“Right, are you done pointing out my flaws now?” She rolls her eyes.

“I’m not trying to do that. I just think-“

“That’s your problem. You never stop thinking. You never do. You’re a fucking wallflower, Harry. You come off cool with your tattoos and your nail polish and your rings, but underneath it all you’re a shy little boy who never speaks up when he should.”

“And you like to push people away so much that every word you spit stings.”

“I think we should not talk until it’s time to eat later.” She says, looking away from him.

“That’s your best idea yet.” He says, and storms off. She watches him peel his cloths off, stripping to his boxers, and dive into the water.

//

They share an apple in the midafternoon. She was able to cut it up with her swiss-army knife. They didn’t say anything to each other. Nikki and Harry used to have a decent enough friendship. He would often watch a movie with her and Kyle, or he’d come out to the bar to hang out with their other friends. They got know each other well for the most part. She hated feeling such disdain towards him, but right now he was the only punching bag in sight, and she was abusing him for it. Around three in the afternoon, she comes over to sit with him.

“You should put more sunscreen on your face.” She hands him the can. “I just reapplied.”

“Thanks.” He spritzes it into his hands and works it into his skin. “Look, about before…I’m sorry we keep getting into these heated debates. I truly think you deserve better than Kyle, and it kills me to see you still so hurt and hung up.”

“I’m just…grieving the loss of the last three years still. I’m sorry for flipping out so much.”

“You get a pass while we’re stuck here. It’s not easy to keep your cool while you’re stranded.” He nudges her and she chuckles. “Can we just call a truce for the time being?”

“Yeah, definitely.” She smiles at him. “What do you say we go with that beach vacation idea of yours, and build some sand castles?”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.”

The two get to work on building sand castles, and laughing when they knocked them over afterwards. It was good to exert a little energy so that they could sleep that night. Just like the night before, Harry cuddled Nikki with his bare chest pressed to her covered back. They didn’t get any updates from Dan that day other than an iMessage that things were still a go for a rescue plane to come in a couple of days.

Harry woke up in the middle of the night feeling cold. When he reached for Nikki, she’s not there. He sits up in a panic. He hasn’t really panicked yet since he woke up the other day because she told him to stay calm. Without her, he wasn’t sure how to stay calm in such a stressful situation. Yes, they knew people were coming for them, but it was still their job to survive on this unknown beach. His breathing slows when he sees her laying closer to the fire, staring up at the stars. He gets up, without grabbing his shirt to put back on, and goes to lay next to her.

“Nearly gave me a heart attack.” He says, turning his head in her direction.

“Sorry, I woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright…just got a little cold is all.” She hums her response without looking at him. “Are you looking at the constellations?”

“Not necessarily.” She sighs. “The only time I’ve ever seen the sky this dark, like, without light pollution, was when I was twenty-one. I got to go to Israel for a birthright trip with my older sister. We camped out in the desert. We all stood in this big circle and preyed and reflected on where we were. I had never seen so many stars.” She turns to look at him now. “I was so overwhelmed that I cried. It was so beautiful.” She looks back up at the night sky. “What you said earlier, about things happening for a reason…I think you’re right. Maybe it wasn’t a cruise that I needed to clear my head…maybe it was getting stranded out here with zero distractions. That’s all the cruise was, a big distraction, but now…being out here…my head’s never been more clear.” She takes a deep breath. “I think I’m done mourning that relationship. The good was good, but the bad was bad…we weren’t right for each other, and I think I’m starting to really see that now. I…I’ll never forgive him for hurting me the way he did, but I want him to be happy, and if that other woman makes him happy and can give him the things that I couldn’t, then, well, good for him.”

“That’s a very adult way of looking at things.” Harry smirks. “It’s amazing what a little unplugging can do for people? A lot of the time I tell my patients to think of a calm, happy place when I have them close their eyes. Nine times out of ten guess what they say their happy place is?”

“Where?”

“The beach. And not at a resort or anything fancy, they just see soft sand, warm water, and a place for them to just sit and breathe for a while. It’s good you were able to come to those conclusions on your own, Nikki.”

“You helped me get there.” She looks at him with a smile. “Guess I respond better to tough love than anything else.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many stars either, it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is.” She sighs. Her lips start to quiver, and she sits up.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harry sits up as well and gently rubs her back as she starts to cry. “You know, other than the fact that we’re stuck on an underdeveloped area of Cuba.”

Nikki chokes out a laugh, and turns to look at him.

“It’s just…I’m so lonely, Harry.” She sniffles as more tears pour from her eyes. “I love my job, and I know I have this tough exterior, but…it’s so fucking hard to meet people in my line of work. I feel like I just latched on to Kyle…and when we ended things I was like what the fuck am I gonna do now, you know?”

“You’ve got Alex…and your partner, Dan…”

“As close as I am with him, I’d never date my partner. Things get too complicated that way. Alex is my best friend, she’s not someone I can be in a relationship with. And I can’t…talk to her about everything. With Kyle, like, he understood where I was coming from sometimes with my cases.”

“You know you can always talk to me. I was sort of…sad that we lost touch when you and Kyle broke up.”

“I hated you by association.”

“Clearly.” He keeps his arm securely around her shoulders. “You and I aren’t so different, Nik. And…sometimes I need someone to talk to too. I listen and help with such heavy shit all day, it’s hard to shake it off and pretend like everything’s normal. I’d like for us to be friends again.”

“I’d like that too.” She wipes her tears and gives him a soft smile. “I’ve missed hanging out with you, you were always so much fun when we’d go grab drinks.”

“Wish we had some booze here. It would certainly take the edge off.”

“Wait!” She stands up. “I think I have a few nips in my bag! I didn’t say anything before because I didn’t want us to get dehydrated while we were out in the sun. Hold on.” Nikki quickly goes over to her bag and pulls out two nips, and then goes back over to Harry. “Grapefruit vodka, it’s really good.”

“Anything sounds good right now, honestly.”

They clink the little plastic bottles, open them, and down them. Normally something of this size wouldn’t have an effect on either of them, it was just a double shot. However, with little food over the last couple of days, the alcohol went straight to their heads.

“I don’t know why people hate on grapefruit so much. It’s sweet and it’s got a kick.” Harry says.

“It’s the vodka.” Nikki says. “Vodka makes everything better.”

“Scientifically speaking, it doesn’t. It’s a depressant, and a poison, so technically-“ In an instant Nikki was straddling Harry and putting a hand over his mouth.

“Hey, shrinky-dink, shut up, yeah?” He nods his head yes. “Good.” She gets off of him and sighs as she lays back into the sand.

“Did you ever own shrinky dinks?” He asks, hugging his knees to his chest.

“What?”

“You know, those little plastic things you’d bake in the toaster, and then they’d harden into these little keychain things.”

“Oh my god! I remember the commercials for those! I always it, but my parents never bought stuff off infomercials.”

“We saw it in the store one day. I whined until my mum threw the box in the cart. Even though she was mad at me for behaving poorly, we had a blast making them together.” A few tears come to his eyes. “The first thing I’m gonna do when we get back is call her. She’s probably worried sick.” He wipes under his eyes.

“You know what I’m gonna do?”

“What?”

“Get a Big Mac from McDonald’s.” She looks up at him and they both start laughing. “Yup, gonna stuff my fucking face. Might sue the cruise company too, just to see if I can make a cool million and never have to work another day in my life.”

“Now that’s a brilliant idea. Might have to join in on that. Might just offer us a settlement so we don’t have to go through the whole court process.”

“That would be too easy. They’d say something like, ‘the hurricane was just as much of a surprise to us. We put on sirens’.” She scoffs.

“I think the sirens are the last thing I remember hearing before you woke me up. Can’t believe I only have a few scrapes and bruises.”

“I know, we’re lucky the ropes from the raft didn’t get stuck around our necks.” She sits up.

“Extremely lucky…in all sorts of ways.” He puts his hand overs and gives it a squeeze. “Come on, we should try to get back to sleep. We need to look for more wood tomorrow for the fire.”

“Yeah, alright.” She sighs and they both stand up. They head back over to the shelter and lay down. “Do you think…would it be alright if I just rest my head on your chest?”

“Sure, makes no difference to me.”

She gets comfortable, resting her head on his bare pec, her arm string across his stomach, and a leg over one of his. He puts his arm around her, keeping her close. They don’t say anything else to each other, they both just drift off, succumbing to sleep.

//

“God, I feel disgusting.” Nikki groans the next morning. “I wish I had a razor in here.” She mutters as she rummages through her bag.

“You’re telling me, I usually like a clean shave because my facial hair grows in all patchy.”

“Actually, a little scruff suits you.” She says without looking at him. “I wouldn’t want you with a full beard, but just a little something looks nice.”

“Nikki.” Harry chuckles. “You don’t want me at all.” Her head whips in his direction and he blushes.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“N-nothing.” He clears his throat. “Uh, why do you think you need a razor anyways?”

“Because my pit hair is starting to grow out, and when it grows out I sweat more, and if I sweat more I’ll stink more.” She says in a quick breath. “Also, my leg hair is starting to get prickly, and I have sensitive skin so it itches like crazy.”

“You could try rubbing your legs with some of the mud and salt water…that might help.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” She sighs. “Think I’m just gonna go for a swim and clean up that way. You know how I said I was going to get a Big Mac?” Harry nods yes. “That’s now the second thing I’m going to do.”

“What’s the first?”

“Shower, in fact, washing my hair is the first on the list.” She takes out of the elastic and shakes it out. “it’s all greasy, but the salt water’s been good for it, I think.” She peels off her shirt and wiggles out of her shorts before walking down to the water.

Harry hadn’t been able to relieve himself in almost a week, and it was really starting to get to him. It especially wasn’t easy because he was around someone like Nikki. Harry always thought she was beautiful, and he thought Kyle was the luckiest bastard for scooping her up. When he saw her come into the suite that morning, he hid how overjoyed he felt. He hated fighting with her, but he was grateful for any interaction he was having with her. He missed her. In all honesty, his plan was to reach out to her another month or so from now, reconnect, tell her how he felt about her…how he really felt about her. It took him nearly a year to figure out why he liked being her friend so much, and why he was so happy for Kyle. It was because he liked Nikki…as more than a friend. But he wasn’t the type of guy to make a move on his best friend’s girl. He wanted to throttle Kyle. Harry truly had no idea he was treating on Nikki. He would have knocked him off his ass and gotten him to either stop, or just break up with Nikki before anyone had to get hurt.

He decides to get up and join her for a swim. He takes his shorts off and goes down to the water in his boxers. He dives in to submerge his body, it was incredibly refreshing. He stands up so he’s only about calf deep. They both agreed not to go too far in because there could be sharks or other predators.

“Think I’m about done with this underwear.” She says to him. “Might go commando for the rest of the time we’re here.”

“You could walk around naked for all I care.” He smirks, and she splashes him. “Oi, I was kidding!”

“Mhm, sure.” She rolls here eyes. “I’m gonna go dry off, and then we can look for more wood.”

“Okay.” He nods and watches her walk out of the water.

They’re able to find more wood later on to keep the fire going. They split a granola bar, and they both sigh once it’s gone. The sun was setting, and Nikki couldn’t help but take a picture of how beautiful it was. Just when she was going to put it down, Dan calls her.

“Hey, Dan.”

“Hey! Great news, I’ll be on the rescue plane first thing in the morning. How are you two holding up?”

“We’re…okay. Mostly just hungry. Bring lots of food.”

“I’ll try. The medic may not want to overwhelm your stomachs. We’re gonna bring you both right to the hospital to get checked out. Your bills are going to be paid by the cruise ship company. If I were you I’d threaten to sue to get some money out of them. They’ve been able to keep this story under wraps and I’m sure they’d like to keep it that way.”

“Okay. I have a flare gun, what time should I set it off so you can find us?”

“Try for around 7AM, we should be close by then.”

“Sounds good, thank you.” She hangs up and looks at Harry. “They’re coming for us bright and early.” She nearly squeals.

“That’s incredible news.” He sighs with relief. “Think we could eat some more food?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. It’s like, you know how the night before it snows you don’t do your homework, but you don’t end up getting a snow day so you’re fucked?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’d rather not eat the food just in case something happens.”

“Fair enough.” He shrugs. “Think I’m just bored anyways.” She sits down next to him.

“Me too. We’ve already played twenty questions, never have I ever…I think if we play another game I’ll go bananas.”

“We could have ourselves a wank.”

“Very funny.”

“M’serious, Nik.” He looks at her. “I think I’ll go bananas if I don’t come soon.”

“Harry, it’s only been a few days…”

“Yeah, but I haven’t done anything in over a week because I thought it would be disrespectful while we were sharing a room on the boat.”

“Alright, so go behind a tree and jerk it.” She shrugs.

“Yeah, I could do that…or…”

“Harry Styles.” She gasps, a smile growing on her face. “Are you seriously suggesting that I stick my hand down your sandy pants, and give you a hand job?”

“I’d be getting you off at the same time so-“

“Are you kidding?! I’m all stubbly down there, and I probably smell disgusting, and-“

Just as she had done to him the night before, he was pinning her down and putt his hand over her mouth.

“Nikki, if you really don’t want to, I’ll drop it and go behind a bush and handle things myself, but I have no problem with a little bit of hair, and I’m just offering to finger you, my face doesn’t need to go anywhere near you if you don’t want it to.” He lifts his hand away from her mouth, but continues to hover over her.

“It’s just…we’re friends.”

“Friends help each other out, don’t they?” She nods her head yes. “Do you want to? Don’t let me pressure you.”

“I…I want to, I mean…getting off doesn’t sound terrible. And it could be a good time killer.”

“Right.” He smirks and moves to lay on the ground next to her. She rolls onto her side and so does he. “Can I…touch your chest?”

“Yeah, I’ll take my bra off, but I’m leaving my shirt on. I just…I feel gross, you know?”

“Whatever makes you more comfortable.” Once she’s situated, she unbuttons her shorts. “I went commando today…put my underwear in the fire.”

Harry nods and undoes his shorts. He was a little nervous.

“Can I kiss you?”

“No.”

“We’ve been brushing our teeth, what’s the big deal?”

“Kissing would make it more intimate, Harry. I don’t want this to be some big, emotional thing.”

He furrows his brows, but chooses not to speak. Instead, he reaches his hand inside her shorts and starts to rub at her folds. Her breath hitches, but she reaches him. Her hand slides inside his boxers and she starts to pump his hardening cock.

“You’re already hard.” She breathes. Their faces were only an inch or so apart.

“M’turned on.” He grunts as her thumb swipes over his tip. He feels her getting wet, and he drags it up to her clit. She bites her bottom lip and twists her hand around his cock. He slides his middle finger inside of her and her mouth falls open. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

“Haven’t done this in a while.” Her hips buck in his direction. “Feels nice. Use two.”

“Are you, ngh, sure?”

“Yes.”

He slides a second finger inside of her and uses his thumb on her clit, applying just enough pressure as he presses circles into it. A moan leaves her lips, and for the first time he was hearing because of something he was doing, and not through the walls of his old apartment. It just makes him work harder, curling his fingers up inside her.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” She mewls. “Don’t stop.”

He presses his forehead to hers and pinches his eyes closed. He was getting closer. His cock was slick with precoma, and she was pumping him perfectly.

“Shit, Nikki.” He moans, and it makes her own closed eyes pop open. She had never really heard a guy genuinely moan before, and she thought it was hot, really, really hot. His fingers were petting against her g-spot in just the right way. He opens his eyes and sees her already looking at him. “Is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah, just…say my name like that again.” Her hips were grinding against his hand. “I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too.” He pants. “Fuck, Nikki.” He moans again. He bites his bottom lip to ground himself.

“Oh my god, Harry!” She cries out as she comes around his fingers, and she feels warmth against her hand. He had also come to his release. He slowly takes his hand away, and she does the same. “Shit.” She breathes and sits up. “I, uh, I need to go pee, excuse me.”

He watches her grab some tissues, and she goes to her designated bathroom area. Harry lays back under the raft and tries to catch his breath. He could clean himself up later.

//

The next morning went by painfully slow. They were up at sunrise in anticipation of the plane coming for them. Nikki’s phone and hotspot had finally died. They made sure to put the fire out safely, and once 7AM hit Nikki shot the flare gun. About ten minutes after that a small plane flew over them, and a rope ladder was thrown out.

“It’s here, we’re saved!” Nikki exclaims, throwing her arms around Harry. He holds her tight for a moment. “I’ll climb up first, okay?”

Harry nods and watches as she starts moving up the ladder, her backpack slung on her back. He climbs up after her, and they’re both pulled inside. Nikki falls into Dan’s arms.

“Thought I was gonna have to go through getting a new partner.” He mutters into her hair. “I’m so happy you’re okay.”

“Me too.”

“How you holding up, Harry?” Dan asks him as the medic checks Harry over.

“I’m alright, I’m feeling really tired, though.”

“So am I.” Nikki says.

“Rest up, we’re headed to a good hospital in Florida.” Dan says, keeping Nikki close to him.

The next time Harry wakes up, he’s in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. Kyle was sitting by his side. Harry groans as he looks over at him.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Kyle says. “I flew down here as soon as they called me, man. They said you were severely dehydrated, and you had way too much sun, even with all the sunscreen you guys were using. They want to keep you overnight for a psychological evaluation.”

“Makes sense.” Harry sighs. “We’re bound to have some shared trauma, nightmares, remembering certain parts of being thrown off a fucking cruise ship, you know, normal stuff.”

“I haven’t been able to see her yet. I guess Dan’s been in with her, trying to get more info on what happened.”

“Is she awake?”

“I think so…I’ve walked by her room a few times. Did, uh, did anything happen between you two out there?”

“Right, because being stranded is super romantic.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“M’serious, man, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know how you feel about her. The way you’d look at her sometimes…I could see it.”

“Nothing happened.” Harry swallows. “We were out there as friends, and we came back as friends.” Harry sits up a bit. “Is your girlfriend here?”

“No, she’s back at home. She was, uh, very understanding of me wanting to come down here and make sure you both we alright.” Harry nods at that. “If…if something did happen, like, if the next person she ends up being with is you…well, I’d be alright with that.”

“Oh, well, thank god for that. I was really worried about how you’d feel about her moving on.” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Kyle. “You really fucked her up, you know that? She’s not going to be happy to see you.”

“I know what I did was wrong, but I still care about her wellbeing. I’m gonna go check if I can see her now.” He squeezes Harry’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Kyle stands up and goes down the hall to Nikki’s room. Dan was no longer sitting in there, so he figured it was now or never. He knocks on the door, and she sits up when she sees him.

“Kyle?”

“Hey.” He comes in cautiously. “When Dan called me…I got down to Florida as soon as I could.”

“Yeah? Where’s Claudia?”

“Back home…how are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” Nikki sighs. “I’m not roughed up or anything, I guess we were really dehydrated, though. Must have been from all the sun because I had my water purifier…must not work as well with really salty water.”

“I was really worried about you, Nik.” Kyle starts sniffling as tears come to his eyes. “I would have never forgiven myself if you died and the last words you said to me were that you hated me.” He takes her hand in his. “I miss you so much. I hope…I hope we can find a way to be friends.”

“You can’t be serious.” She scoffs and takes her hand away. “You come here, make things about you, and then ask me to be your friend? You cheated on me for six months, Kyle, six months! And you still had the nerve to propose to me! You broke me in so many ways, and I’ve finally been able to put myself back together. Getting stuck out there was almost a blessing. It gave me a lot of the clarity that I needed.”

“I didn’t think you’d still go on the cruise…if I had, I never would have sold Harry the ticket. You must’ve been so mad when you saw him.”

“I was…but he was the perfect person to get stuck out there with.” She shrugs.

“Did anything happen between you two?” He chews on his bottom lip. “I saw him before you, and he said nothing happened, but…he’s a terrible liar. He said you went in as friends, and come out the same way, or something.”

“Well, he’s not wrong about that.” Nikki smirks. “You really wanna know what happened between us?” Kyle nods yes. “Too bad.”

“What?”

“You don’t have the right to know. I meant it when I said I hated you, Kyle. I do, I hate you. It was very nice of you to come down here and make sure we were both okay. I actually appreciate it, but I’ll never forgive you for what you did. Cheating…it’s just not something I can forgive.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Well…I…I really am glad you’re alright. Did they tell you when you’d be able to go home?”

“In a couple of days. They’re keeping us overnight, and then they’re sending in a shrink to evaluate us. Standard procedure.”

“If you need anything at all when you get home…any help suing the cruise ship company, please don’t hesitate to ask. I could help you pro bono.”

“My god, how selfless.” She rolls her eyes. “Go home to Claudia, Kyle.”

“Bye, Nikki.” He lingers for a moment, and then leaves. A few tears roll down her cheeks, but not because of him. She just…missed Harry and wanted to see how he was.

//

Nikki and Harry weren’t given much time together during their evaluations. They were each spoken to separately, and when they were brought into the same room, they had to speak to the psychologist directly. Nikki desperately wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but she wasn’t really given the chance. Harry was able to catch her in her room before they left the hospital. They were to go directly to the airport to head home.

“Hey.” He says to her.

“Hi.” She says as she zips up her bag. “I think I’m sitting with Dan on the plane.” She swallows.

“Right.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Um, listen, when we get home…don’t be afraid to talk to me. Like, if you have a nightmare or something, don’t be afraid to call. I won’t care what time it is.”

“That’s nice of you, thanks, but I’ll be alright. It’s no different than seeing some bad shit at a crime scene.”

“No, it’s not.” He sighs. “You might-“

“Harry, please.” She shakes her head as she grabs her bags. “I’m a big girl, I think I can handle what happened. It’s not like it was traumatic.” She scoffs.

“Yes it was, are you kidding me? A hurricane-“

“I was there, I know what happened.” She shakes her. “I appreciate you being so nice, but it happened, and it’s over now. Back to reality.”

What she said carried a lot of weight. She was coming down from her cloud, and she realized her and Harry needed to part ways here. Every time she looked at him, she saw Kyle, and she just couldn’t deal with that right now. Harry knew what she meant too. He was extremely disappointed. Even though he was the one that suggested they do what they did that night, he was feeling a lot of emotions about it, almost regret because he knew he’d never get another chance to feel her like that again.

//

“Captain, I swear I’m fine. I just want to get back to work.”

“I know you do, Reese, but you’ve been through a lot, and-“

“Sir, not to be disrespectful, but I disagree.”

“Nikki.” He sighs. “Take another week off, alright? Work will be waiting here until you get back. I’m happy to see you, but I’ll be happier once I know you’re home. It’s an order, Reese.”

She sighs, but does as he says. She couldn’t really argue with the captain of her precinct. She tells Dan she’ll be out for another week, and then heads home. She hadn’t spoken to Harry, but to be fair he hadn’t made an attempt to reach out to her. He wanted to give her some space, and let her come to him if she wanted to. By the third night she woke herself up screaming and in a cold sweat, she knew she had a problem. She kept having flashes of being dragged under water and not being able to breathe. She finally worked up the nerve to call him…at 3AM.

“Nikki?”

She could tell she had woken him up, but it felt so good to hear his voice.

“Hi.”

“Are you alright, love?”

“No.” She swallows. “No, I keep having nightmares.”

“So do I.” He sighs. “Do you want me to swing by?”

“No, that’s okay…I kinda just wanted to hear your voice. I’m sorry if that’s weird.”

“It’s not…it’s nice to hear yours too.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t reached out until now. I feel like I’ve been trying to pretend nothing happened.”

“A lot of people try to cope that way, but repressing shit isn’t healthy, Nik.”

“So I’ve come to realize. It’s crazy, like, I work with all of these victims, and I’ve never really understood how they couldn’t remember certain things, but I get it now.”

“Trauma’s funny like that.” He says softly. “Have you been back to work?”

“I tried, but my captain told me to take another week off. What about you?”

“I’m doing the same. I’m too distracted to properly help my patients. They’ve been very understanding.”

“That’s good.” She chews her bottom lip. “So, you’ll be home tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I could come by in the afternoon? It would be nice to talk…maybe we’ve been having the same nightmares. I keep waking up screaming and sweaty.”

“Are you dreaming about being dragged under the water?”

“Yeah…”

“So have I.” He sighs. “Come over around two tomorrow, yeah? I’ll text you my new address.”

“Okay, that sounds good, thanks, Harry.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Well…I’ll let you get back to sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Nik.”

//

Nikki knocked on Harry’s door promptly at 2PM. She was just in a simple quarter zip and jeans, along with her hair up in a messy bun. Harry opens the door wearing a tee shirt and joggers.

“Hi.” He says.

“Hi.” She says.

He steps aside to let her in. They look at each other for a moment, it looks like they’re both about to speak, but they both close their mouths. There was so much to be said, but neither were sure how to articulate it. Her eyes well up with tears, and she rushes towards him, throwing her arms around his neck, crashing her lips to his. He wastes no time wrapping his arms around her, and returning the kiss. Even though her mouth was preoccupied, kissing him made her feel like she could breathe for the first time in days.

“I missed you.” She says, pressing her head into his chest.

“I missed you too.” He rests his chin on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry if that was weird, I just-“

He cups her cheeks so she’ll look up at him. He gives her a soft smile.

“Nikki, I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Yeah…I was pretty jealous of Kyle for a while. I’ve always thought you were wonderful. Feel like we have a lot in common.”

“We do.” She agrees.

“We don’t have to rush into anything…I’d rather us work on ways to not have nightmares and such, but…if you’d be willing to give it a try, I’d love to take you out sometime.”

“You wouldn’t feel weird…about Kyle?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I…I don’t think he’s really someone I want around anymore. I’d rather have you around.” He kisses her tenderly, sucking on her bottom lip for just a moment. “I really fucking like you.”

“I can see that.” She swallows. “I think…I think we could have a lot of fun together.” A smirk grows on her lips. “Just don’t become my therapist, or I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise.” He smirks, nuzzling his nose to hers. “Wouldn’t mind seeing how you use your handcuffs.”

“Remember when I called you a moron?” She chuckles. “I meant it.” She shoves him.

“I was kidding, relax.”

“Mhm, sure.” She rolls her eyes.

“Do you want some tea? We could sit and chat. I’ve been trying to record the dreams I’ve been having in a journal. I have my patients do it, so I figured I’d take my own advice.” He leads her into his kitchen and has her sit. “I keep having the same one: drowning.”

“I have that one, and then I have one where…where I wasn’t able to hold onto you.” She frowns as he gets his kettle going. “You know…I had less night terrors sleeping on that beach with you than I have in a long time.”

“Can I ask…would Kyle hold you at night?” Harry sets a mug in front of her before he sits down.

“Um, usually when I’d first fall asleep he’d spoon me for a bit, but he’s not a cuddly sleeper, and he’d eventually roll over. We didn’t spend a lot of nights together because I’d usually wake him up by accident. What does any of that matter?”

“I held you all night while we were on the beach.” He puckers his lips in thought. “Do you have a weighted blanket?”

“No.”

“Do me a favor, get one. You may need the extra weight at night to keep you calm. They work wonders, I have one myself, and a body pillow. I’m a cuddly sleeper.”

“I’ll, um, I’ll look into that.” She takes a careful sip of her tea. “How can I get them stop? The nightmares.”

“Well, talking about it usually helps, and doing things like getting a weighted blanket can help. I think you’ve repressed a lot, Nikki…you need to talk about the things you see and feel.”

“It’s not that simple, Harry.” She sighs. “If anyone at work found out I was seeing a therapist-“

“If it’s that big of a deal…then don’t tell them.”

“Things have a way of getting out.”

“Then…just say you’re seeing me.”

“That’s not fair, though.”

“Nikki.” Harry sighs and places his hand on top of hers. “I’m not offering to be your therapist, I’m just offering to be someone that you can come to if you need to talk about something. M’a really good listener.” He smiles.

“I know you are…thank you. I just don’t want to come to you, and dump on you when people pay you to do that all day. Why should I burden you with my problems?”

“Oh, darling.” He raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. “Nothing about you is a burden. Tons of people feel that way, and that’s why they don’t want to talk to anyone, but once you get talking it just gets easier and easier. I always liked when you’d tell work stories…you could just tell me about the not so great stuff when it’s feeling really heavy.”

“So, if I come to you and say I just spent the day searching for a kid, and we found their dead body in the trunk of a car, you’d be okay with that?”

“Probably wouldn’t wanna chat about it over dinner, but sure.” He shrugs. “Nikki, I told you, I see people who have been through shit, victims and survivors, that stuff doesn’t scare me.”

“I may not open up right away.”

“That’s alright, we don’t always have to talk about the heavy stuff.” He smiles.

“What if I don’t wanna talk at all?” She mutters.

“Well, I don’t know if you remember what happened between us that one night on the beach, but I’m pretty good at not talking too.” He smirks.

“You know, if I had known you had liked me for a while, I wouldn’t have been such a jerk about kissing and stuff that night.”

“I was too blissed out with your hand wrapped around my prick to really care.”

Nikki licks her lips and swallows, looking at his lips briefly.

“You know what would be great?”

“What?”

“A tour of your apartment.”

“How rude of me to not offer when you first came in.” He stands up and extends his hand. She takes it, and lets him lead her around. He shows her the art on the walls, and the various books in his home office.

“Do you ever see patients here?” She asks as she sits down in one of his comfy chairs.

“God, no.” He shakes his head, leaning his bum on his desk. “Sometimes patients can grow certain attachments to their therapists, it’s better for them to not know where I live.”

“Right, because you’re the hot Dr. Styles.” She smirks. “Same thing happens to me sometimes. I’m usually the one they send in undercover to seduce some sick fuck.”

“That’s because you’re incredibly skilled and talented at what you do, Detective Reese.” Nikki stands up and wraps her arms around his neck. “You’re also insanely gorgeous, but that’s besides the point.” He kisses her nose. “Would you like to stay for dinner and watch a movie?”

“Yeah, I would.”

//

Five months later…

“Dan…what is this?” Nikki points to the plant Dan plopped down on her desk.

“It’s a bonsai tree, they’re super easy to take care of. Consider it your first house warming gift.” He beams at her.

“Aw, you old softie, thank you.” She gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Allie can’t wait for our next game night, by the way. She was thinking we could have you two over to play Clue once you’re all moved in.”

“Yeah! That sounds great. Oh! I wrote down that recipe for that dessert I made for her.” She grabs an envelope from her desk. “That cookies and cream pudding pie.”

“God, thanks.” Dan takes the envelope. “She’s been dying to make it, but she wants to make it the way you did so she can start selling it at the bakery and call it ‘The Nikki’.” He chuckles.

“She’s too sweet, honestly. If you don’t put a ring on it, I will.”

Things had been going really well for Nikki. Thanks to Harry, she had gotten better about opening up about things. It was so slow going at first, but eventually she got to talking, and it helped her be a better detective. Being Harry’s girlfriend was amazing. It didn’t take much for her to fall head over heels in love with him. And there was no denying that he was gaga over her. That’s why after just five months of dating, they were moving into their very own town home together. It didn’t feel fast to either of them because they had known each other for years, and they slept at each other’s places all the time as it was. It just made sense to move in together. They were in love, and were a great pair. Alex had even gotten used to it, and Harry set her up with one of his friends, Ben. Their friends helped them move, and Nikki put her new bonsai tree in her kitchen bay window. Everyone left after having some pizza and beer.

“Can you believe this is all ours?” He says into her ear as he wraps his arms around her from behind.

“No.” She giggles as he nibbles on her earlobe. “But I’m really happy.”

“Me too.” He hums. He sponges kisses to her neck and sinks his teeth into her skin.

“Harry.” She whines. “We need to unpack.”

“Don’t wanna.” He mumbles into her skin.

“Can we at least do the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom? You know, the, um, essentials.” She swallows. Harry was often very affectionate with her, and she liked it. She really, really liked it.  

“Fine.” He turns her around. “But when we’re done with the kitchen and the upstairs bathroom, we’re doing the bedroom.”

“Seems fair to me.” She pecks his lips.

The two work in tandem to put their essentials away. It was actually fun to organize the cabinets together. Next, they go upstairs to work on their bathroom. Actually, Harry handles the bathroom while Nikki gets some fresh sheets on their new king sized bed.

“Bathroom’s all set.” Harry says.

“I just got the foam topper and the fitted sheet on the bed, I just have to – ah!”

Harry had grabbed her and thrown her onto the bed. She squeals as he launches himself onto it, almost crushing her in the process.

“Making the bed fully would be a waste of energy.” He says into her ear as he pins her wrists down. He sucks on her supple bottom lip, and lets it go, causing her to whimper. “Don’t you think?” She nods her head yes. “Just wanna fuck my new live-in girlfriend, can I?”

“Please.” She breathes. “Need you to take care of me.” She pouts at him.

“Aw, my angel-baby-detective needs some lovin’?” He pouts back at her.

“Uh-huh.”

He grins at her and has them both sit up. He peels off her tee shirt, and lifts off her sports bra. He gropes her breasts before kissing on them. He sucks bruise after bruise into her plushy skin. He pulls her into his lap so she can grind on him while he paid attention to her breasts. She liked it when Harry left marks on her like this. She liked being his. He lays her down onto her back. He kisses down her torso, nipping where he pleases. He loved kissing on her pudgier areas because he wanted to show how much he loved every inch of her. She did the same with his love handles. He drags her yoga pants and underwear off, and tosses them to the floor.

“Look at you, so wet already.” He says as he pulls her thighs apart.

“You were already making me feel so good, Har.”

He hums his response as he laps his tongue around her center. He moans once he gets a proper taste of her. He licks his way up to her clit and sucks on it while he works two fingers inside of her. She grabs at his hair and tugs on it while her body starts to tingle.

“Fuck, just like that.” She mewls while raising her hips to meet his mouth more. She comes to her release, and she tugs him up to her. She licks into his mouth and sucks on his tongue. “Get naked, now.” She nearly growls.

Harry grins and gets his clothes off. He sits up against the headboard and waits for Nikki to swing her leg over his lap. She lines him up with her center, rubbing his tip along her clit before sinking down onto him. They both moan out, and he grabs at her hips to help her find a rhythm. She puts her hands on his shoulders and starts bouncing up and down on his cock.

“God, I love you so much.” He grunts.

“I love you too.” She kisses him and runs her hands through his hair. “Don’t know I ever survived without having your big dick inside me, fuck.”

“Yeah? M’making you feel good, baby?”

“So fucking good.” She pants. “Best I’ve ever fucking had.”

She comes again, and with the way she clenches around him he nearly loses it inside of her. He lifts her off just in time and comes on her stomach. He kisses her over and over, and they both giggle. Once they’re both cleaned up, Harry helps Nikki get the bed made, and they both climb in. She rests her head on his stomach while he reads his book.

“Harry?” She looks up at him. “Could you out your book down for a second? I have something to tell you.”

“Sure, sweetie.” He dog-ears the page he’s on and sets his book down. “What’s up? Oh, is this about me buying the Hamilton Beach food processor instead of the Cuisine Art one like you wanted?”

“No.” She chuckles.

“Are you sure? Because you cried when I brought it home. I swear, the Hamilton Beach one had better reviews, that’s the only reason why I got it.”

“I cried because I was hormonal.” She chews her bottom lip. “Harry, I’m pregnant.”

“But I came on your stomach.” He blinks, and then looks down at her.

“Yeah, tonight you did.” She sits up so she can look at him better. She kisses his shoulder and then smiles at him. “My period was late, so I took a test just for the hell of it…I’m six weeks.” She grabs her phone off the side table. “I even took a selfie with it to show you.”

“Oh my god, you’re not kidding.” He looks at the picture and then at her. “How long have you known for?”

“Only a week. I wanted to wait until the move was over to tell you. How, um, how do you feel about this? We haven’t really talked about kids or anything.”

“I know.” He hands her back her phone and throws his arm around her. “I mean, I fully intended on proposing and all that, just not for another few months. I wanted to see how living together went.” He smiles down at her. “And I was hoping you’d want kids at some point…think you’d make a great mum. I’ve seen you with kids, you’re amazing.” He kisses her temple and starts laughing. “I can’t believe I’m gonna be a father.” He shakes his head. “Thanks, Nikki!”

“You’re such a dork.” She chuckles. “You’re really not mad, or upset?”

“How could I be? I’m living with the girl I never thought I’d even get the chance to kiss, and now she’s pregnant with my baby. I’m ecstatic.” He pecks her lips. “How are you feeling about all of it?”

“I’m…actually pretty excited. I mean…I went off birth control months ago for this very reason. I didn’t think it would happen quite this fast, but this is a pretty happy accident.”

“I wonder what we were doing six weeks ago.”

“What does it matter?”

“I’d just like to know how our little fetus got conceived.”

“I, um, think it was the night, you, uh, let me lick the whip cream off you on your desk.” She swallows.

“Oh, yeah! Blew my load right up into you, didn’t I?” He smirks. “We should do that again, it was a great sensory exercise.”

“Harry!” She smacks his chest.

“You’re really okay with all this, Nik? It’s your body.” He caresses her cheek and she leans into his warm palm.

“I’m more than okay with it. Just don’t rush an engagement or anything like that, okay? I wanna marry you at some point too…but…not just because I’m pregnant.”

“So…if like four months from now I had a long weekend for us planned to go apple picking up north, and while we were settling down in the evening getting cozy in front of a fire place…you wouldn’t want me to propose?”

“You know, I hear being pregnant can make you forget all kinds of things, so I can’t wait to be surprised four months from now when you suggest going away for a long weekend to go apple picking.” She beams at him. “I think I’d really like that.”

[the-hopeless-haze]

Somebody Hurt Me Too Deep (Being Alive Ch 14)

Previous Chapter

A/N: I AM BACK omg ok like I’ve been through it in the last month..... yeah. This was of course based on “Being Alive” but also “champagne problems”... thank Taylor Swift for any emotional distress I cause :)

CW: talks of mental illness, brief mentions of past trauma and car accidents

Taglist (thank u all for reading ily): @caked-crusader @thatesqcrush @law-nerd105 @blackeyedangel9805 @moon-river-drifter @the-baby-bookworm @dianilaws @xecq @lv7867 @arabellathorne  @teddybluesclues​ @averyhotchner​ @houseofthirst​

“Carino? I’m home,” Rafael says as he steps through the apartment door, placing his briefcase down on the recliner. It was only 3pm, early for him to be finished with work for the day, but he had been getting out earlier recently to accompany you to physical therapy appointments. You were doing well, at least physically. It had been a long six weeks, but today might be the appointment that cleared you to go back to work full-time and maybe get out from behind the desk a little.

Mentally, though, it was a mixed bag. Some days were easier than others, and that was to be expected, but it was hard to tell the squad you were doing better when you couldn’t even bring yourself to text them back. Still, he pleaded otherwise, said every day was a new day and carried on even if they didn’t believe him.

Today, though, today was the turning point, he could feel it. You were doing so well, and eventually, your brain would have to catch up with your body. So tonight, he booked a reservation at a restaurant… not any restaurant, but the Cuban restaurant he took you to the night you asked him out and he barely used your first name and he swore he hated you with nearly every fiber of his being.

Right. As if he hated you even then.

You’re in a good mood, albeit not as elated as he hoped, but the physical therapist approves you for work but to “take it easy” and you’re laughing at his wry remarks and squeezing his hand in the back of the taxi on the way to the restaurant. His nerves almost dissipate, but they don’t. And maybe that should’ve been his first sign that tonight was not going to go as planned.

Rafael was never a superstitious man, but you order the same dish you ordered the first time he took you out, and he can’t help but think this is a sign to push forward.

“Oh, fuck it,” Rafael murmurs, a surge of anxiety overcoming him. “I was going to wait until after dinner… but…. I have something I want to ask you.”

And just like that, your face falls, but Rafael can barely take that in, he just keeps talking, his mouth moving faster than the neurons in his brain that tell him to stop, now isn’t a good time.

“I love you so much, (y/n), and I know these past few months have been so hard, and this isn’t the way either of us have wanted this year to start, but… we got through it together. I never thought I’d be in a position in my life, with someone who I love… that I’d be willing to do this, but… (Y/n)... will you marry me?”

You don’t say anything for a few seconds, but it feels like hours, days, months. “Can you get up off the floor, Rafael? You’re embarrassing us,” you finally say hollowly, and it’s true, the whole restaurant is stopped in their tracks staring at the two of you. Rafael couldn’t possibly care less, though, he couldn’t comprehend anything that was going on - he was just thinking “well, she hasn’t said no…” and then you’re getting up, throwing your napkin on the table, shaking your head, saying “I can’t do this.”

Rafael gains some of his senses back, enough to follow you outside into the tempering late February air. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, Rafael, I don't,” you say stiffly without turning around to face him. “I’ll get my stuff in the morning. I need to be alone right now.”

“I just… I didn’t know you weren’t happy,” Rafael says, his voice breaking, and that gives you enough impetus to turn around.

“You didn’t know I wasn’t happy? Goddamn, Rafael, do you even live with me? I’ve been unhappy for months.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why didn’t you know?”

“Jesus, (y/n), maybe because I’m not a fucking mind reader?”

“Right. You honestly thought we were in a good enough place to propose tonight?”

“Obviously! Or I wouldn’t have done it!” he snaps. “You honestly think we’re in a bad enough place that you couldn’t say yes?”

“Obviously! Or I would have done it!” you throw his words back at him, and god do they sting.

“You never told me anything. You just withdrew.”

“Yeah. Maybe that should’ve been a sign. Look. I’m moving back home. I was going to tell you tonight.”

“What? Is that all it was? (Y/n), if you want to move back, I could work something out--”

“No. No, you can’t, Rafael. You’ve never been able to work anything out in your life because you’re too scared to! You just operate on fear - and this is no exception. You thought I was going to die six weeks ago and that’s the only reason you’ve been acting this way, and I’ve been slipping away recently and you’ve just been trying to consistently deny it so you just get on one knee and think that’s going to solve everything, think that’s going to make me stay. That’s not how it works! I’m not happy. I need to go home.”

“Oh no. You know what it is? You’re afraid. Don’t try to put this on me. You’re the one who’s walking away. You’re the one who’s running back home.”

“Fuck you, Rafael. Your family is all here. Mine isn’t. My brother’s getting a job for the first time, my mom just got on disability, I miss my dad… I’ve spent too long here. I’ve spent too long with you.”

“What happened? What the fuck happened?”

“What the fuck happened every other time, Rafael? You’ve gone through this plenty of times before.”

Rafael scoffs, shakes his head, leans against the outside of the restaurant. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m fucking sick, Rafael!” you’re screaming now, your cheeks turning red, your eyes leaking angry tears. “All this time, since the accident, I’ve been fucking drowning and you didn’t even notice!”

“Sick?”

“Depressed, Rafael. Anxious. Liv wanted me screened before I came back and the therapist said so. AGain. For the fucking umpteenth time in my life. But this time, I thought I had someone who cared--”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know if you didn’t tell me?”

“Couldn’t you see?”

Rafael shakes his head slowly, but now it comes back to him, all these subtle signs, the days you wouldn’t make it out of bed until 3 pm, all the days and nights you spent staring listlessly at the walls, the inability of anything he said or did to make you feel better. But it came and went, and Rafael just took it as you being upset sometimes at the limitations placed on you by your injured leg. Never did he think there was something more serious going on. Or maybe he just didn’t want to think that, and he ignored every signal.

“I’m sorry, (y/n),” he whispers, but he knows that’s too little, too late. Both of you were at fault - that was clear to him now - but was it clear to you? “I really didn’t know.”

“Evidently,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest.

“But you can get help. We can work this out.”

“I just… Rafael. I’m not ready. You of all people should have some sympathy for that.”

Ouch. You were going for the jugular now, hurting him where only you could, rejecting his proposal, leaving him crestfallen on one knee in the middle of a restaurant, but somehow your words hurt worse. Anyone could reject a proposal. Only you could psychoanalyze him and hurl the worst remarks his way, things no one else would be able to come up with.

“Then okay,” he sighs. “We won’t get married yet, or ever, if that’s what you want. But you really want to throw this away entirely?”

“I don’t know, Rafael. I don’t. Look, I’m sorry too. I just… I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Do you think… do you think maybe--”

“I don’t know,” you say firmly. “I don’t even know if I really want to go back home. I just know I don’t want to live like this anymore, just waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“But it isn’t going to drop. I just fucking proposed. I’m in this for the long haul. And fuck it, if you want to go back home, I’ll work it out.”

“This fake optimism isn’t you.”

“This lack of optimism entirely isn’t you! What happened to the woman who got through some of the worst shit imaginable and landed on her own two feet? You got into a car accident, (y/n). You lived! You should be thankful, not sitting here sulking like your world’s gone to shit.” Again, his mouth moves too fast to register the look on your face as it falls, and tears start to stream down your face. He can’t stop but push it further, hurt you in retaliation.

“Seriously, Rafael, how insensitive can you be? I tell you I’m struggling and you invalidate my feelings? Fuck off.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Why’d you say it then? You know what, I’m done. Goodbye, Rafael.”

“But--”

“No. Give me space. You owe me that.”

He does. And god, it hurts to watch you walk away, his abuelita’s ring burning a hole in his pocket when it should be on your finger. But maybe.... maybe this isn't the end. Maybe all you need is space.

Maybe Rafael's wishing on a pipe dream. He doesn't know anymore. All he knows is the sting of this pain.

-----

You walk alone in the dark, your leg still aching slightly, and you just feel like utter shit. You can’t remember ever feeling quite this low, but you can’t remember feeling rage like this, either. No one’s hurt you like Rafael.

But that’s because you loved him enough to let him.

You still love him even now, but spending day in and day out with him coddling you, you couldn’t handle it. And maybe you should’ve acted like an adult and told him and stopped pretending everything was fine when you knew it wasn’t. If only you weren’t so fucked in the head, right? Just how it always went, your life, cycles of feeling fine and cycles of feeling like you’re scraping at the bottom of a barrel for a will to go on. And yeah, sometimes even you would question why you were taking this so hard - so what, it’s a car accident, you were lucky to have lived - but Rafael didn’t understand and you didn’t know how to make him. How were you going to get in a passengers seat again without having a panic attack? Would your leg ever fully heal? You’d wasted six weeks staring at the walls of Rafael’s apartment, doing menial paperwork for Olivia that anyone could have done. How could you not feel entirely worthless? And then for Rafael to make it seem like you were overexaggerating like you should just get over this… you hated him.

But you didn’t, really. You know deep down he’s just angry the night didn’t go the way he wanted it to, with you promising to be his for the rest of your life. Still, rage is a truth serum of sorts, like cheap wine, and it makes you wonder how deep that resentment runs. How could he not notice you were upset, though? That’s a hell of a blind eye to turn.

At least back home you had Ben if nothing else.

But here, you had everything else. The squad, your career, Rafael… You couldn’t even begin to think about marriage right now - Lord knows Rafael isn’t ready either - but did you really want to throw in the towel? How do couples move past a rejected proposal, though? Hadn’t you hurt him deeper than anyone else could have? And would he ever figure out how to propose again?

Maybe to someone else, you think, someone who didn’t have all these fucking issues.

Before you know it, you have a cigarette in your mouth and a lighter in hand and you’re leaning against the side of a convenience store, watching girls walk by in stilettos hanging on to their men or giggling with their group of friends, the taxis blurring past. Then you realize you broke the first promise you made to Rafael: you bought cigarettes in New York.

Had he really wanted to collect on that promise? It wasn’t like you were addicted, it was just a stupid habit you started in high school to take the edge off, but you supposed some people had the inclination to start and never stop, but you always could when you wanted to.

Your vice wasn’t cigarettes, no, it was love. You gave all you could to whoever would take it because you were so used to people wanting nothing to do with you since you isolated yourself due to your past trauma. Once you got to college, you refused to hide in the background, and you took chances you weren’t used to taking and loved in color, you loved until it made you blue when the boys would cheat or your so-called friends would find different cliques.

You were still like that, albeit in so much a desperate way, and you had been loved in return, now, not just by Rafael but by the squad too - even if you had your squabbles. You loved them to death and back.

But friends were easier to keep than lovers.

Maybe it is scary to think Rafael was going to be the end. That he’d be the last man you ever kissed in love or passion. That you’d be the last woman standing in his long list of ex-lovers - the only one who didn’t get crossed off.

How do you love someone that much? You always said you wanted that, but the thought always terrified you anyway, and maybe it’s why you did push people away when they felt too close because you felt like you didn’t deserve it, like you were still atoning for some sin you didn’t remember committing but you still feel guilty for all the same. You wonder if Rafael feels just as guilty.

You inhale the smoke, feeling the familiar, carcinogenic burn in your throat, causing yourself pain to cause Rafael pain only to cause you pain in return; an endless cycle of hurt.

With ambivalence, you put your cigarette out and hail a cab, and tell him to drive you to your apartment which you haven’t seen in weeks. There’s dust on every surface, it’s freezing as hell, and you don’t know how you’re going to sleep tonight, alone, so you light up another cigarette, sitting solitary with your nerves running haywire underneath your skin. What the hell were you going to do now?

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Eighty Six

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

March 4th, 2003

Emile looked at the ring the jeweller had brought out for him to inspect. It was a little understated, just a silver band, no diamonds or other gems or even a stone put in. “Are you sure this is the one you want?” the jeweller asked. “I know you have the money, Mister Thomas, and most girls, even if they don’t say anything, prefer something they can show off to their friends...”

“It’s perfect,” Emile said, nodding at the jeweller. “Don’t worry. I know my future fiancé, he’ll love it.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean to imply...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emile said with a kind smile. “My guy’s just that sort of special. Ring this up and we’ll be good to go.”

  May 5th, 2003

Emile was absolutely certain that if Remy weren’t so stressed, he would propose right here and now, just to try and capture the perfect smile on Remy’s face for the entire rest of the day. Remy had opened the doors of Sleep Easy that morning to find a line that was wrapping around the block and the relieved grin he had on his face as he told everyone working there to get ready was something Emile would never forget.

Toby had taken a couple pictures before Remy went back behind the counter to help out, and Emile felt at the ring box in his pocket. He wanted to ask regardless of stress, but he needed to find a quiet moment.

Emile and Toby were currently sitting in the back of the shop, at one of the tables. Emile was fiddling with his hands and glancing at Remy periodically. Toby sighed and propped his head up on one of his hands. “Okay, Emile, spill the beans. What’s got you so worked up?”

Glancing at Toby before going back to look at Remy, Emile shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he said absentmindedly.

“Either you tell me what’s up or I call Remy over here,” Toby threatened. “Because you’re looking at him like he has a bomb strapped to his chest.”

Emile tore his eyes away from Remy long enough to check if Toby was serious. And he was. “You have to promise not to tell Remy,” Emile said.

Toby gave him a look. “You don’t have a ring box, do you?” he joked.

Emile sighed and pulled out the small box from his pocket, placing it on the table. “Wait, no, I was joking!” Toby exclaimed in a hushed whisper. “Oh my god, you seriously have a ring?! Are you planning on asking him today?”

“Potentially, if there’s a quiet moment,” Emile said. “But I’m starting to suspect there won’t be.”

“Yeah, no, people just keep coming,” Toby said, eyeing the front door. “If I were you, I’d wait for a moment where Remy isn’t serving customers,” he said. “Maybe propose tonight, after the shop closes, if you do it today.”

Emile glanced over at Remy, who was talking to a woman intently over a display of cookies. “Seriously?!” Remy exclaimed, loud enough to capture both Emile’s and Toby’s attention.

The woman laughed and nodded. She passed him a card which Remy eagerly pocketed and shook the woman’s hand. Emile and Toby glanced at each other. “What was that about?” Toby asked.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Emile said.

Remy came over to the two of them, and Emile quickly hid the ring box back in his pocket. Remy, with a massive grin, slammed his hands on the table. “Do you guys know who that was?!” he exclaimed.

“No?” Toby said. “Enlighten us?”

“She’s a reporter for the local paper,” Remy said in an almost-conspiratorial whisper. “And all the commotion from today caught her eye. She said that if I can keep interest for the rest of the month, she’ll do an exposé on the shop!”

Emile blinked, before breaking into a grin. “That’s amazing, Rem! I’m so proud of you!”

Remy beamed.

“Emile took the words right out of my mouth,” Toby said. “I have no doubt that article will happen. Who knows, maybe it’ll lead to more business and happier roads ahead!”

Toby glanced at Emile and Emile instantly got the meaning: save the proposal for the interview. And Emile couldn’t agree more with that sentiment. That would be the perfect timing, if there was one.

“Oh my god, if they ask me anything about my personal life, what do I say?” Remy asked, laughing. “I mean, I don’t think I should hide that I’m gay, but like...I pay a mortgage with Emile. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that we’re together.”

“I think you should be honest, Rem,” Emile said. “I mean, anyone who’d boycott the shop because of you being gay isn’t someone I’d want in my corner anyway.”

“True,” Remy hummed. “Okay. I’ll be honest. The shop shouldn’t go under because of it, most of the people here are open-minded. It’s a college town, after all.”

“It’s a college town, you’re an amazing person, and you make a mean cuppa joe,” Toby said, sipping at his coffee with a grin. “There’s no way you could scare off all the homophobes into ruining business for you.”

Remy nodded, smiling. “Thanks for being here, both of you,” he said. “It means the world to me.”

“Nowhere we’d rather be, Rem,” Toby said, and Emile agreed.

“Remy! We need you back here!” August called.

“That’s my cue,” Remy laughed, hugging Toby and kissing Emile’s cheek. “Talk to the two of you later.”

“Later,” Emile parrotted as Remy went back to the counter. “I’m definitely proposing during the interview,” he told Toby.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Remy tried the same thing. He’s that extra,” Toby laughed.

“You know, you’re right, and I hate that you’re right,” Emile laughed. “We’ll wind up proposing at the same time, most likely.”

“He’s planning his own proposal?” Toby asked. “You guys didn’t agree that one of you would do it and leave it at that?”

“We made it a competition,” Emile laughed. “Loser has to kiss the winner.”

“How do you know who loses and who wins?” Toby asked.

Emile paused. “You know, I’m not sure we ever clarified how one of us would win when both of us are very clearly biased,” he admitted.

Toby laughed. “Oh, god. You two are both disasters. Like, I love you, of course, but you’re both disasters.”’

“Of course we are. To quote Remy, ‘If we weren’t such disasters we would have overthrown God long ago.’”

Toby cracked up. “Man, as a guy who’s still religious I’m inclined to agree with you. The two of you are unstoppable.”

“Throw in all the other gay disasters we know and it would be no contest,” Emile snickered. “God, Theo would love to overthrow a major religion like that. I’m pretty sure Clara would fret over us and make sure to bring victory snacks, Xavier would welcome our new gay overlords...it would be quite the sight.”

“Let me know when it happens, because I very much want in on the being a priest to you guys,” Toby laughed.

Emile snickered. “Oh, we’re both going to Hell.”

“No doubt,” Toby agreed.

They looked over to where Remy was working, and Emile sighed. “I do worry about him, though. He works hard, but there are days where I know he’d rather relax but can’t.”

“A tip that helped me in the old days with that: warm chocolate milk,” Toby said. “Don’t know how well it’ll work for you, but it always conked him out as a child. Now, it might not make him sleep, but it would at least be a bit of nostalgia.”

“That’s adorable,” Emile said, grinning.

“There were times where he wouldn’t even accept it from Mom or Dad because ‘Toby makes it the bestest,’” Toby said with a grin. “I love my little brother to the ends of the earth, but I suspect he loves me more.”

“He finds people who love him and he never lets them go,” Emile said with a sad smile. “I wish the reason he did that wasn’t there, but then again, without everything he went through, he wouldn’t be the man he is today.”

Toby furrowed his brows and Emile winced. “Uh, he doesn’t let go of people who love him because he’s worried that if he does they’ll just leave him when they get bored. So he works to make sure they’re never bored of him.”

“Oh,” Toby said. It was strangled, and there was so much shock and anger in that one syllable. “I would strangle our parents if I could get away with it.”

“Make sure they don’t have any more kids and we’ll call it a day,” Emile laughed awkwardly.

“God, I hope they don’t screw up as grandparents,” Toby breathed. “Like. I don’t intend on being a dad. But Vanessa...wants kids. She’s wanted kids since she was a kid. And if they ever have to stay at their grandparents’...well, I’d rather take them for a night than leave them there.”

“Frankly? I don’t blame you,” Emile said.

“You’ve met them, haven’t you?” Toby asked.

“I’ve met your mother, and frankly, I don’t even need to meet your father to understand the bulk of Remy’s trauma, and yours,” Emile said simply.

“M... my trauma?” Toby asked.

“They hurt you too, Toby,” Emile said. “That qualifies as trauma.”

“Oh,” Toby said, leaning back in his seat. “It’s different when it’s someone else. Like, yeah, Remy got really hurt by them, so I don’t blame him for using the term. But knowing that the term applies to me is...different.”

“It’s more personal,” Emile filled in. “And it’s scary. But it’s something that can definitely be worked on.”

“At least there’s hope,” Toby said with a weak smile.

“Exactly,” Emile said, pointing at Toby with a grin. “And if you ever need any recommendations for looking for a therapist, hit me up. I’ll see what I can do.”

“I might have to take you up on that,” Toby said with a shaky breath. “The holidays are a massive...what did you call it? A massive stressor. But I could probably find a use for one outside the holidays, too.”

Emile nodded. “At least you recognize it. Remy’s been really stressed lately but seems determined to stick it out on his own. I worry about him more because of that.”

Toby shrugged. “Sometimes he needs time to come around to a concept. Give him that time, and if you ever need help, drop me a line. I know how to talk to him too.”

“Do you ever use rationality on him, and does he get that grumpy almost-pout when you do it?” Emile asked with a knowing grin.

“Oh my god, yes!” Toby laughed. “And then he comes up with worst-case scenarios that both of you know wouldn’t happen, just out of stubborn spite at the fact you’re using logic?”

“And forces you to come up with a plan for what happens if you fall into a pit of invisible snakes!” Emile continued. “Oh yeah, we’ve had those talks.”

“God, I love him,” Toby said, shaking his head fondly. “Of course, to you, that scenario probably just indicates how much of an anxiety disorder he has.”

“I try not to diagnose people I know,” Emile said. “Not only because I don’t have my degree yet, but because my emotions can get in the way of a diagnosis if I get too close.”

“That’s smart,” Toby said.

“That’s therapists’ standards,” Emile said simply.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a minute, before Toby spoke again. “I really worry about him, all jokes aside. Like, we can go for months without talking and pick up where we left off, but...those months in between when he doesn’t talk to me...they can get scary.”

“I know what you mean,” Emile sighed. “There are nights where I wake up with cold sweats from nightmares that Remy never dropped out of college and I went to his room one day to see that he’d hung himself. Fortunately, I wake up next to him to know he’s alive. I know you don’t have that luxury.”

Toby shook his head. “That’s when I usually call first thing the next morning...on the bad days. I can never get back to sleep but I wait until it’s seven before I call because I know you guys have sleep to catch up on. You don’t need to listen to my crazed, nightmare-induced ramblings.”

“I’d listen,” Emile said.

“Really?” Toby asked skeptically.

“Of course,” Emile said, turning to look at Remy, serving coffee with the biggest grin on his face as the customer complimented the store. “That’s what family does for each other.”

[morningfears]

Rose Tattoo [Chapter Five]

Rating: PG-13 (this chapter is a little heavy! See the TW below)

Summary: Stevie has her first appointment with her new therapist. She and Cal take a walk in Central Park but a figure from his past ruins their night.

Word Count: 7.3k

TW: This chapter includes suicidal thoughts, self harm, anxiety, depression, talk of mental illness and past abuse. The first half of the chapter is a little heavy. If you need to skip the first half (or the entire chapter itself), please do so. 

CH. 1 | CH. 2 | CH. 3 | CH. 4 | SERIES MASTERLIST

The chair that Stevie had been stuck in for nearly an hour had been comfortable at first. It was plush, cushioned and roomy enough for her to not feel constricted, but as she fidgeted anxiously, it grew increasingly uncomfortable. She couldn’t find a position that worked for her, nothing made her feel at ease, so she settled for sitting with one leg beneath her and bouncing her other knee as she stared at the clock on the wall.

She found herself all too aware of her surroundings. The ticking of the clock thundered in her ears, each second passing felt like a lifetime and seemed to mock her as it melted away. The hiss of the heater, the metallic screech of the vent above her head, sent goosebumps erupting across her skin. The unbearable heat of the office felt suffocating and made it that much harder for her to breathe as she sat and waited for her appointment to begin.

She hadn’t been to a therapist since high school and she felt a bit of residual resentment as she glanced around the office. She had been forced then, dragged against her will to sit and talk to a stranger after her mother spotted new scars on her thighs and didn’t know how to handle it, and hated every moment of it. She felt alone, misunderstood, and didn’t want the rationality that her therapist offered her. She wanted to wallow, to live in her misery and let it drown her, but not this time.

This time, she went willingly.

After her first visit to her therapist as a teenager, Stevie was medicated. She was given something she considered an all-purpose drug meant to tackle her anxiety and all of the nasty things that came with it and, for a while, she was fine with it. She had long since stopped caring what anyone thought of her and if medication made her mind a safer place for her to be, she knew that she could tune out the stigma surrounding it. However, when the medication made her feel like a stranger in her own skin, uncomfortable and more anxious than before, she made the decision to stop taking it and no one fought her.

Her doctor declared that someone so young - she was barely sixteen at the time - shouldn’t be on such a heavy medication. Her mother, a woman who had been on medication more than half her life for her own bipolar disorder, didn’t want Stevie to endure the same fate. They decided that she seemed fine, over the teen angst that resulted in her harming herself, and in a better state of mind after only six months on medication so they let it go.

She stopped taking her medicine and stopped seeing her therapist and learned how to hide her suffering a little better.

If you’d asked her, she would have told you that she was fine during that period and, for some parts of it, she was. She was functional, able to maintain high enough grades to earn academic scholarships and breeze through college. She made friends, she made memories, she lived; however, it often felt as though she were an outsider looking in. She kept her struggle hidden, only commenting on her lack of sleep or appetite when she was busy enough to cover it all up with a reasonable excuse, and felt that she was managing it adequately.

In the rough waters of depression and anxiety, Stevie had become a professional swimmer.

However, Angela’s death was something that she couldn’t manage, not even somewhat. She was the only person that Stevie confided in, the only one that knew from the hazy look in her eyes or the bouts of silence Stevie sometimes lapsed into just how deep in her head she was, and Stevie had returned that favor for her. But when Angela got sick, Stevie no longer had anyone to talk to. She couldn’t tell Angela how her illness was effecting her life. She couldn’t tell her that she was afraid of what would happen if she died.

When Angela died, Stevie couldn’t tell her just how much she would miss the best friend she’d ever had.

In the months leading up to Angela’s death, Stevie’s emotions grew more and more unmanageable. She returned to old habits, her thighs were covered with more new scars than she ever imagined she’d see, and began to isolate herself from her support net. She knew, rationally, that they would lend an ear and be sympathetic if she were to reach out to them. Everyone knew how close they were and how much they meant to one another. It was understandable, how she felt, but she’d managed her feelings for so long on her own by avoiding them, by pretending that they didn’t exist and removing herself from any situation that might force her to talk about them, that she didn’t know how to ask for help.

She wouldn’t have made the decision to see a therapist had it not been for the growing intensity of the intrusive thoughts. Her life had been falling apart for a while, long before Angela’s death, but that was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. Her family was falling apart before her very eyes, a process that began in her teen years but sped up after she left for college, and her mother was turning into someone she didn’t know. She didn’t know what she would return to when - if - she returned home and she had no idea how to cope with it all.

She was living her dream but it had turned into something of a nightmare.

Stevie didn’t want to die. She knew that. But it seemed like the only option that made sense. She had her dream apartment and her dream job in her dream city. She was young, free, and living the life she always imagined she would but she still wasn’t happy. If that wasn’t enough, she couldn’t imagine there being anything that would make her happy.

So why not end it all, if there was nothing left to live for?

The moment that thought crossed her mind, she knew that she needed help. She had a lot to live for, a lot to be happy about, and it was a chemical imbalance in her brain that was telling her she didn’t. Rationally, she knew that. But every time she stood by her window, staring down at the pavement below, and every time she spotted the bottle of sleeping pills she’d been prescribed but never used, she thought about how easy it would be. And that scared the shit out of her.

She wanted to live. And although the idea of sitting in a therapist’s office and taking medication for the foreseeable future wasn’t something she liked, she knew that it had to be done.

“Stevie?”

Stevie lifted her head, torn from her thoughts by the sound of a soft voice calling her name. She blinked away the unshed tears that lined her lashes and gave the doctor she’d booked an appointment with a tight smile as she stood from her chair. “That’s me,” she confirmed, holding out her hand for the doctor to take, “nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Stevie. I’m Audrey Maxwell. Come on in and we’ll get started,” Dr. Maxwell instructed, her tone gentle and patient smile lifting her lips as she ushered Stevie into her office.

Stevie bit back a sigh as she took a seat on the plush blue couch, settling into the corner and placing a pillow over her lap as she waited for Dr. Maxwell to take her own seat. She was young, no older than mid-thirties, and polished but not overly so. She had kind eyes and a gentle smile that Stevie imagined made it easy for people to trust her.

“Alright, Stevie,” Dr. Maxwell hummed, her voice light and tone airy as she placed a box of tissues on the coffee table that sat in front of Stevie, “what brings you to me today?”

Stevie wasn’t sure where to even begin. It was a culmination of a lifetime of anxiety and depression, of childhood trauma and teenage angst. It was her family falling apart, her best friend dying, her dream life not being enough to make her happy. It was thinking about suicide when she didn’t want to die.

“Life, I guess,” Stevie answered with a shrug as she stared at the throw pillow in her lap. “I’ve always been anxious and depressed. I was medicated for a while as a teenager but I hated how it made me feel so I stopped taking them. And things have just gotten worse since then.”

“How have they gotten worse?” Dr. Maxwell asked, her question gentle but a firm guidance for Stevie to delve into specifics.

“My best friend died a few months ago. We grew up together. She was more like my sister than anything and when she was here, I felt like I could deal with it. Things were bad before then.” Stevie hesitated for a moment, her tugging at a loose thread as she released a shuddering breath. “They’ve always been bad but it was manageable, at least.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning, then?”

Stevie knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the beginning of the end was her childhood. However, she hadn’t exactly opened up to anyone - not even Angela - how how rough it had been. It wasn’t a time she liked reliving and she felt her heart begin to race as she recalled the events that pushed her to develop less than ideal coping mechanisms.

“My mom is bipolar,” she began, her voice shaking and her hands trembling despite her grip on the pillow. She didn’t dare look at Dr. Maxwell, she knew that she would cry if she did, so she kept her gaze on her lap as she continued. “She wasn’t handling it well when I was a kid so when she and my real dad divorced, he ended up getting custody. But as unstable as my mom was, he was worse.” Stevie paused, willing her voice not to crack as she swallowed thickly.  “It was emotional abuse for years, telling me that no one loved me and my mom didn’t want me. He didn’t hit me until I was older but I was just a kid. I didn’t understand. I wondered why no one loved me. And it just… it was all downhill from there, I guess.”

Stevie fell silent for a long moment. She could hear her own ragged breathing, heavy and labored in her ears, and could feel her body shaking from the anxiety. She knew that her childhood was where her problems began, she knew that leaving her trauma unchecked for so many years was unhealthy, but thinking about it was hard. And talking about it was even harder so instead of dwelling, she moved forward.

“My mom got on meds, started seeing a new doctor, and got custody. Things were fine. We never talked about it because it was almost a competition to her. Her dad was abusive and my dad abused her, too. She had it worse and she told me that every time I bought it up. I didn’t feel like I had the right to be upset but when I got older and started to think about it, it hurt. I went to therapy and got medication but I hated it. So, I stopped taking the pills and stopped going and everyone just assumed I was better. I let them because I didn’t have a reason to be unhappy. I didn’t have a reason to be happy, either, though.”

Dr. Maxwell remained quiet as Stevie attempted to gather her thoughts. She watched as Stevie bounced her knee, tapped her fingers against the arm of the couch, and blinked back tears as she summed up the most recent years of her life. Her words rushed out in a flood, the dam breaking and her panic overwhelming her as she fully committed to honesty to get the help she knew she needed.

“I should be happy now. I have every reason to be,” Stevie stated, a pained laugh leaving her lips as she shook her head and brought hand up to her hair. “I’m living in my dream city in a great apartment and I have my dream job. I have everything I’ve ever wanted but I feel so guilty. I’m living my dream while everything else is falling apart.”

Stevie fell silent again, her nails digging into the arm of the couch as she swallowed the lump in her throat and offered a weak laugh. “My best friend, who should be here with me, is dead. My mom is off her meds and self-destructing and nothing I say seems to be helping. My step-dad is going to leave. My brother has already left and decided he doesn’t want to be part of the family anymore. I feel guilty for being here but I don’t want to go home and try to fix everyone else’s lives if that means destroying my own."

“Feeling guilty wanting to put yourself first is, unfortunately, a common experience. But that doesn’t mean it hurts any less,” Dr. Maxwell acknowledged as she nudged the tissue box a little closer to Stevie. “You deserve happiness, Stevie. You have had a hard life and just because things are falling into place now doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to grieve for the things you’ve lost.”

Stevie listened and attempted to process Dr. Maxwell’s words as she acknowledged the circumstances she’d been placed in. “You shouldn’t have to destroy your life to fix someone else’s. I understand that you care and that you want what’s best for your family but you alone cannot fix them. You cannot control other people’s actions. The best you can do for your family is tell them how you feel and urge them to seek professional help for themselves. Your mother needs a doctor, Stevie, not her child telling her that going off her medication is unwise. You are doing what is best, what is healthiest, for you but putting those boundaries in place and I’m proud of you for that.”

Stevie bit her lip, unsure of how to respond to Dr. Maxwell’s assurances. “I don’t like feeling like I’m not in control,” she confessed, her grip loosening on the arm of the couch as she attempted to process what she’d just been told. “I couldn’t help Angela, I can’t help my mom; what can I do?”

“You can live your life,” Dr. Maxwell. answered, her tone gentle as she offered Stevie a soft smile. “I know that it’s hard to let go of control but you can only control yourself. You can help other people all day long but, at the end of the day, it’s up to them to accept that help. You have to take care of yourself, too.” Dr. Maxwell paused for a moment, her gaze on Stevie not scrutinizing but genuinely curious, before she asked, “What makes you happy, Stevie?”

Stevie almost felt ashamed that she had to stop and think about the things that made her happy. She hadn’t sought happiness in a long time and found that the answer didn’t just occur to her. She felt as if she were grasping for straws, looking for light in the darkness, and knew that she sounded unsure as she answered. “My dog,” she confessed, her voice quiet and small in the confines of the office, “and writing. I love walking in the snow, too.” She hesitated as another, more recent, source of happiness appeared in her thoughts. She didn’t want to voice it aloud, it felt too real, however, she wanted help and she knew that honesty was the only way to get it so she added, “And I met this guy recently. He makes me happy, too."

Dr. Maxwell nodded, a gentle movement as she asked, “What about these things makes you happy?”

When it came to Max, Stevie didn’t have to think about it. “My dog is always happy to see me. He loves me, even on the worst days. He can tell when I’m not feeling great and does whatever he can to make me feel better. He’ll lay on the couch with me or go on a walk without being dramatic or huffy about the weather if I need to get out of the apartment.” With writing, Stevie felt less sure. “As for writing, it’s just the one thing I’ve always been good at. It lets me escape and be whatever I want. It makes me feel like a person,” she admitted with a light shrug.

As she thought about Calum, Stevie paused. She didn’t know what it was about him that made her happy and she didn’t know how it came to be that when asked about happiness, she thought of him. There was just something about him that put her at ease and she appreciated it. She appreciated his presence and she told Dr. Maxwell as much.

“The guy, Calum, is nice. It’s easy to talk to him. I haven’t wanted to get to know anyone in a long time but I want to get to know him,” she stated, her voice small as she thought about the way Calum made her feel.

He made her feel happy, light and carefree when she was normally a ball of anxiety, and she selfishly wanted that to remain a constant in her life. But she felt that she had to give him something in return and she didn’t know what she could offer that he would want.

“What’s stopping you from getting to know him?” Dr. Maxwell asked, with all the logic of a therapist and none of the panic that existed in Stevie’s head.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Stevie answered immediately, “I don’t want to let him in and then disappear or do something stupid and hurt him. It wouldn’t be fair. And I told him that. I told him I wasn’t ready for a relationship but I would really love one. I just…” Stevie hesitated, her hands stilling on the pillow and her shoulders slumping as she said, “My dream life hasn’t made me happy. It hasn’t stopped me from thinking about just… ending it. I don’t want to drag him into my life only to give in to those thoughts.”

“Sometimes you need to find little things in life to keep yourself going,” Dr.  Maxwell explained, sitting forward in her chair as she waited for Stevie to meet her eyes. “The little things that make you happy - your dog, your writing, this guy, friendships, going for walks in the snow - are the things you should nurture. Use them as tools to seek other avenues for happiness. Pushing these things away because you’re afraid you’ll hurt them if you give in to those thoughts will only make it easier. Give yourself something to hold on to, something to keep moving toward.”

Although Stevie knew that, it was still painful to hear it spoken. It was hard to hear someone else rationalize what she’d been too afraid to tell herself. However, Dr. Maxwell continued, “Make some friends, plant some roots. Get to know this guy. Tell him that you’re trying your best for now and ask for patience. Let him know where you stand and hope that he’ll stand with you. That is the best you can do right now, for everyone. Try your best to be there for your mother but know that you can only do so much. Try to live a life Angela would have been proud of. Your best doesn't have to be your all. It just needs to be what you're capable of at the moment. You can't be all things for all people but you can be your best."

Stevie still felt guilty. She still felt guilty for not knowing how to help her parents. She felt guilty for living when Angela couldn’t. She felt guilty for wanting Calum, even though she couldn’t be enough for him immediately. But Dr. Maxwell was right. She couldn’t be all things for all people but she could be her best she hoped that her best was enough.

                                              **************

“I’m going to take a walk through Central Park. Want to join me?”

Calum stared at the message from Stevie, surprise clear on his face as he read over it. They had shared a few messages in the week that had passed since their trip to the Empire State Building but they were mostly small talk; asking about the other’s day, a few good morning greetings, a question about a record shop as Calum was looking for a gift for Mali. And he had done most - all, actually - of the initiating so he was surprised that she was the one reaching out to him. However, he certainly wasn’t going to complain about the role reversal as he looked up from his cellphone and glanced at Mali and Tāne, asleep beside him on the couch.

Like most days, he didn’t have anything planned. He’d gone about his daily routine of work, picking Tāne up from school, finishing his last few customers as Mali and Tāne worked on homework, and having dinner with them both before they settled in to watch a movie before bed. He normally read to Tāne, usually a classic tale that demanded he adopt multiple different voices, but it had been a long day. The end of the week was nearing, as was his first court hearing, so he wanted to pack as many appointments into his schedule as possible to give himself a little time off to breathe.

He would’ve been content to go to bed when Tāne did - usually around seven on a school night and it was already past six - but he found himself itching for the opportunity to see Stevie again. He stared at the message, contemplating whether he should ask her for a rain check or wake Mali up to see if she would mind putting Tāne to bed. However, before he could make a decision, Mali spoke.

“Just go,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep as she attempted to move away from Tāne without waking him. She gently untangled herself from the sleeping child and rubbed her eyes, cursing when a smudge of black stained the back of her hand. “Fucking eyeliner,” she huffed, rolling her eyes before she returned her attention to Calum. “It’s almost time for bed and I can handle that. I need to write, anyway,” she mumbled as she ran a hand through her bleached hair, a stifled yawn leaving her lips as she did so.

“How did you even…?” Calum trailed off, staring at his sister in confusion and slight awe for a long moment, before he shook his head and unlocked his phone to respond to Stevie’s text. “When did you become a mind reader?”

“When you elbowed me in the head trying to read the text,” Mali informed him with a wry grin as she rubbed the red spot on her temple where Calum had hit her. “I wanted to see what was worth injuring your sister. Tell Stevie I said hi.”

Calum laughed as he stood from the couch and dropped the remote on the fabric beside Mali. “I’m not doing that,” he assured her, his voice full of laughter as he nudged her shoulder before leaning down to press a soft kiss to Tāne’s forehead. “Thank you. I’ll be back by ten.”

“Mm, your curfew’s not until eleven, though,” she teased as she watched him cross the living room to reach for his coat and shoes near the door. “Don’t do anything I would do.”

Calum shook his head fondly and tossed Mali a wave over his shoulder before he stepped out his home and began the walk to Central Park. As he weaved through the crowds, he felt a mixture of emotions swirl in the pit of his stomach. He felt nervous, giddy and excited to see Stevie again after how well their trip to the Empire State Building went. He felt like he did in high school, excited to see the girl he had a crush on and hope that she would give him a bit of attention, but he also felt a little foolish.

His pace slowed as he thought about what he was doing. For the first time in nearly five years, he was letting someone new into his life. He was letting someone else bring him outside of his comfort zone and pull him away from his home. He was letting someone into his heart and he felt a little silly for being so willing to drop what he’d been doing - even if it was just watching his son sleep on the couch - for someone he wasn’t sure would extend the same effort.

He liked Stevie. He wanted something more than just a few meetings, here and there. He wanted dates and hand holding, good morning texts and good night phone calls. He wanted to know that she would be there, that he wouldn’t wake up and find that she had been nothing more than a beautiful dream, but he knew that she wasn’t there. Not yet, maybe not ever. 

He respected that she wasn’t interested in a relationship at the moment and though he remained hopeful she would be someday, he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He wanted to remain realistic, to keep it firmly in his head that she had been honest with him, but rushing to meet her made him feel like he’d gotten stuck with his head in the clouds.

That didn’t seem to matter, though, the moment he spotted her lingering near the entrance to the park. She was dressed down, in a pair of simple, light wash jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, and for the first time, she wore her hair straight. There was no signature eyeliner, a stark black contrast to the hazel of her eyes, and Calum was surprised to see how soft she looked. She looked exhausted, defeated by the day, and Calum longed to wrap her in a hug.

The thing that surprised him the most, however, was the smile that graced her face when she spotted him. It was small, an upturn of the corners of her lips, but it was genuine and brought a light to her face and a warmth to Calum’s heart as he matched it. She looked happy to see him and though that only sent him higher into the clouds, he was glad that she was just as excited as he was.

“Sorry for dragging you out,” she began, her smile turning sheepish as she met Calum’s eyes, “I forget sometimes that you’re a parent.”

“It’s okay,” he assured her, his smile remaining as he stepped a little closer to move out of the way of tourists entering the park. “Mali, my sister, is staying for the week and she’s handling bedtime. Tāne likes it when she sings to him.”

“It runs in the family, huh?” she asked as they followed the few tourists and stepped into the park themselves. When Calum shot her a look, confused as to what she meant, Stevie breathed a quiet laugh and clarified, “The singing. When I told Tāne where my name came from, you sang Landslide for him. You have a nice voice.”

Calum felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “It’s nothing compared to my sister’s,” he assured her, “she’s playing a show on Sunday. If you’re not busy, I’d love for you to come with me.”

Calum expected her to hesitate, to think about her answer for longer than a split second, but he was surprised yet again when she nodded. “That sounds really nice,” she agreed, her smile returning to the soft, sincere upturn of her lips. “I’d like that.”

Calum didn’t want to offend Stevie, however, there was something different about her and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. She seemed a little more at ease than she had in their last few conversations, a little more relaxed, and he couldn’t help but ask, “Are you okay? You seem… different.”

Stevie laughed at Calum’s question, an amused exhale of breath as they wandered down a lit path, and nodded. “I’m okay.” She paused for a moment, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in a way that Calum was quickly associating with her thinking, before she confided, “I had my first appointment with a therapist today. It was something I needed to do and it felt good to talk.”

Again, Calum was surprised by her honesty. He’d gotten used to cagey answers and hesitation but he liked how straightforward she was being with him. And although he wanted her to talk to him, to feel comfortable opening up and letting him in, he knew that he wasn’t a professional and with the experience she’d been through, that was what she needed. He was happy for her, glad that she’d been able to talk with someone, and he told her as much as his hand brushed hers.

“I know it’s hard to open up,” he said, turning his head to face her as they passed a small fountain, “but I’m glad you got the chance to. I hope it helps.”

“I think it will,” she nodded, a hopeful lilt to her voice as she met his eyes once more. “How was your day?”

“Busy,” he replied, his shoe brushing an errant rock in the path as they watched a jogger pass them by. “I have the rest of the week off so I’m trying to get to as many clients as I can before then,” he explained as Stevie nodded in understanding.

“Any reason why?” She asked before quickly adding, “You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.”

It was Calum’s turn to hesitate as he mulled over her question. She had been honest with him, her candor refreshing and her willingness to answer straight a nice change of pace, and he wanted to return the favor. He wanted to be able to have that dialogue with her, to be open and honest about what they were going through so there were no surprises if the day ever came for them to be together, but it felt odd letting someone he was just getting to know in on the most distressing situation in his life.

However, having an outside opinion, the thoughts of someone who didn’t know El and their history, might help him understand the situation a little more fully.

“My ex, Tāne’s mom, El, is trying to get custody of him. We have our first hearing on Friday,” he finally admitted. Stevie surprised him for the third time that night by grabbing the hand that had been bumping into hers and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Calum.” Stevie’s surprise was evident in her voice as she squeezed Calum’s hand. “Do you… If you want to talk about it, I’m more than willing to listen.”

Calum offered her a weak smile as they crossed a small bridge. “It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he pointed out, his voice quiet and seeming to float on the breeze as they stopped in the middle to glance out at the water. “We were supposed to be a team, partners in parenting even after the breakup. But she didn’t want to be a parent. She wanted to enjoy her twenties. I did, too, but I wanted to be a parent more, I guess.” Stevie remained silent as Calum collected his thoughts, her hand warm in his despite the chill of the air surrounding them. 

“Sometimes I wonder if she ever really wanted him, you know? I wonder if she just had him because I was so excited about him and wanted to be a dad so bad. It was so easy for her to just pack up and walk away. Last year, she even had papers drawn up to waive her parental rights but didn’t sign them. I just… I didn’t see this coming and I don’t really know what to do about it,” he admitted.

It felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest as he admitted his feelings to her. It was part of his hesitation in seeking her out - he still felt guilty for spending so much time thinking about her when he had much bigger things to worry about - but he knew that he needed to tell someone who wasn’t invested in the situation. At least not wholly.

“I don’t have kids,” Stevie began, her voice quiet as she stared out at the water and pointedly away from Calum, “and I don’t know what you’re going through as a parent but as a child of divorce, I know what happens when the judge gets it wrong at a custody hearing. I don’t know your ex and I only know a little of you but one thing I have no doubt about is that you love your son. You do your best to care for him and I know that he’s in good hands with you.  I just hope that a judge can see that and makes the right decision, the one that’s best for Tāne.” Stevie hesitated for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed, before she turned her head to Calum and asked, “I’m not trying to advocate for her, I don’t know her, but do you think your ex is genuine in wanting Tāne now or is it to hurt you?”

“I don’t know,” Calum admitted, shrugging his shoulders in defeat as he met Stevie’s eyes once more. “I don’t think she ever wanted to be a parent. I think we were in love and she just gave me what I wanted. Or maybe she just didn’t love me enough to want to be a parent with me,” he guessed, a dull ache flaring in his chest as he thought about what his son could have had. “If this is to hurt me, though, it’s fucked up. It’s the only thing she could do to hurt me but that doesn’t make it any better.”

Stevie remained silent as she stood by Calum’s side. Instead of trying to offer comfort with clumsy words and a lack of knowledge about the situation, she squeezed his hand a little tighter and stepped a little closer to his side. Their arms touched, body heat seeping through the fabric of their sweatshirts, and they would have been content to stand their for hours, silent and contemplative, had a voice not cut through the night and sent a shot of icy dread straight to Calum’s heart.

“I thought that was you, Cal.”

Calum stiffened and bit back the annoyed, incredulous laugh he wanted to huff as he released Stevie’s hand and turned to face the couple that stood just steps away from them on the bridge. They looked like they’d been out for the evening, both dressed for dinner with her in heels and him in nice slacks and a button down, and Calum wanted to roll his eyes.

The universe was testing him, sending him a reminder of where his head should be, and he didn’t much appreciate it.

Elise Wells, El as she had always preferred to be called, stood before him looking exactly as he remembered. In her heels, she stood nearly as tall as him. Her jet black hair was still long, hitting around the bottom of her ribcage, and perfectly curled. Her skin, the same golden shade Tāne had been born with - the only thing of hers he got, really - was still free of ink and Calum was reminded of the different paths they’d taken in their lives.

“Hi,” she said, a smile on her face that looked almost too genuine for him to trust, “it’s good to see you.”

“You, too, El,” he returned with a sigh, no smile on his lips as he met her eyes for the first time in nearly three years.

El looked him over, her piercing brown eyes taking in the faded blue buzzcut with a flicker of disgust - she had never been a fan of his desire to change his hair or cover himself in tattoos -, before she turned her attention to the girl at his side. As Calum spared Stevie a glance, he realized that the two of them couldn’t be more different. Whereas El was all sharp lines and polished perfection, Stevie was soft smiles and beautiful chaos.

Calum realized in that moment that that was what drew him to Stevie. She was the polar opposite of what he’d always gone for, a complete 180 from the girl he always dreamed about. She wasn’t the metaphorical other half he’d been missing, she was a compliment to the things that he already had. She made him want to amplify the good in himself, the softness he saw and the swirling chaos that lived in his head, and he suddenly understood why he felt so desperate to keep her around.

She was everything he’d always wanted but had been too stubborn to admit he needed.

“Since Calum is being rude, I’m Elise,” El introduced, cutting her eyes to Calum before offering Stevie her hand with a smile that he recognized as one of her polite, yet angry, expressions. “You are?”

“Stevie,” she returned, shaking El’s hand quickly before dropping them back to her side and covering them with the arms of her sweatshirt once more. “Nice to meet you.”

“Mm,” El hummed dismissively, giving Stevie a once over before she returned her full attention to Calum. “Where’s Tāne tonight?”

“In bed by now,” he informed her with a sigh, wanting nothing more than the conversation to be over and for El and her boyfriend - who, Calum was amused to see, looked just as uncomfortable as he felt - to leave. “My sister’s watching him.”

El, who had never gotten along with Mali, made a face at the mention of his sister and Calum clenched his jaw in an effort to keep himself from saying something he’d regret. He’d done enough of that the last time he and El spoke and he didn’t want to give her any fuel for her case. “That’s nice,” she finally hummed, her tone deadpan and her eyes narrowed as she glanced between Stevie and Cal once more, “it’s nice that someone other than one of those guys is watching him while you go out.”

Calum already felt somewhat guilty for leaving on such short notice, without really planning to have Mali babysit or telling Tāne goodbye, and El’s comment hit him like a punch to the stomach. Not only did she insult his friends - who she also never really got along with - she was insinuating that he pawned his son off on others while he went out and had fun.

He didn’t want to feel bad, it was rare that he did anything other than go to work and return home to spend time with Tāne, but the one night he did might be enough for her to use against him in their custody battle.

“Well, I’d love to stick around and chat but we’re running late for reservations. I’ll see you on Friday,” El assured him, a sickly sweet smile on her lips as she gave him a wave before purposely bumping into Stevie on her way off the bridge.

Stevie and Calum stood in silence for a long moment; Stevie surprised at what had just happened and Calum allowing his thoughts to run wild. He knew that he shouldn’t feel guilty for spending one night away from his son, it wasn’t a common occurrence and he didn’t intend to make it one, but seeing El reminded him of where his head should be.

Stevie wasn’t interested in a relationship, not yet, and he didn’t have the ability to focus on one until the custody battle with El was over. However, he couldn’t bring himself to give up on either as he turned to glance at Stevie and asked, “Can we try this again some time? I feel like I should head home.”

“Of course,” Stevie nodded, a small smile on her lips as she folded her arms over her chest and began walking the way they’d come. “Just let me know when you want to.” Calum could see that she had more that she wanted to say as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and he had to bite back a surprised laugh when she admitted, “I don’t mean to be rude or stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, but I’m not a fan of her.”

“Yeah,” Calum nodded, a rueful smile on his lips as thought about the others in his life who weren’t fond of her, either. “Not many people are. I’m sorry about that, by the way. She’s… yeah.”

“You don’t have to apologize for someone else’s actions. I get it. I just hope that everyone goes well for you on Friday. If you need anything, you have my number,” she reminded him, the genuine smile from before returning to her lips as they approached the entrance much quicker than he hoped they would. 

“Thank you,” he breathed, his appreciation genuine as they stood, face to face, and watched the other with a sort of curiosity that Calum was closely associating with his growing feelings for her. “I… this has been tough and I feel like we’re both in weird spots in life but it’s nice to feel something good right now.”

“My therapist told me today that you have to find the little things that make you happy, that keep you moving. If a walk in the park is one of those things, so be it. If getting to know someone new is it, that’s good, too. Let the little things bring light right now,” she advised, her eyes meeting his and shining with sincerity. 

Calum nodded, appreciative for the advice, and returned her smile with one of his own. “Tonight was nice,” he told her as he stepped just a little closer, his hand reaching out to squeeze hers one last time. “It brought light.”

“Yeah, it did for me, too,” she assured him, her eyes flashing with an emotion Calum didn’t quite understand before she squeezed his hand and let go. “I’ll see you later, Calum.”

“See you later,” Calum agreed, watching her walk away yet again.

He wished that things weren’t complicated, that he could just tell her how he felt and that she would feel the same. He wished there wasn’t a custody battle looming over his head and a dark cloud over hers. He wished he’d met her a long time ago, when they could’ve just dove in without worrying about having to sink or swim.

However, he resigned himself to acknowledging that he hadn’t as he began his walk back home. He’d met her at a time in his life - and hers - that made things complicated. But he hoped that when all was said and done, when the dust settled and everything was fine, the complications would have made them stronger. 

But, as he walked and thought about what he planned to do going forward, he reminded himself that things were always darkest just before the dawn and the most beautiful roses bloomed after the heaviest storms.

____________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: I’m sorry it’s so heavy. I always intended for this chapter to be a little heavy but this week has been rough so it got a little heavier than I planned.

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[lawschoolruinedme]

I just need to write this all out because I can’t keep having it bouncing in my head

Where do I start? I married an addict. I know this. I knew that. For better or for worse means you stand by someone as they struggle to be a better person. 

A year into our marriage my mom unexpectedly died. I was already dealing with my own personal complicated relationship with alcohol, and it was easier to drink than to deal with the trauma. But I kept going. Kept moving forward. 

My husband’s drinking got bad. His mood got worst. He hated his job. He felt isolated from his few friends; we had moved cities for my work, and he had still not recovered from the pre-me life of being a barfly, where your fellow drinkers feel as close to friends as your lifestyle can sustain. 

Two years after my mom died, we attempted therapy. He did not take well to it; the therapist was clear he thought my husband was depressed and struggling and he didn’t think my husband was doing anything to help himself. My husband decided he wanted to stop going. I went a few more times myself. I knew we couldn’t sustain the place we were in. 

I told my husband two years ago that if he did not get a handle on himself, I was done. I would told him I wanted to leave. And he asked me for a chance to be better. He acknowledged how bad he had been. We agreed to plan on working forward together. 

I always knew my husband enjoyed his beer. He would be fine one second and then the next I would have to make excuses for us to leave whatever social situation we were in. It was like there was no tipsy warning period. 

When I was a kid, I knew my mom liked to drink. I didn’t realize how much my parents were drinking until I was an adult. I didn’t realize how often the opaque coffee tumblrs were actually filled with vodka. I didn’t realize how long it would take a normal person to go through a 40 oz bottle. I didn’t realize that was likely where much of our money was going. 

A few years after we had been together, my husband and I had been visiting my family when my husband turns to me and says “wow your Mom is drunk, huh?” and it was like... the scene in HIMYM with the glass breaking realization? That was me. Everything wild and fun about my mom was the alcohol. Every conversation she couldn’t seem to remember and brushed off as though there were too many things in her head? That was the vodka talking. I started to recognize the slur in her words. I started to know I had to set times in which I could talk to her - any later than 5pm her time was a lost cause. It changed how I handled her. It changed how I related to her. 

My husband used to qualify his drinking. So long as he didn’t miss a day of work, he said, he wasn’t that bad. 

After I told him I wanted to leave, things really did get better. He stopped falling asleep on the couch. I stopped seeing the glassy eyes. He was sleeping better. We were having sex again. 

And in that period of things getting better, we got pregnant. I had conquered my own demons at that point. Even before I realized I was pregnant and had to, I had quit most drinking. I did not nurse myself to bed with wine to numb myself to sleep. And so quitting for pregnancy, and effectively staying dry and sober for breast feeding came easy to me. Nowadays, one drink gets me a happy buzz. And unless I was away from my daughter, I wouldn’t want any more than that. 

My husband took parental leave. We would do sleep shifts with the baby; trading off for six or eight hours so the other could be human. And after a few months, I was due to go back to the office. 

I told him, unequivocally, I would not be drinking when the baby was awake. I asked him to please consider doing the same. He had been doing so well - this felt like the logical next step?

Instead, the few months I spent at the office it seemed like his drinking became this money pit that our fragile finances couldn’t sustain. One month he spent $1,000 on beer and liquor. But he hadn’t been glassy eyed? He hadn’t passed out on the couch? I still cannot reconcile how he was drinking ~ 10 beers a day (yes, I did the math) and had seemed so normal?

Things came back under control when he returned to work. I chalked it up to the restlessness of being home, the isolation of spending most of the day with the baby who was only just then starting to seem like a little person herself. I hadn’t seen the signs of the man who had once fallen in the street. I told myself it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t as bad, and I could live with it if it kept getting better. 

We have spent many weekends this year camping. It is basically the only covid-safe activity we can find given the baby’s age and my husband’s asthma. In pre-baby days, we used to nurse drinks through the whole day, sitting around the fire and reading. I told my husband, in no uncertain terms, he is the only driver, and I expected that he would be sober and ready to drive if something were to happen to the baby. 

Five camping trips. Twice he broke that rule. It was often a matter of “shove some carbs into him and he became human again”, but I still felt sad. Still felt lonely. Still felt like this was a reminder that I was hanging onto hope of things getting better by the thinnest thread. 

And this weekend, as I’m trying to explain to him what my parents drinking did to me, what I don’t want it to do to our daughter, how he is almost forty and he needs to start seriously considering that this could kill him, he tells me (as if it was good? I still dont understand) that when it was at its worst, when it was so bad before I threatened to leave him, that I didn’t know how bad it was. That I didn’t know he was often having a beer before leaving for work at 7am. That I didn’t know he was often sharing beers with the guys at work in the cooler at the shop. That I didn’t know how much he had been hiding from me. 

This. This is where I have not been able to keep thinking. I know the narrative that led to this place. I know every decision I have made has led me to my daughter. 

But how do I deal with this knowledge. How do I deal with the flippancy of what he told me. How do I trust when it has become so clear that my own hawk-eyed observance, of tracking how much is purchased, on hiding the liquor bottles when his mood is bleak, that it was never enough. 

How do I trust any of the progress that has been made is real? How do I believe that any of it even is progress anymore - and not just cleverly disguised from me?

I feel like that girl who had her whole perception of her Mom shattered all over again. Who once again has realized that her intuition, her attention, was so wrong.

[catrasredemption-moved]

That whole "an abusive mother shouldn't be seen as a mother figure" sitting not well with me.

So can you elaborate on that and not make it super invalidating to people abused by foster/adoptive/psuedo paternql figures?

This feels like a trap, but sure. Buckle up, we’re going back to my childhood.

(this is long, contains emotional/mental abuse, alcohol and drug references, and is just plain unpleasant)

I was emotionally/mentally abused by my mother and stepfather for pretty much my entire life. I was an oops baby, and my bio dad at least had the self awareness to check out my life early because he knew he’d never be a good father (yes, I give him some twisted credit for that, because at least he was honest). My mom was kind of... I don’t want to say forced to keep me, but her family was very insistent. I don’t think she would have gotten an abortion anyway (put aside that this was 1991), but things might have been different if she’d just been allowed to go the same route as my father. Her parents pretty much raised me for six years, partially because she had a full-time job, and partially because she just had no clue what she was doing. And I think having her parents as a crutch for so long definitely limited her.

And then she met Paul. Twenty years older than her, didn’t even have a toaster to his name, alcoholic, drug addict. I was six, so obviously this all went over my head, but my mother’s parents did not like him (something I didn’t find out until years after they both died). My mom was 27 at the time, and I don’t know if she just thought no one else would want her because she was a single mother, if she was just desperate, or maybe she really was attracted to him, but she started dating him. I don’t remember everything that led up to the Breaking Point, because this was 23 years ago, but I remember the specific night - she was on the phone with Paul, and I kept saying I was hungry. I forget what she made, but it was something I’d eaten before and suddenly decided I didn’t like (as children do sometimes), so I was upset.

At this point my grandmother or grandfather would usually step in and just make me something else. Instead my grandfather went upstairs and told her to get off the phone and deal with it. Was I being a little bratty? Yeah, probably. Should my grandparents have just dealt with it? No, that was my mother’s job. Even if it just meant coming downstairs and making me eat the Thing. But she didn’t want to get off the phone (this was 1997, people still talked on phones. Weird, right?)

One huge fight later, my mother put me in her car and drove me 20 minutes to another city to stay with Paul and his roommate. I didn’t see my grandparents for three days. That’s when they learned they had to play nice with Paul or my mother would actually take me away.

We moved in with Paul, after they’d been dating for three whole months. My mother upended both of our lives, including making me transfer to another school after first grade, for a guy she’d been dating for three months. A guy she knew had substance abuse problems. A guy who, when home alone during the day, would sit out in the living room and watch porn (and one time watched it in my room, which? I was eight, I very vaguely remember walking into the apartment, my mother immediately grabbing me and pushing me back into the hall while saying “get that shit off her TV.”)

Some very fucked up things happened over the next twelve years, some I still haven’t told anyone about (including my wife), and some that were just wrong in retrospect. Common occurrences included (some of this might be considered lowkey sexual abuse? I’ve never thought about it that way, but my perspective is skewered af):

Telling me to turn sideways so he could see how I was “developing” (this started at 10)

Inappropriate comments about my weight and how I eat too much (starting around 8 or 9)

Wildly gross and sexual comments about my body (starting around 13)

Coming into my room while drunk and asking for a hug, then holding me for too long and lowkey groping (starting around 13 or 14)

Calling me a whiny bitch (starting around 8)

Yelling at me for eating food, especially if I finished something, because I didn’t pay for the food so why should I get to eat it all (starting around 15)

Yelling at me for daring to go out into the living room and talk to my mother while they were watching TV (pretty much the entire time I lived with them)

Telling me my mother used to have “a great body” before she got sick and lost a ton of weight (I don’t remember when exactly that started, but the sickness in question happened when I was 7)

Trying to tell me about how he and mother were getting hot and heavy while I was at school (high school; one of the only times my mother actually told him to shut the fuck up)

Enjoyed calling me stupid and calling me an idiot and other things that were entirely damaging to my self esteem

Straight up saying, after seven years of my mother insisting we were family, that I wasn’t his daughter and I never would be (13)

Inappropriate comments while drunk, to the point where I knew when he’d be drunk (because it was always pay day), and me arranging to be out of the house for a couple of days just so I wouldn’t have to be there (high school; I went to my aunt’s, and eventually she started figuring out a pattern and asking me what was going on. I was 16 when she finally realized I hate Paul as much as she does)

...to name a few things. And my mother? Knew about all of this. And sure, she tried to stick up for me once or twice, like about the food thing, but even that came with the caveat of “maybe you should stop eating so much.” (before anyone asks, yes, I’m slightly overweight, and this was some grade A body shaming). But for the most part, she enabled him. And when he told me to stop being sensitive and it was “just a joke”? She sided with him and told me to stop “whining” (whining being “trying to defend myself”). She took his side about 95% of the time, while still insisting that he was my father, because he was there and he was helping “raise” me. They’ve been together for 23 years, and she’s basically chosen him over me at this point (because I chose to get the fuck out of the house and take a job in a state 300 miles away just to escape that hell). We actually got into a huge fight about him back in June because I didn’t call to wish him a Happy Father’s Day. He has never met my wife (whom he referred to as my “friend”, and my mother saw nothing wrong with that, then got mad when I tried to say “what if I called him your roommate”), he was not invited to our wedding, and we had a fight last Christmas when I went back to visit and straight up said he wasn’t allowed to visit our hotel (because I never want him to meet my wife).

Do I consider her my mother? ...sure, in the absolute vaguest sense of the word. She made sure I made it from birth to 18, kept me clothed and fed and a roof over my head (while constantly reminding me about how much it cost to raise a kid.)

Do I consider him my father? Fuck. No. I left the house for college when I was 18, moved out when I was 22, have had three therapists, been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and probable PTSD, have gathered a small group of my own found family, and I still carry a lot of shit from that time in my life. I hate showing my body in any way, and tend to wear shirts that are, oh, 2-3 sizes too big. I hate eating “too much”, despite the fact that a) my wife doesn’t care if I finish something and b) I help pay for the fucking food. I get extremely anxious when I try to correct someone about something (like my pronouns), because I’m afraid they’re going to yell at me and tell me to stop being sensitive. My self esteem is still basically at rock bottom, to the point where I don’t believe people sometimes when they say they like my writing. I flinch when people try to touch me (that’s getting better, though).

I can’t even give him the bare minimum credit I give my mother, because he actively hindered my attempts to grow up and move on from the shit he put me through. He was, and still is, a terrible person, and the idea of him being my father makes me sick. I give more credit to by bio father (you know, the one who walked out because he knew he wouldn’t be a good father), because he’s at least made a few half-ass attempts throughout my life to show he cares (and in a way, I think he does, he just knew he wouldn’t be a good father). Paul, though? Paul could die tomorrow and I... I can’t say I wouldn’t care at all, just because he has had such a presence in my life, but I wouldn’t miss him.

If you have an abusive parental figure (be it bio/step/foster/adoptive/etc.), and you consider them your parent, then that’s you, and I don’t judge. But Paul, no matter what my mother says, will never be my father in any way. He actively made me afraid to exist or be in my own home. He left scars so deep that I don’t think I’ll ever totally move on from some of it. I need people to remind me that nothing he did was okay or normal, and that my mother wasn’t right for allowing it.

So basically, I have a lot of experience to back up why I don’t think abusive parents should be considered parental figures. Parents are supposed to help you grow and care about you and want you to succeed. Paul did none of those things. He continues to be an active roadblock in my life, as a matter of fact. And I refuse to feel bad about not considering him a parental figure.

[lockedstuck]

beyond our fury and our silences

2021, 04/17 - Sollux Captor

You envy the patients on the unit who have a “normal” to return to. You never have, and never will. You’ve had periods of more gentle oscillation, like high school as opposed to the jagged highs and equally disruptive lows of your undergraduate years. However, you haven’t been “normal” in terms of psychopathology since you were a kid.

Dr. Vandayar suggests that perhaps your childhood years did a number on your sanity, though not word for word. He’s way more polite about it. You kind of want to hit him for it.

Your dad did his absolute best to raise you, all seventy hour weeks to afford summer camp for gifted kids and SHSAT prep classes. So did your mother, teaching you math and history, even if she was psychotic, even when her mental landscape frequently shifted like sand on the beach. 

Once, when you were maybe ten, she came home an hour late from a quick run to the grocery store five blocks away. She explained, gentle yet adamant, that people had decided to follow her home, and she did not want them to know where she was going. What if they’d decided to rob her? Your dad sighed. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

She sat at the dining room table later, repeatedly drawing pictures of seashells. When you sat down next to her, and pulled your chair close so that you could see her work, she started to explain the Fibonacci sequence to you. It wasn’t hard to understand adding the sums of the two previous numbers together. She launched into another explanation of the not unrelated golden ratio, and you just sat there and let her go on for a while, even when you didn’t quite understand. 

She took out a nautilus shell that she had fashioned into a necklace, showed it to you, and wound up giving it to you. When you asked her why, she smiled and shrugged. You continue to wear it underneath your clothing. 

Perhaps you’ll give it to Feferi when she gets discharged, given her love of all things aquatic. At this rate, she’ll probably get out before you do, what with the nine ECT treatments you still have to complete.

Out of nowhere, Roxy walks over to you, and you glance up at her. You know by now that whatever comes out of her mouth will be either offensive, amusing, or both.

“Aradia’s on the phone for you, Lispy! Hey, could you tell her something for me?”

You stand up and stretch, fingertips toward the ceiling. “What is it?”

“Tell her that her voice is really cute, but that she’s way cuter in person,” she replies. “Wait, hold up. Tell me she’s not straight. Is she straight? I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.”

You don’t know whether or not to answer truthfully. You should probably ask Aradia about that beforehand. You walk over to the pay phone, and put the receiver to your mouth.

“Ray? Is that you?”

“Hey, Sollux,” she says. Then, a pause that stretches into infinity, or ten whole seconds at the very least. “Is it okay if I visit tonight instead of tomorrow? One of my students is actually attending my office hours, which--”

“--overlap with my visiting hours,” you finish. Maybe you should have let her complete her sentence. 

You’re tetchy and impatient, the first thing having been induced by your session with Dr. Vandayar, and the second by the fact that next week will mark one whole month since you arrived at this hospital, and what precisely do you have to show for it? 

Roxy’s almost completely weaned off methadone and will probably leave next week, to go to inpatient rehab. June is going home the Monday after next. Feferi got here the same day as you and will most certainly be gone the same week as June. Eridan will be gone before you finish out your ECT treatments, since his conclude next week, as will Karkat, Porrim, and probably even Calliope. The only person who may not leave before you is Latula, and although she’s perfectly kind, you don’t know her very well. 

You didn’t realize how long you’ve stewed in your thoughts until you hear Aradia ask, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah. You said you wanted to come tonight as opposed to tomorrow. That’s fine.”

“And what about you?” she asks.

You shrug.

“What about me?”

“Are you fine?”

The only person you suck at lying to more than Aradia is your father, and your dad is only leading by a narrow margin. That may be why you signed a HIPPA release so that your treatment team could talk to both of them.

“I had a weird therapy session today. Normally I get along with my therapist, but today I almost wanted to punch him in the face.”

Aradia asks if you’d like to talk about it, and your kneejerk is to say, “hell no”, but during another therapy session a couple of days ago, Dr. Vandayar stressed the importance of not being unwilling to depend on one’s support team. As vaguely annoyed as you still are at him, you did concede the point on Monday afternoon.

“I guess it was because… well… fuck, I don’t know how to explain this without sounding like an asshole. He didn’t actually say anything that wasn’t true, but maybe it was the way he said it? I don’t know. I’m sorry, Ray, I’m rambling all over the fucking place.”

“Don’t worry about it. Go on.”

“He pretty much said that my situation with my parents could have contributed a lot to why I’m all fucked up in the head. Not currently, but like, before, when I was a kid. I was like, where exactly does this guy get off making that kind of judgment? And then I was like, dude, you weren’t there, you didn’t see it, so how do you know? ‘Cause my parents, they did the absolute best they could with what they had. I mean, I didn’t say that to him, but I felt it. And I felt angry at him about it.”

A long silence, one that you feel sink down to the pit of your stomach.

“Well.”

“Well, what?”

“I get that you’re upset, but Sollux, it’s not like this is something you’ve never said to me.”

“But Aradia, that’s different. I was there. So were you, for parts of it. You’ve met my parents a billion times. But aside from a few conversations with you and Baba, Dr. V barely knows anything about my life. For him to say it like that… I don’t like it. I don’t know why, but I don’t.”

“Because it seems like he’s judging people and events he hasn’t had the opportunity to witness first-hand.”

“Yes! Exactly! That’s it!”

It feels like an indictment against your family, and if you are anything to a fault, you are loyal to Mituna and your parents. All of them came together for you, the youngest, the most successful. Even being here, unable to provide for them both emotionally and financially, feels like the worst blow in the world. 

You shouldn’t be here getting the memory zapped out of you in some last-ditch effort to quell your mania and depression. You should be outside working, seeing to the needs of someone besides yourself. You should be meeting Aradia at her apartment every other night, helping her clean out her apartment, which quickly devolves into chaos, ashtrays full of spent cigarette butts, and dishes piling up in the sink, as she scrambles to finish up her master’s thesis.

Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned from your father, it is that you are what you contribute, and being here, seemingly unable to contribute anything, might just be the worst sensation in the world.

You’re alone with yourself here, face to face with everything you hate about yourself, with all your aspirations and all your neuroses, and you hate it, you hate it, you hate it, you want out so badly. But what if they don’t let you leave and you end up at your mother’s worst fear - involuntary status? If four weeks of hospitalization seem like hell, what about sixty days, your fate handed down via court order?

What if that knee-jerk desire to 72 hour letter yourself away from thrice weekly therapy sessions is just another trap? What if you leave and try to slit your throat again? What if you actually succeed this time around? Who the fuck is going to take care of your family?

It all comes down to that.

You’d rather like to bang your head against the wall until you either make things clearer or knock yourself out. 

“I’ll be there tonight, Sollux,” Aradia says, suddenly. Not for the first time, you wonder if she can read your mind and tell when you’re starting to decompensate more than usual.

Aradia gets there long before six o’ clock. In fact, you notice her tell-tale garnet-colored blazer, as you look through the small rectangular window in the door of the main unit, sometime around 5:20. A woman in a small black dress stands not far away from her, and once you notice her carefully coiffed blonde hair, you walk over to the women’s side of the unit and loudly knock on Roxy’s door.

“And what can I do for you?” she asks, removing the headphone radio that has all but been surgically attached to her head. “Do you have news about Aradia’s sexual orientation?”

You roll your eyes at her, more to keep up appearances than an actual rebuke.

“Your mom’s here,” you reply.

Roxy seems to consider this, then picks up her stuffed cat from her bed and pads into the hallway. Calliope waves at you, the light on their side of the room switched on so they can write. You wave back, then follow Roxy back to the main door of the unit, to resume your little vigil.

You stand without word or gesture, a good six feet away from the door so the night staff doesn’t bitch. They seem to have given up on Roxy, who stands only two feet away from the door and jumps up and down as she waves to her mom. Her mom waves back, though in a more sedate fashion than her child. 

You rather like Ms. Lalonde, honestly. It’s hard to dislike a family member who comes so often. According to Roxy, she only misses Mondays for work related reasons. You think the only person who has her beat in terms of visiting is June’s dad, who has yet to miss a day of seeing his daughter, at least during your stay here.

After about ten minutes of furious waving, Roxy starts doing the YMCA with her arms. Her mother actually returns the motions. 

Aradia glances at her, cracks up, and giggles helplessly, which makes you smile.

When they finally start letting visitors in, Aradia steps behind Ms. Lalonde without a word. Aradia signs the book after her, and then Mr. Egbert signs after that.

Maybe he smuggled a whole ass lemon meringue pie onto the unit. You’d probably kiss him if he did that, and you’re pretty sure macking on your friend’s hot dad is frowned upon in most situations.

Aradia walks into the unit, and it’s only a moment before you’ve scooped her up into your arms. You’re so skinny that Karkat calls you a walking skeleton comprised of caffeine and spite, and Aradia has more curves than a parametric equation. You still manage to pick her up so her toes momentarily leave the ground, pull her close, and kiss her forehead before you let her go. 

She interlaces your fingers with hers.

“What table are we sitting at tonight?” she wants to know, gazing at the sea of round wooden tables in the dining room.

“The one by the window, in the corner,” you decide, after a moment’s thought. The chairs are heavy, so they can’t be thrown across the unit by angry patients you suppose, but you pull out your chair and sit down easily enough. It occurs to you that maybe you should have pulled hers out, but she gets the job done. 

You sit right beside her, and before you can think on it, you let her pull you close. Your head on her shoulder, and your arm thrown around her back. It’s not the most comfortable position, but she smells like lilies, cocoa butter, cigarettes, and home. 

You bring to mind all the animal skulls on her shelves, all the volumes of dead poets stacked haphazardly around them. Everything has been arranged to display her fixation on things that have shuffled off this mortal coil, for the exception of the flourishing plants on her terrace. 

Her arms come up around your shoulders, and she scoots over so the position is more comfortable for your lanky ass. She presses a kiss to your temple, and then to the shell of your ear. You smile in spite of yourself.

 It occurs to you that you have not had a self-loathing thought since she arrived.

It’s easier to not hate yourself when someone who would either try to refute or talk you through your issues sits beside you, singing softly.

“Tastes like strawberries on a summer evening. And it sounds just like a song...”

You snort. “I had no idea you were so fond of Harry Styles.”

She stops singing for the moment, but you’ve already started to hum the next part of the song, while she explains where she first heard it.

“My neighbor used to like to sit on her balcony and listen to the radio while I talked to my fig tree. It was on constant replay on Z100. And it’s catchy. So I sang it. A lot.”

You imagine Aradia as she sings, the long dark curls of her hair unpinned the way they usually are when she’s at home, moving along to the music as she waters her plants. It’s a nice mental image, the kind you wouldn’t mind getting lost in.

Here is one way you might safeguard yourself from the impulses and the dorco razor-blades. 

You can’t watch Aradia bustle around her apartment if you’re not alive. You can’t help her, or your dad in their gardens - why do so many of your loved ones have an affinity for plants when you can barely keep a cactus alive - if you’re six feet under.

You also cannot remind her of her own neglected tasks - “Aradia, c’mon, you have to wash these dishes, there’s fuckin’ fruit flies here, I hate fruit flies.” - and then watch as she makes a meal with the newly washed dishes just so that she knows you’ve eaten that day. 

You think she’d give an approving nod to your thoughts.

“Hey, Sollux,” she says. You glance at her face, the anxiety written across it.

That won’t do. You never liked seeing her worried about anything.

“Yeah, Ray? What’s going on?”

“When you get out of here, after all your treatments are finished, I was wondering…”

“Wondering what?”

She exhales slowly. She takes your hand in hers. You let the warmth suffuse through you. 

“Would you like to move in with me? I know you need to be close to your family, but it’s just the F to the 7 train to get to Flushing.”

You consider this. You’ve known Aradia since the sixth grade, and you are now twenty-seven, which adds up to something like sixteen years of friendship. Aradia knows you like nobody else. Not even your father.

She’s handled your weird mood shit and chronic suicidality with more skill than some clinicians you’ve had. In return, you’ve kept her alive - her parents coddled her to a fault, and she had next to no idea how the world outside academia functioned - and helped her through her occasional bouts of clinical depression.

“You’ll take me to Essex Market and get me that bougie vegan cheese?” you ask. 

There are more questions, several in fact, that you need answered before you give her a decision, but you’ll start with the inanities and work your way up to the logistics.

“When have I not?” she replies. 

You snort.

“How much am I going to pay in rent, for one?”

Aradia seems to consider this for a moment.

“For now, nothing, since you’re not working, and I’m already covering my rent with my job,” she says. “But once you get a job, I’d like you to kick something in. Not too much.”

“Where would I even sleep?”

“The couch in the main room is a pullout. And even If you wanted to sleep in my room, I think I have enough space for another bed.”

You think it over, and some traitorous part of your brain bristles at what is essentially charity from her. Her family - comfortably upper middle class - must be helping her with rent. There is no way in hell that she scored a one bedroom near Bowery on her salary as an adjunct professor. You don’t know what they’d think of letting you live there, or maybe you do, and that’s why you’re hesitant to accept this. They’ve come to actually like you, but you’re not eager to test out how far that goes.

She must sense your hesitation. She once more interlaces her fingers with yours, and lets out a small sigh.

“At least think it over, Sollux.”

“You know I will.”

“I think we function better when we’re in the same place than when we’re not.”

You grin. “You know it.”

The other thing that gives you pause consists of your own confusing feelings about her. 

Some days you want to kiss her senseless, peel her out of that red jacket, the black tank top, the long gray skirt. You want to see her, and only her. You want to shed your t-shirt and skinny jeans and have her see you. You want to hold her, press against her, and have her return the gesture. Your longing to be as close to her as humanly possible sweeps over you like a wave, and you have never been known for any particular skill at swimming.

Other days, you just want to sit next to her and make fun of her when she sings Watermelon Sugar. Or like the time she forgot her umbrella at home, a torrential downpour decided to strike and you had to run to the Second Avenue F train station and hope you got there in time to catch her. Still, more recently, the pair of you playing video games and swearing at each other with a giant container of mapo tofu between you. You want the easy rhythm of your close friendship, something familiar, and easy to navigate.

Most of all, you’re afraid. You’re afraid that if you take the plunge and alter the parameters of your relationship, that you’ll lose her entirely if things don’t pan out. And where the hell would you be without her?

[cookinguptales]

A long post about having undiagnosed ADHD as a little girl. And how we all need to talk a hell of a lot more about Reaction Sensitive Dysphoria.

(cw: mental illness, childhood punishment, discussions of childhood self-harm & suicidal ideation)

When I was a little girl, I was a crybaby. I didn’t know why I’d cry all the time. I just did. Everything always felt catastrophic, even if it was just a disagreement over what to play with my friends. People called me manipulative. I got made fun of at school. I was sent to the school therapist. Hell, the only time I ever had to go to the principal’s office, I was in kindergarten and would not. stop. crying. I was literally sent to the principal’s office for crying too much.

(Note. How did I respond to that? I cried. A lot.)

Here are a few examples of things that made me feel like the world was ending:

Once I came home sobbing and my parents asked me what was wrong. Why was I crying? Because the other kids had called me a crybaby.

Once at daycare (around age six), some older boys were making effigies of their teachers out of play-doh and then smushing them and convinced me to join in. The minute I did, they told me that they were telling my teacher, which made me about lose my damn mind.

I was a voracious reader and often ran out of reading material. Once I sneaked some of my mother’s romance novels that she’d left in the bathroom for light reading. They were Very Adult. I was so scared she’d find out and scold me for reading sexually explicit books.

Now, my parents think these are kind of funny stories. They say that I was very cute. But in truth, I was a nervous wreck. My life was pretty good in most ways, but I’d have these moments that just felt like cascading catastrophes. Anytime someone criticized me or my work or my ideas, the sky would just come crashing down. I’d cry so hard I couldn’t breathe. I’d cry so hard I threw up. I grew out of the crying by about age nine, but that sickening feeling of failure never really left.

About 8 years ago, I was diagnosed with ADHD. Severe ADHD. I believe the doctor’s exact words were “I don’t even know how you graduated from high school”. They tried me on ADHD medicine but it made my heart go dokidoki so I just had to live with being unmedicated. I wasn’t told a lot about ADHD at that point, or how ADHD symptoms differ for women, so I just kind of assumed that it was just focus and that’s it. Brain fog wasn’t exactly new to me, what with my other illnesses, so I figured I’d just live with it.

But about a year ago, I learned about Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, which is a fairly common symptom of ADHD that no one ever told me about in my goddamn life! It essentially means that when you are criticized (or perceive something as criticism) by others or by yourself, your brain goes into absolute hyperdrive. You go from zero to “everyone hates me and I deserve that and probably don’t deserve to live too because I am just the worst” over like. literally nothing. And it’s not just like a mental thing you can train yourself out of. It’s characterized by actual physical pain. Y’all, I have anxiety and depression and this is not the same thing. This is your whole body seizing up and your brain going into a maelstrom that’s fairly similar to a panic attack.

Here’s the less cute side to all of those stories:

I had very few friends, and the friends I did have thought I was annoying and manipulative. The more I cried, the more kids stayed away from me.

After the Play-Doh incident, I cried for days. Days. And I was scared of my teacher for weeks. My parents laughed it off as a cute child thing, but none of it was cute for me. The older boys forgot about it by the next day, but it haunted my interactions with that teacher for weeks. It interfered with my education. I was a nervous wreck at school. I was so scared that she would hate me. That I’d be singled out in class. That I’d fail and my whole education would be upended and I’d fail out of school and my parents would hate me too and my life would be over. That’s... a lot for a six year old.

Those romance novels? That was a closely guarded secret that I kept for years. For literal years, I was afraid she’d somehow find out that I’d read those books. I would think of it when I was nine, ten, eleven years old and my whole body would stiffen up. I’d occasionally throw up. I cried about what might happen if my parents ever found out. Would they hate me forever? Yes, probably. They’d never love me again. I was a bad child. I finally told my mom about it a few months ago. I was 29. A small part of me was still scared I’d get in trouble. (My mom laughed about it; she was just like ‘wow, I should have put those books up higher’.)

When I was six, I went to an aftercare at a neighbor’s house for a while. (This predated the other daycare.) One day, one of the kids at aftercare didn’t get off the bus. The lady asked if anyone knew where he was. Trying to be helpful, I said I thought I’d seen him on the bus. (And like -- I really did think I did. But I was six and six year olds are uhhh not smart.) Surprise! He’d actually left school early for a dr’s appt. But she thought he’d missed his bus stop and spent like an hour on the phone figuring out what happened. And y’all. When she realized he hadn’t been on that bus, she was furious. When my other neighbor picked me up for my mom that evening, the lady told her that I was a bad child who’d purposefully lied to scare her. She said I wasn’t allowed to come back. And ohhh guys. I begged my neighbor not to tell my mom. (She did.) And then I begged my mom not to tell my dad. She was honestly kind of alarmed at how vehement I was about dad not knowing. (I was like a shaking, sobbing mess.) She asked me what I thought would happen. idk. Maybe he’d hit me. (My parents never hit me.) Maybe he’d throw me out of the house. Maybe he’d never talk to me again. He’d definitely stop loving me. I was so bad. So, so bad. I was a bad child. No one would ever love me. I was a worthless, bad child.

In short, I was hysterical.

When my parents finally talked to me about it, it was less of a talk about consequences and more talking me off the fucking ledge. They weren’t that concerned about the actual incident; they figured out pretty quickly that I’d just made a mistake. A temporarily scary one, but a mistake all the same. (I basically never misbehaved, so they were kind of confused by the whole situation, honestly.) But they were very concerned about my reaction to it. I knew they loved me, right? I knew that they wouldn’t hurt me, right? Why did I think that was a possibility?

I didn’t know. I still don’t know. It wasn’t rational. It was just my brain exploding into a thousand tiny pieces.

This is not a memory my mom laughs about. I think it really genuinely disturbed her. She’s still angry at that aftercare neighbor for doing that to me. As an adult, I realize that the person who actually fucked up in that scenario was the boy’s mother, who didn’t call to alert aftercare that he wouldn’t be coming. (Funnily enough, that boy’s mother was my first grade teacher -- the one I was so terrified of. Small town. I guess I was scared of her hating me, too.) But as a child, this wasn’t just bad. It was catastrophic. I genuinely considered hurting myself. I was six years old and I considered hurting myself. Suicidal ideation is often part and parcel with RSD. I’ve had to deal with that since elementary school.

RSD is real and it’s terrifying and it’s not unusual in children with ADHD. It’s still a problem that I struggle with. I’ve had friends not answer texts for a while and my brain just. assumes that I said something wrong. And now they hate me. Because I’m a bad person. And my whole body will shake. I’ll sweat. My stomach will roll. My chest will literally hurt like I’m having a heart attack. I still have to blink back those tears. Sometimes I’ll go for a walk to distract myself and burn off all that energy. Sometimes I’ll write a post like this. Sometimes I’ll just lie in bed. Shaking. Trying very hard not to think about doing Bad Things. It’s hard to say how it’ll go until it goes.

(Note: I’m okay right now! I was just talking about this with dad yesterday so I’ve been thinking about it.)

And this is not my friends’ fault! Or my family’s fault. This is no one’s fault. It’s just... mental illness, I guess. It’s hard to predict. Sometimes I can have a calm and reasonable discussion about my faults (which I fully admit exist) and sometimes someone disagrees with me on whether a tv show is good and my brain shits itself. (I’m dumb and stupid and this person probably hates me now! Because I didn’t love Avatar! Why did I open my big mouth? Now our whole relationship is ruined and I ruined it because I am a dumb relationship-ruiner!) Obviously, it gets worse when my physical and mental state is already fragile. I have a lot of chronic physical and mental illnesses, so like... it happens. But it’s very hard to predict, very hard to control, and all you can do is really talk yourself through it when it happens. Breathe. Focus on what’s real and what’s not. Distract yourself. Be as kind to your brain as you can because it will not be kind back.

Talk to people who love you. Try, whenever possible, to be one of those people.

idk. I wish I had concrete advice to finish this off. But it’s more just like... please learn to see the signs, especially in small children. I had far too many strong emotions for a child to figure out on her own. I really could have used some help. It’s too late for my childhood, but not for the other kids who are struggling with similar issues right now.

And if you read this and see yourself in it, do me a solid and talk to your doctor? Your brain might thank you one day.

[ask-marcus-cally-and-ari]

Only Human

Chapter 10: Downtime

Authors note: Apologies for the long delay. Schoolwork has been burying us and stress from Covid-19 has been at an all time high.

Within three days, Marcus’s mood had significantly improved. With two new allies by his side, he felt markedly more secure in his surroundings, although he still occasionally looked above him from time to time out of instinct. 

He was in the back of Spyper’s van with Ari and Cally, quietly playing a game of Uno amongst themselves. 

Looking up at Intelligent, he said, "Yo, big guy. You look like you wanna ask us something." 

“I do, actually,” Intelligent said, setting aside his book. “You three seem really close. How long have you known each other for?” 

"Six years and 348 days," Cally answered, setting down her cards. 

"Technically, longer," Marcus added, "But we officially met during the summer." 

6 Years and 348 Days Ago… 

The rec center was alive with activity during the summer. It made sense that three random 10 year olds would be here. Marcus, Cally, and Ari were all there, going about their business. Marcus was busy taking boxing classes, Ari was attending choir lessons, and Cally intently watched a lecture on computer programming. 

The classes all ended early that day, leaving the three kids not knowing where to go. So they all ended up in an empty tennis court, sitting and waiting for their parents. 

To kill time, Ari fatefully began chatting with Marcus.

“Hi. My name’s Ari,” He greeted, waving to Marcus. “What’s your name?”

“Marcus. Aren’t you that short kid who sits in the front of the class?” 

“Yeah, that’s me. You’re the kid who’s taking boxing lessons, right?” 

“The one with anger problems,” Cally chimed in from the corner, reading a book. “Yeah, that’s him.” 

Marcus threw a candy wrapper at her. 

“Hey, be nice!” Ari frowned at Cally.

“It’s true, isn’t it? No point saying anything that isn’t true for the sake of one’s feelings.” 

“You sound really mean.” 

"I heard that once you get smart enough you stop having emotions," Marcus shrugged. 

"That's a lie," Cally hissed. "I just don't see the value in being dishonest." 

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and the fact that I called you a loser that one time has nothing to do with it." 

"I just refuted your theory on my lack of emotions. I can hold a grudge." 

“How do you even know he has anger issues? Because he boxes?” Ari asked. 

"My mom is the school secretary. She has me do a lot of the paperwork so she can go out. Some of that paperwork got Marcus to see the school therapist." 

“Why does the secretary have a 10 year old doing her work? Isn’t that against the rules or something?”

"Not if the principal doesn't find out." 

“So you’re being mean to Marcus even though you’re the one breaking the rules?” 

“Look. Ari, right? If the people who fed and sheltered you and could kick you out if they felt so inclined and barely gave a crap about you told you to do something, would you do it?” 

“Isn’t it against the law to kick a kid out of the house?” 

“Probably. Wouldn’t stop my parents.” 

“You sound like you have issues. Maybe you should see the school therapist.” 

“I don’t want to get landed in foster care. Too much of a risk to my psyche.” 

“And being treated like sh_t by your parents isn’t?” Marcus asked. 

Ari and Cally stared at Marcus. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Cally asked. 

“Yes, actually.” 

Ari whined. “Isn’t cussing bad?” 

“Eh. Some people don’t like it, and my parents don’t let me swear when we’re in restaurants and things like that.” 

“Wouldn’t the community rec center count as a place you shouldn’t swear?” Cally asked dryly. 

“I guess, but there aren’t any adults around.” 

Cally deadpanned. Ari pouted. 

Leaning back, the intelligent kid pulled out some gum. “Want some?” 

“What flavor is it?” 

“Spearmint.” 

“Eh, sure.” 

“I love mint!” Ari beamed. 

“Not my favorite, but I’ll take it over 5gum,” Marcus added. 

“Ugh. 5gum.” 

“What’s wrong with 5gum?” Ari inquired, popping a piece of gum into their mouth.

“Tastes like trash,” Marcus groused. 

“It’s an insult to gum.” Cally sat. “The least horrible flavor is mint.” 

“And even then, this spearmint gum beats it by a mile,” Marcus added. “I don’t see how anyone can enjoy 5gum. It’s like eating plastic.”

“Better than nothing.” 

“I’ve never had 5gum before, but I’ll take you on your word,” Ari said. 

Present 

“So, yeah. That was fun.” 

“So you three started out arguing with each other, and now you three are basically inseparable,” Intelligent remarked, leaning back in his seat. “A lot must have happened in those six years.” 

“Yeah. For one thing, we became study partners. I had to tie Cally to a chair to keep her from doing all the work for us.” 

“I was not that bad, Marcus.” 

Ari winced. “Well...” 

3 Years Ago… 

“Cally, this is a GROUP project! That means we ALL have to work on this!” Marcus shouted, taking the papers away from Cally. 

“You guys did a lot of the research. And you know I’m a better writer than you,” Cally reasoned, reaching for the papers again. 

“Yeah, right! You were the one hogging all the research, and you’re the one who’s been doing all the writing so far! I know you’re a good writer, but you can’t just hog the entire project!” Marcus protested, holding the papers out of Cally’s reach. “Just about the only thing you haven’t tried to do yourself are the visual aids!”

"Ari can do those." 

“Exactly! That’s the only thing Ari’s been able to do with you hogging everything else!” 

“I just want us to get a good grade!” 

“And we will get a good grade! But ya gotta let us help, too!” 

Cally sighed, sitting back down. “Alright, alright.” 

“Thank you. Now let's get on with this,” Marcus said, dividing the papers equally between himself, Cally, and Ari.

Present 

"Okay, maybe I was a little too overbearing. But my grade was on the line!" 

“Cally, calm down. We got a perfect A on that assignment,” Marcus assured. 

“I know,” Cally granted. “And then you almost got suspended three months later.” 

Marcus scowled and grumbled to himself, folding his arms at the memory. 

“I still think punching that guy in the face was overkill,” whined Ari. 

“It was not!” Marcus protested.

Cally raised an eyebrow. 

2 Years and 9 Months Ago… 

“Violence was unnecessary,” Cally pointed out as she wrapped up Marcus’s hand. 

“Then that kid shouldn’t have ran off with my notebook!” Marcus snapped, wincing as Cally tightened the bandages around his hand. 

“You could have taken it back. Most everyone is scared of you anyway, given how your fight with Albert ended.” 

“That kid wouldn’t give me it back, even after I asked!” 

“And you decided to punch him in the face instead of just snatching it,” Cally added. 

“Both of those are mean,” complained Ari. 

“It was MY notebook!” 

“Still,” Cally frowned. “Your temper could get you hurt.” 

Marcus grumbled something, hissing as Cally started patching up another scratch. 

“Please stop moving.” 

“But it hurts!” 

“And?” Cally deadpanned. 

“Cally,” Ari pouted. 

“I know. Sorry, Marcus. I’m just worried, you know? I don’t want your temper getting you hurt one day.” 

“I know, I know. But I’ve got it covered, alright? I’ll be fine. I can handle it,” Marcus assured. He grunted and rolled his shoulders once Cally was done bandaging his wounds. “F_ck, I’m gonna be sore in the morning…” 

“Yeah, you are,” Cally sighed. “And try not to swear in front of Ari. You know he hates it.” 

“Sorry Ar, force of habit,” Marcus apologized. 

Ari hugged Marcus. “It’s okay.” 

Present

“And now here we are. Honestly, I wish all our problems were that I was a control freak over grades and Marcus punched people out.” 

Marcus nodded. “Preach.” 

“But they aren’t. Superbeings want to rip our guts out because we apparently can stop a world-ending event,” Cally sighed. 

Marcus folded his arms and thought for a moment. “What are we even supposed to do to stop it, anyways? Is there a superweapon we have to stop? Do we have to go to space and bring down a spaceship or something?” 

“I dunno.” 

“Hmmm...Hey, big guy! Do you know?”

“Sorry, I have no idea what the others are planning. Me and Spyper have barely heard anything about this whole situation,” Intelligent sighed.

“Well, what have you heard?” Ari asked earnestly.

Intelligent paused for a moment and closed his book. “I don’t know if it’ll help much, but I have heard that the Freaks found something they could use to turn everyone on the planet into Freaks. What that thing is, where it’s being kept, or if it can be destroyed, I don’t know.” 

"Sh@t. Anyone you know who may know something?" 

Spyper glanced to the back of his van. “We do know someone who may know. She works for HECU.” 

"I count four who fit that description," Cally said, eyes taking on a pink tint. 

Spyper paused. “Is Rudra included in that count?” 

"Yes. So is the scientist everyone is scared of for some reason." 

“Oh. Yeah, that would be Anita.” 

"What's her deal?" 

Ari shifted. “Is she evil?” 

“Well...I wouldn’t say she’s evil, but she is crazy,” Spyper shrugged. 

“How crazy?” 

“She builds weapons of mass destruction for fun.” 

“And wants to dissect us for ‘science.’” 

“Hmm… don’t like that,” Marcus winced. 

“Don’t worry, she’s not as evil as Brutal and his pals.” 

“That’s good,” Ari nodded. 

“But enough about that. We need information. And to get to safety. Spyper?” Intelligent turned to his buddy, who grinned and started his van.

[lovelyirony]

chilled

December is made up of many things, but warmth has never been one of them for Tony. 

December is cold because large houses are drafty and Tony never wears the warm kind of sweaters that are made with love and Christmas is all about commercialization and an awkward family dinner because it’s not like they could go anywhere. 

Think of the press. 

Think of the fact that Tony knows his family is a complete fucking sham and the only escape he gets is a balcony window with harsh air that clears his lungs and stings through bone. 

If he hadn’t made a promise to Jarvis that he would stop smoking then by god a cigarette would feel fantastic in between his two fingers as he looked out at the landscape. 

Being wealthy buys property that’s exclusive, probably shouldn’t be as large as it is, and it gives you an incredible feeling of being lonely all the time. And when there is snow softly falling and dampening all of the sound, it makes you go a little bit stir-crazy. 

His mother plays Tchaikovsky on the piano. She plays a lot. He used to play when he was eleven and his fingers would move so fast and he’d play it all and his mother would grin but the thing is, he can’t feel the music, right? 

People say that when you play an instrument, you should feel it. Tony’s not sure if everyone’s lying to themselves to cover up the feeling that they know they are frauds or if Tony genuinely probably has a problem with himself. 

(It’s probably the latter, but when you have a dad who probably has a fear of therapy, you don’t go to said therapy and then you find newer ways to cope that will be unpacked in twenty years when you go to the therapy and your therapist will tell you issues that you sort of knew about but you’re not really thinking about yet. Shit like that.) 

Tony stares at drawings. He does this every year and it’s his sort of family tradition except it’s not really a family tradition it’s really his own. 

Norman Rockwell. A good artist, one that Tony envies because he draws all of these scenes that convey such a warmth and Tony thinks he read somewhere that he used people that he knew as models for the works and wow. Just wow. 

Tony kind of wonders what it would be like if he came home from college and his parents would kiss him on the cheek and his father would clap a hand on his shoulder and ask him about classes. 

But that really seems all too much like Leave it to Beaver and on a deeply personal level, Tony finds that show to be domestically terrifying. 

Christmas dinner is boring. It always is. Because after Jarvis leaves on Christmas Eve with all of the cooking done (just warm it up in the oven, Sir) then they sit down. Alone. 

“Isn’t it lovely that we’re all together?” Mom says, because she’s said that every single year since he was fourteen and learned to drive and was probably out every single week because it was a fucking escape from hell. 

“Yes,” Howard says. “But I can feel your attitude from here, Anthony. Straighten up.” 

“Got it,” Tony murmurs. “But it’s Tony.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Howard scoffs. “Who in the hell calls you that? Besides the tabloids, which you told us you would stay out of.” 

“I have, I got rid of that t-shirt you saw six months ago,” Tony mentions. “And lots of people call me Tony.” 

“The people who matter?” Howard asks and Tony hates this question, hates with a burning passion. 

“To you? No. To me? Yeah.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Howard asks. “Are you saying that business doesn’t matter to you? 

Finally. Some fucking excitement. Because Tony knows that while he probably could not tell you Howard’s birthday on any given day or what his favorite song was or whatever it was you were supposed to know about your father, he did know that Howard had a temper that rose to every occasion. 

“Don’t be stupid it’s never fit you quite right,” Tony retorts. “You know I care about business and I care about SI. But the board directors you have right now are all in their fifties and sixties like you and you bet your ass that they won’t stay into their late nineties because they have wives to cheat on and yachts to buy to fuck up the coasts.” 

“Enough,” Maria interjects. “Enough from both of you. It’s Christmas, we are not having an argument at the dinner table.” 

“It’s the only conversation we get all year, why stop now?” Tony taunts. 

“To your room. Now!” Howard thunders. 

An escape, thank god. 

Tony wasn’t sure how much it would take to piss off his parents on a holiday. 

He calls Rhodey, who is grateful. 

“Holy shit I forgot about how much my family won’t shut up,” Rhodey groans. “How are your parents?” 

“Horrible and bad actors, the usual,” Tony says with a shrug. “Jarvis made cream cheese coffee cake this year. I’m seeing how long I can hide it from them. I bet they never find out.” 

Rhodey laughs. 

“Well listen to the new family gossip of this Christmas...” 

Rhodey tells him about an aunt who brought a new boyfriend over and said boyfriend is very disconnected and does not like small children, so obviously he will not last more than another month. 

“By the way, Mama has a sweater for you, when are you gonna come get it?” Rhodey asks. “I’m not mailing that shit to you, someone’ll try to sell it.” 

“It’s a Mrs. Rhodes’ original, who could blame them? The craftsmanship...” Tony trails off. 

Mrs. Rhodes’ sweaters were the stuff of legend. They were also more than half of Tony’s winter wardrobe. They were the ugliest things on the planet, and not even really intentionally ugly, she just made them that way. 

They were Tony’s favorite. 

“What about now?” Tony asks with a sigh. 

“Me, bringing Tony Stark to a family party? Scandal!” Rhodey mocks. “But yeah, let me ask mom.” 

There’s a muffled call and Rhodey’s mother asking if it’s really okay with the parents and Tony lies and says that it is because really his parents couldn’t give a shit and he’ll just leave a note. 

(Fun story time: when Tony was eight they forgot him at an airport and he was there for fourteen hours before he started to cry and asked to speak to Jarvis, who had called about Tony with Maria, who had said he was having a ball at the pool. 

True fucking story.) 

So Tony drives in his car to the Rhodes residence, which really isn’t that far. Forty-five minutes. 

The street is lined with cars and some family down the street is gawking at Tony’s shiny car that he’s restored himself and maybe he’ll take Rhodey to see it when the crowd thins out. 

Rhodey’s family is hushed when Tony enters, although Jeannette laughs, brings him into a hug, and announces to the whole family that, 

“Hey everyone! This is Tony, he’s the bastard who steals all of my blackberry jam.” 

“Don’t say bastard in front of the kids,” Rhodey retorts. “They might think you’re a bitch or something.” 

There’s a round of laughs and just like that Tony slips on his new Christmas sweater, learns that people actually do drink eggnog in the holiday season, and gets into a passionate debate with Uncle Harold about the worst Christmas song ever made. 

And for the first time in a long time, Tony feels warm.