Nobody ever went to Barrett's Tavern for the atmosphere. It was seedy, shady, and definitely not up to snuff on the latest health inspections or building codes. People went there because it was cheap and it served all comers, so long as they paid. Bikers, guys with weird face tattoos, the occasional normal person, Barrett's Tavern served them all. Trevor Barrett himself was pretty cool. He was the kind of guy that could fit in with a biker gang seamlessly, though he was never a part of one. Elizabeth had been here enough times to know that he was a pretty friendly conversationalist, even if he was fairly terse.
Elizabeth sat on one of the bar stools, the leather cover shredded from years of abuse. Her blazer was slung over her shoulder revealing her white t-shirt underneath, her high heels dangled from her feet, and four empty shot glasses were strewn about in front of her, with a fifth full of scotch in her hands. She downed that one too before she asked Trevor for another. The bartender obliged, handing her a glass. She thanked him and he tended to another customer.
She drew her hazy, unfocused vision over to the TV, playing a baseball game between the Yankees and some other team she didn't give a shit about. She wasn't really watching the TV anyway. It was just something to stare at to occupy her time. Elizabeth stared at it for a few minutes before flicking her eyes around the bar, taking in the sights of the patrons around her. There were a couple of bikers in an impromptu arm wrestling tournament, and the only woman who was participating looked like she could rip her in half. A slight blush colored Elizabeth's face before she turned her eyes back to the television screen, not really absorbing anything from it.
She picked up the shot glass and swished the alcohol in it before downing it in one go. She set it down and stared at the bar's surface in a daze, absentmindedly noting all of the dents and scratch marks on it. She wondered what stories those indentations were a result of, and if anyone remembered them anymore. Her tongue fiddled with her lip ring, the sound of her metal barbell bumping against her metal ring filling her ears. Elizabeth drew her eyes away from the counter to stare at the alcohol on the racks, lost in a tipsy yet contemplative silence.
They Come and They Go
open to all (especially alcoholics)
Moderator: SOTF U Staff
Misha liked Barrett's Tavern.
She didn't respect a lot of the places she drank at; the woman on her fake ID was Korean, had shorter hair, and didn't look especially like Misha (her go-to excuse for this was, "I was sick that day and didn't put on makeup"), so any bouncer that was fooled by it was either really incompetent or really ought to be given sensitivity training. But the first time she'd gone to Barrett's, back when she was nineteen and thinner than a broom handle, Trevor Barrett himself had quietly leaned over the bar and given her a look, and she'd thought the jig was up and he was going to try to kick her out peacefully, but then he'd asked in a low voice if she really thought it was safe for a girl like her to be hanging around a place like this.
Back then, she'd still had the unexpected shield of Grave's disease to protect her, and she'd made a decent amount of money betting big guys that she could drink more than they could. With her supercharged metabolism, it was nearly impossible for her to get drunk, and she almost always came away with not only the money, but a bone-rattling slap on the back and a firm handshake from the mark. She'd always been careful to pick guys who looked like good sports, who seemed like they could handle getting their ass handed to them by somebody like her. Once or twice she'd gotten it wrong, and she'd had to scamper back to the bar and let Trevor's baleful gaze sort things out.
Nowadays, she was on medication and the Grave's was all but gone and her thyroid was depressingly normal for a girl of her size, which meant that she got hammered off a fraction of what she used to drink. No more easy money, no more backslaps and handshakes. She did get a few respectful nods from people who'd seen her around and knew the legends, but they were rarer these days. Enough of them had seen her in the late nights, slumped over the bar, completely sauced and with her dreadlocks spewing out from the back of her head like a firecracker. It was hard to maintain respect after enough exposure to something like that.
Misha settled into a seat at the bar, one or two seats away from some other girl she didn't recognize. She signaled for a beer, smiling beatifically at Trevor as he brought it. She wasn't drinking for any particular reason tonight. Tess was in a mood about something that had happened on some forum about some show, so it was this or brooding alone in her dorm room. She took a long sip and looked up at the ball game. The Yankees had just hit a double.
"Nice, Yankees," she said out loud. Her Dad was a die-hard Red Sox fan, who'd nearly pulled a muscle celebrating when they finally won the world series in 2004. As a child, Misha had always disliked that they spelled "socks" wrong. If she had to spell it correctly in school, it wasn't fair that they got to be adults and spell it wrong on purpose. And as an adult she knew that her dad followed the Yankees just as obsessively as the Sox, to make sure that they were losing the way that loser teams ought to. So she also followed the Yankees in her spare time, making sure to note things that they were doing well this season and any potential bones of contention she could bring up to escape difficult conversations. It was a thing she found herself doing a lot lately, now that she wasn't at home and her parents had time to stockpile their grievances in advance of the semi-weekly phone call.
She didn't respect a lot of the places she drank at; the woman on her fake ID was Korean, had shorter hair, and didn't look especially like Misha (her go-to excuse for this was, "I was sick that day and didn't put on makeup"), so any bouncer that was fooled by it was either really incompetent or really ought to be given sensitivity training. But the first time she'd gone to Barrett's, back when she was nineteen and thinner than a broom handle, Trevor Barrett himself had quietly leaned over the bar and given her a look, and she'd thought the jig was up and he was going to try to kick her out peacefully, but then he'd asked in a low voice if she really thought it was safe for a girl like her to be hanging around a place like this.
Back then, she'd still had the unexpected shield of Grave's disease to protect her, and she'd made a decent amount of money betting big guys that she could drink more than they could. With her supercharged metabolism, it was nearly impossible for her to get drunk, and she almost always came away with not only the money, but a bone-rattling slap on the back and a firm handshake from the mark. She'd always been careful to pick guys who looked like good sports, who seemed like they could handle getting their ass handed to them by somebody like her. Once or twice she'd gotten it wrong, and she'd had to scamper back to the bar and let Trevor's baleful gaze sort things out.
Nowadays, she was on medication and the Grave's was all but gone and her thyroid was depressingly normal for a girl of her size, which meant that she got hammered off a fraction of what she used to drink. No more easy money, no more backslaps and handshakes. She did get a few respectful nods from people who'd seen her around and knew the legends, but they were rarer these days. Enough of them had seen her in the late nights, slumped over the bar, completely sauced and with her dreadlocks spewing out from the back of her head like a firecracker. It was hard to maintain respect after enough exposure to something like that.
Misha settled into a seat at the bar, one or two seats away from some other girl she didn't recognize. She signaled for a beer, smiling beatifically at Trevor as he brought it. She wasn't drinking for any particular reason tonight. Tess was in a mood about something that had happened on some forum about some show, so it was this or brooding alone in her dorm room. She took a long sip and looked up at the ball game. The Yankees had just hit a double.
"Nice, Yankees," she said out loud. Her Dad was a die-hard Red Sox fan, who'd nearly pulled a muscle celebrating when they finally won the world series in 2004. As a child, Misha had always disliked that they spelled "socks" wrong. If she had to spell it correctly in school, it wasn't fair that they got to be adults and spell it wrong on purpose. And as an adult she knew that her dad followed the Yankees just as obsessively as the Sox, to make sure that they were losing the way that loser teams ought to. So she also followed the Yankees in her spare time, making sure to note things that they were doing well this season and any potential bones of contention she could bring up to escape difficult conversations. It was a thing she found herself doing a lot lately, now that she wasn't at home and her parents had time to stockpile their grievances in advance of the semi-weekly phone call.
Elizabeth was shaken out of her contemplation by a voice emanating from somewhere fairly close to her left. Curious, she glanced to the side, only to see the smallest girl she'd ever seen two seats away from her. Elizabeth gawked in disbelief. This chick looked like she'd pass out if she drank a hard seltzer, much less a bottle of actual alcohol. She didn't even need to look around to know that this girl was by far the smallest person in the bar. She probably weighed less than a stick, and any one of the guys with the weird face tattoos could probably shatter her hand bones if they tried to shake it. Elizabeth knew that seedy people hung around at Barrett's Tavern, and wasn't entirely sure of the safety of the rail-thin girl next to her.
In a concerned voice that was tinged by slightly too much alcohol, she asked, "Hey, uh, you sure it's, uh, y'know, safe for you to be here?" Elizabeth then took the opportunity to scoot over to the left into the unoccupied chair between them.
"You know Barrett's gets some weird fucks, yeah? I don't wanna sound rude, but you look like you'd break in half if someone sneezed on you. I don't think Trevor would let anything happen, but he isn't up here all the time, y'know?"
Now that she'd gotten a little closer to this girl, something pinged inside Elizabeth's brain. It was a ping of some vague recognition, like she'd seen this girl around campus once or twice, but that was as deep as her knowledge of her got. She chewed on her lip out of habit before dragging her foot up to rest on her knee, her high heel coming dangerously close to falling off before she caught it with her toes. Behind her, she heard the sound of the Yankees scoring another home run, but it felt distant in her ears.
In a concerned voice that was tinged by slightly too much alcohol, she asked, "Hey, uh, you sure it's, uh, y'know, safe for you to be here?" Elizabeth then took the opportunity to scoot over to the left into the unoccupied chair between them.
"You know Barrett's gets some weird fucks, yeah? I don't wanna sound rude, but you look like you'd break in half if someone sneezed on you. I don't think Trevor would let anything happen, but he isn't up here all the time, y'know?"
Now that she'd gotten a little closer to this girl, something pinged inside Elizabeth's brain. It was a ping of some vague recognition, like she'd seen this girl around campus once or twice, but that was as deep as her knowledge of her got. She chewed on her lip out of habit before dragging her foot up to rest on her knee, her high heel coming dangerously close to falling off before she caught it with her toes. Behind her, she heard the sound of the Yankees scoring another home run, but it felt distant in her ears.
Misha's facial expression wouldn't have looked out of place on a book entitled "Harry Potter and The Audacity of This Bitch."
The criticism wasn't anything she hadn't heard before. Barrett had said it. Tess had said it. Friends at school had said it. The Uber driver she'd had to call that one time when Tess couldn't (or possibly wouldn't - she wasn't sure and hadn't probed) pick her up had said it. Her parents would certainly have said it if they'd known. But hearing it from this boozed-up stranger felt kind of unfair. She'd earned her right to be here. There were guys in here tonight that she'd drunk under the table in her heyday, maybe more than once. Sure, she couldn't do it nowadays, but, like... if she went off her meds and had a relapse, she probably could do it in a few weeks, and that wasn't nothing. Having the hypothetical potential to be a badass wasn't a great source from which to take pride in oneself, but she had to take it where she could get it these days.
"I think I can handle myself," she said, punctuating the statement with a confident swig from the bottle. While she drank, she took the opportunity to size the girl up. She was pretty. Really pretty. Great hair, too.
She finished the gulp-and-scan, and pointed the bottle neck at the other girl. "Tell you what, though. If things go bad, you hold 'em off and I'll slip out the back before anybody sneezes on me."
The criticism wasn't anything she hadn't heard before. Barrett had said it. Tess had said it. Friends at school had said it. The Uber driver she'd had to call that one time when Tess couldn't (or possibly wouldn't - she wasn't sure and hadn't probed) pick her up had said it. Her parents would certainly have said it if they'd known. But hearing it from this boozed-up stranger felt kind of unfair. She'd earned her right to be here. There were guys in here tonight that she'd drunk under the table in her heyday, maybe more than once. Sure, she couldn't do it nowadays, but, like... if she went off her meds and had a relapse, she probably could do it in a few weeks, and that wasn't nothing. Having the hypothetical potential to be a badass wasn't a great source from which to take pride in oneself, but she had to take it where she could get it these days.
"I think I can handle myself," she said, punctuating the statement with a confident swig from the bottle. While she drank, she took the opportunity to size the girl up. She was pretty. Really pretty. Great hair, too.
She finished the gulp-and-scan, and pointed the bottle neck at the other girl. "Tell you what, though. If things go bad, you hold 'em off and I'll slip out the back before anybody sneezes on me."
Despite the slight blurriness in her vision, Elizabeth wasn't blind. She saw how the smaller girl raked her eyes across her, she felt the sudden blood rush to her cheeks. A small but mischievous grin split her face, and she leaned in towards the other girl. She let her high heel drop. It hit the floor, but she barely heard it over her thoughts.
"Hmmm... yeah. Yeah, I think I could do that," she said, a playful lilt to her voice. "I do boxing. I could hold 'em off for you, no sweat." Elizabeth's eyes then moved across the other girl, starting at her feet before slowly moving back up towards her face. "Think I didn't notice you looking while you chugged from that bottle?" She chuckled. "I saw your eyes light up too. Guess you saw something you liked, huh?"
Everything else in the room seemed muffled, as if the rest of Barrett's Tavern simply didn't exist outside the two of them and their chairs. It felt like an isolated moment in time. The past and the future didn't exist. There was only here and now. The alcohol both fogged her mind and cleared her thoughts. It clouded out everything else. Her failing grades, her failing relationship, her failing mental health, all of it was obscured by alcohol's comforting embrace. Yet, simultaneously, it made her interactions with this girl she didn't even know the name of feel so much clearer. The clarity let her etch out every little detail of this girl, from the slight furrow in her brow to the thinness of her fingers. Her obligations to Daniella and PJ felt so distant, so unreal. This, however? It felt more real than anything else she could think of. Elizabeth gulped audibly. Her mouth felt dry.
Her grin got wider. "I've seen you around the U of C campus before. Don't know your name though. 'm Elizabeth. Who're you?"
"Hmmm... yeah. Yeah, I think I could do that," she said, a playful lilt to her voice. "I do boxing. I could hold 'em off for you, no sweat." Elizabeth's eyes then moved across the other girl, starting at her feet before slowly moving back up towards her face. "Think I didn't notice you looking while you chugged from that bottle?" She chuckled. "I saw your eyes light up too. Guess you saw something you liked, huh?"
Everything else in the room seemed muffled, as if the rest of Barrett's Tavern simply didn't exist outside the two of them and their chairs. It felt like an isolated moment in time. The past and the future didn't exist. There was only here and now. The alcohol both fogged her mind and cleared her thoughts. It clouded out everything else. Her failing grades, her failing relationship, her failing mental health, all of it was obscured by alcohol's comforting embrace. Yet, simultaneously, it made her interactions with this girl she didn't even know the name of feel so much clearer. The clarity let her etch out every little detail of this girl, from the slight furrow in her brow to the thinness of her fingers. Her obligations to Daniella and PJ felt so distant, so unreal. This, however? It felt more real than anything else she could think of. Elizabeth gulped audibly. Her mouth felt dry.
Her grin got wider. "I've seen you around the U of C campus before. Don't know your name though. 'm Elizabeth. Who're you?"
Misha's face flushed a deep pink, and the alcohol had very little to do with it. The other girl, Elizabeth, was drunk. Super drunk. Had to be super drunk, if she thought that Misha was flirting with her, because Misha definitely totally wasn't. No way her eyes had actually lit up or anything. Nuh-uh. No way. Besides, Elizabeth probably wasn't even really into her. Elizabeth was probably just drunk and had been listening to too much Katy Perry. Once she sobered up, she'd probably look at Misha's dreadlocks and her sallow frame and her total lack of curves and go "Yuck," and go hit on some other girl.
Besides, Misha was with Tess. Misha liked Tess, and Tess liked her. Maybe even loved her. Maybe she loved Tess. She didn't know. But she even if she didn't love Tess, Misha did know that flirting with some other girl was wrong. Wrong and bad. Bad wrong. Bad-ong. Yes. Flirting was badong.
All of these thoughts flitted through Misha's mind in the span of a few seconds. Then they got crowded out by some other thoughts. Thoughts that were very, very badong. Thoughts about how Tess never wanted to kiss her, and couldn't even cuddle up on the couch with her during scary movies. Thoughts about how long it had been since she tasted someone else's lips, and the rush that came when somebody else pressed up against her and kissed her forcefully and how much she missed that. How much she missed being wanted, even for the wrong reasons.
"I'm Misha," she said, somewhat guiltily. "I'm an English student, second year." Even admitting her name was an invitation to continue, and she knew it. But a little harmless flirting wouldn't hurt, right? As long she put the brakes on before anything actually happened, it'd be fine.
Besides, Misha was with Tess. Misha liked Tess, and Tess liked her. Maybe even loved her. Maybe she loved Tess. She didn't know. But she even if she didn't love Tess, Misha did know that flirting with some other girl was wrong. Wrong and bad. Bad wrong. Bad-ong. Yes. Flirting was badong.
All of these thoughts flitted through Misha's mind in the span of a few seconds. Then they got crowded out by some other thoughts. Thoughts that were very, very badong. Thoughts about how Tess never wanted to kiss her, and couldn't even cuddle up on the couch with her during scary movies. Thoughts about how long it had been since she tasted someone else's lips, and the rush that came when somebody else pressed up against her and kissed her forcefully and how much she missed that. How much she missed being wanted, even for the wrong reasons.
"I'm Misha," she said, somewhat guiltily. "I'm an English student, second year." Even admitting her name was an invitation to continue, and she knew it. But a little harmless flirting wouldn't hurt, right? As long she put the brakes on before anything actually happened, it'd be fine.
"Misha, hm? Pretty name. Pleasure to meet'cha. I'm a third year. Econ major." Elizabeth said dryly. A look of disdain flashed across her face before she smothered it, plastering the grin back on. The alcoholic haze drifted back over her mind, obscuring everything that she didn't want to see. The fog, however, lifted when she looked at Misha.
She leaned back slightly and signaled to Trevor, and in just a moment a seventh shot glass appeared before her, the amber scotch illuminated by the dingy bar lights. She picked it up, swished it a little, and then downed the thing, letting out a satisfied grunt as the liquid blazed a path to her stomach. Elizabeth returned her gaze back to Misha, and when she did so, two voices deep in her brain piped up at the same time, disrupting her thought process:
Go in. Make your move. Do it.
What the hell are you doing? You claim to want to salvage your relationship and then you go out and do this?
A look of hesitation and confusion crossed her face. She blinked her eyes rapidly, the sudden moment of sobriety and reasoning catching her off guard. The fog was gone, and everything that she really didn't feel like thinking about rushed into her brain. Her failures, caused by no one but herself, her utter fucking train wreck of a life. She derailed that train.
A deep grimace found its way on her face. She reached hand towards her temple and rubbed it. She shook her head. The last option seemed to work. Before she knew it, her moment of gutting clarity wore off, replaced by the comforting brain fog. But she could still see through it. Misha was no longer the only thing that shone through.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. The grin came back around like a bad habit. She leaned in, much closer than last time. She let her foot drop from her knee, and she swung her feet around, coming dangerously close but never touching Misha's legs. She deliberately pushed her chest out, hyperaware of the low cut of her t-shirt. Somewhere in her addled mind, she came up with a 'logical' solution to the two voices. Elizabeth knew how she was using her body. She'd done it before. She knew with the right words, she could get anyone. It was how she got Axel. It was how she got Annette. It was how she got Chevy. It was how she wanted to get Charlotte. She was making her move. She was going in.
To appease the other voice in her head, she deliberately didn't choose the right words.
"So, English major, huh? 'm guessing you like to write? Well, uh, what do you like to, uh, write about?"
She leaned back slightly and signaled to Trevor, and in just a moment a seventh shot glass appeared before her, the amber scotch illuminated by the dingy bar lights. She picked it up, swished it a little, and then downed the thing, letting out a satisfied grunt as the liquid blazed a path to her stomach. Elizabeth returned her gaze back to Misha, and when she did so, two voices deep in her brain piped up at the same time, disrupting her thought process:
Go in. Make your move. Do it.
What the hell are you doing? You claim to want to salvage your relationship and then you go out and do this?
A look of hesitation and confusion crossed her face. She blinked her eyes rapidly, the sudden moment of sobriety and reasoning catching her off guard. The fog was gone, and everything that she really didn't feel like thinking about rushed into her brain. Her failures, caused by no one but herself, her utter fucking train wreck of a life. She derailed that train.
A deep grimace found its way on her face. She reached hand towards her temple and rubbed it. She shook her head. The last option seemed to work. Before she knew it, her moment of gutting clarity wore off, replaced by the comforting brain fog. But she could still see through it. Misha was no longer the only thing that shone through.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. The grin came back around like a bad habit. She leaned in, much closer than last time. She let her foot drop from her knee, and she swung her feet around, coming dangerously close but never touching Misha's legs. She deliberately pushed her chest out, hyperaware of the low cut of her t-shirt. Somewhere in her addled mind, she came up with a 'logical' solution to the two voices. Elizabeth knew how she was using her body. She'd done it before. She knew with the right words, she could get anyone. It was how she got Axel. It was how she got Annette. It was how she got Chevy. It was how she wanted to get Charlotte. She was making her move. She was going in.
To appease the other voice in her head, she deliberately didn't choose the right words.
"So, English major, huh? 'm guessing you like to write? Well, uh, what do you like to, uh, write about?"
Trevor Barrett didn't give Misha so much as a glance while bringing Elizabeth's drink. But that didn't stop her from feeling a surge of guilt just from his presence. Trevor had definitely overheard her drunkenly phoning Tess to come pick her up, multiple times. He'd probably watched Tess walk her, staggering, out to the car. He had to know that she was in a relationship, didn't he?
It wasn't like he'd say anything. He probably didn't give a shit one way or another, and even if he did, ratting someone out for cheating had to be a violation of the Bartender's Code or something. That kind of thing probably happened in here every day. But somehow, just having Trevor know that this was happening, having him see what a shitty, ungrateful girlfriend she was being... it made her want to shrivel up and die of shame.
But then Elizabeth scooched closer, and their legs were practically touching, and a whole host of other emotions welled up to smother the shame; Misha swore that she could feel each and every molecule of the air between them sparking and fizzing with potential. And when the other girl leaned forward, Misha couldn't not look, couldn't avoid seeing everything that her gaping neckline was putting on offer. Elizabeth was grinning, and it was so, so easy to imagine exactly what it would feel like to have those lips - and everything else - pressed up against her. She barely heard it when Elizabeth asked her about her major and what she liked to write.
She got as far as, "I... I like to write..." before losing momentum and petering to a stop.
Damn it.
"I..."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Damn it all.
"I'm sorry..." she said, quietly. "I can't. I have a... I'm with somebody."
It wasn't like he'd say anything. He probably didn't give a shit one way or another, and even if he did, ratting someone out for cheating had to be a violation of the Bartender's Code or something. That kind of thing probably happened in here every day. But somehow, just having Trevor know that this was happening, having him see what a shitty, ungrateful girlfriend she was being... it made her want to shrivel up and die of shame.
But then Elizabeth scooched closer, and their legs were practically touching, and a whole host of other emotions welled up to smother the shame; Misha swore that she could feel each and every molecule of the air between them sparking and fizzing with potential. And when the other girl leaned forward, Misha couldn't not look, couldn't avoid seeing everything that her gaping neckline was putting on offer. Elizabeth was grinning, and it was so, so easy to imagine exactly what it would feel like to have those lips - and everything else - pressed up against her. She barely heard it when Elizabeth asked her about her major and what she liked to write.
She got as far as, "I... I like to write..." before losing momentum and petering to a stop.
Damn it.
"I..."
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Damn it all.
"I'm sorry..." she said, quietly. "I can't. I have a... I'm with somebody."
Elizabeth's grin got wider when she heard Misha start stuttering. The sight of her blush sent a hot jolt through her veins, like an electric shock, and she felt it flow directly into her heart. It was practically pounding now. Her brain was flashing images through her head, each synapse conjuring up a brief image before it vanished into the primordial goo of thought. They were images of their bodies smashed up against each other, of Elizabeth's heels digging into Misha's back, of their wandering hands and lips exploring the uncharted skin of their partner. Suddenly the hot jolt has flowing to more places than just her heart.
It was at that moment that Misha dropped the bombshell that she was in a relationship with someone else, and any heat was soon replaced by a cold that could be described as absolute zero.
"O-Oh! I, uh I-I didn't r-realize you were a-a-already taken! M-M-M-My bad, I-I didn't mean..." she sputtered, her brain unable to come up with a truly coherent thought. She quickly leaned back and subconsciously covered up her chest, trying to pull up her shirt as if it would make any difference. The warm blush of passing lust on her face was replaced with a searing blush of shame. The grin was totally gone, and a deep scowl of embarrassment and disappointment took its stead.
"Fuck. I-I'm so sorry. Really, I..."
She had no idea how to finish that sentence, so she merely let herself fall silent. In any case, she made no attempt to look at Misha's eyes, instead opting to stare at her own feet and wait until Misha deservedly yelled at her. God, she was such a fucking idiot. She was in a committed relationship too, and here she was hitting on random strangers that happened to take her fancy after hitting too much damn alcohol.
The shame ate away at her core.
It was at that moment that Misha dropped the bombshell that she was in a relationship with someone else, and any heat was soon replaced by a cold that could be described as absolute zero.
"O-Oh! I, uh I-I didn't r-realize you were a-a-already taken! M-M-M-My bad, I-I didn't mean..." she sputtered, her brain unable to come up with a truly coherent thought. She quickly leaned back and subconsciously covered up her chest, trying to pull up her shirt as if it would make any difference. The warm blush of passing lust on her face was replaced with a searing blush of shame. The grin was totally gone, and a deep scowl of embarrassment and disappointment took its stead.
"Fuck. I-I'm so sorry. Really, I..."
She had no idea how to finish that sentence, so she merely let herself fall silent. In any case, she made no attempt to look at Misha's eyes, instead opting to stare at her own feet and wait until Misha deservedly yelled at her. God, she was such a fucking idiot. She was in a committed relationship too, and here she was hitting on random strangers that happened to take her fancy after hitting too much damn alcohol.
The shame ate away at her core.
"No, I... It's my fault. I should have said, I just..."
There were a lot of things that could have followed that "just."
I just thought we were kidding around.
I just didn't actually think someone like you could be attracted to someone like me.
I just listened to my girlfriend talk about shipping wars for two hours, and I wanted to feel what it was like when someone was more interested in my sex life than they were in a fictional character's.
I just really liked the way you made me feel.
I just needed this.
All of those things were true. She could have said any of them, and meant it. But what she actually said was something that hurt coming up. It felt like she'd swallowed a razorblade and was trying to cough it back out, slashing herself all the way up.
"I just... I'm unhappy. And I thought you were so pretty, and I... I wanted to imagine for a little while. I'm so sorry."
She sagged onto the bar on her elbows, her face in her hands. Fuck. It was the first time she'd ever admitted that things weren't great. It was the first time she'd ever admitted, out loud, that she was a shitty person who did shitty things. It could have been freeing to be that open and honest with herself, the first step towards something better, towards fixing things or... or something, but it didn't feel that way at all. It felt shitty and shameful, and she wished that the Earth would just crack open and swallow her whole.
There were a lot of things that could have followed that "just."
I just thought we were kidding around.
I just didn't actually think someone like you could be attracted to someone like me.
I just listened to my girlfriend talk about shipping wars for two hours, and I wanted to feel what it was like when someone was more interested in my sex life than they were in a fictional character's.
I just really liked the way you made me feel.
I just needed this.
All of those things were true. She could have said any of them, and meant it. But what she actually said was something that hurt coming up. It felt like she'd swallowed a razorblade and was trying to cough it back out, slashing herself all the way up.
"I just... I'm unhappy. And I thought you were so pretty, and I... I wanted to imagine for a little while. I'm so sorry."
She sagged onto the bar on her elbows, her face in her hands. Fuck. It was the first time she'd ever admitted that things weren't great. It was the first time she'd ever admitted, out loud, that she was a shitty person who did shitty things. It could have been freeing to be that open and honest with herself, the first step towards something better, towards fixing things or... or something, but it didn't feel that way at all. It felt shitty and shameful, and she wished that the Earth would just crack open and swallow her whole.
Upon hearing that Misha was in an unhappy relationship, Elizabeth's eyes lit up in comprehension and empathetic understanding. She turned to her, now actually able to look her in the eyes without feeling extensive guilt.
"O-Oh? You're unhappy too? Y-Yeah. I know the feeling. I..."
She felt compelled to admit it, even though she was sure it would diminish her standing in the other girl's eyes, even though she'd probably never see her again.
"I... I'm in a relationship too. It isn't going well. Fuck, it's falling apart. I just..."
Elizabeth wished the alcohol would come back and wrap her up in its warm, foggy embrace, but her brain forced her walk without the crutch of liquid courage. She gulped.
"It's just... I'm trying to keep it together. I really am. It's just so fucking hard. Neither of my partners are putting in the effort. I can't do it on my own. I just... I just can't. Sometimes I just need to let go. I... I think you know what I mean," she said to Misha, a very small understanding smile gracing her lips.
She signaled Trevor over, paying for her drinks before carefully climbing off of the barstool. She scooped up her high heel, slipping it back on her foot before stabilizing her balance. A thought popped into her mind, and she couldn't tell whether it was a good or bad idea. She ended up deciding to go through with it anyway. Elizabeth advanced towards Misha, getting fairly close to her again.
"Hey... if you ever want to... I don't know, uh, meet up again, hang out or something, I wouldn't mind exchanging numbers with you."
"O-Oh? You're unhappy too? Y-Yeah. I know the feeling. I..."
She felt compelled to admit it, even though she was sure it would diminish her standing in the other girl's eyes, even though she'd probably never see her again.
"I... I'm in a relationship too. It isn't going well. Fuck, it's falling apart. I just..."
Elizabeth wished the alcohol would come back and wrap her up in its warm, foggy embrace, but her brain forced her walk without the crutch of liquid courage. She gulped.
"It's just... I'm trying to keep it together. I really am. It's just so fucking hard. Neither of my partners are putting in the effort. I can't do it on my own. I just... I just can't. Sometimes I just need to let go. I... I think you know what I mean," she said to Misha, a very small understanding smile gracing her lips.
She signaled Trevor over, paying for her drinks before carefully climbing off of the barstool. She scooped up her high heel, slipping it back on her foot before stabilizing her balance. A thought popped into her mind, and she couldn't tell whether it was a good or bad idea. She ended up deciding to go through with it anyway. Elizabeth advanced towards Misha, getting fairly close to her again.
"Hey... if you ever want to... I don't know, uh, meet up again, hang out or something, I wouldn't mind exchanging numbers with you."
Elizabeth was in a relationship too? Somehow the sheer absurdity forced a bitter laugh out of Misha, despite everything else she was feeling. Turns out they had something in common after all. They were both horrible people.
Misha liked Tess. Maybe even loved Tess. But Tess was a Rubik's cube of a person, all jumbled up and complicated. Some days Misha wanted to sit and tease through all of the complexity for hours and hours and lose herself in the pursuit, and some days she was sick of it and felt like she was wasting her time. Every time Misha thought she'd started figuring Tess out, there'd be something out of whack and then she'd have to start over from the beginning.
Tess could be frustrating sometimes. She could be callous, and there were days when Misha felt like just another piece of furniture in the background. But that wasn’t why Misha pulled up a new contact. Misha didn’t know any of the specifics, but it sounded like Elizabeth was doing the same thing as her - clinging to something familiar, and subsisting on little scraps of all of the things they weren't getting. Misha didn’t want to leave Tess, and she didn’t think Elizabeth wanted to leave her partners. So she pulled up the keypad to input a new phone number. This wasn’t cheating, she told herself. This was nourishing. With this little morsel of something, maybe they’d both be strong enough to stay.
Misha needed to know that she was choosing to be with Tess, and not just staying on because there was nothing else out there. Maybe Elizabeth needed that too. And, on a purely selfish level… It would be nice to know that someone out there was thinking about her.
Wordlessly, she passed over her phone.
Misha liked Tess. Maybe even loved Tess. But Tess was a Rubik's cube of a person, all jumbled up and complicated. Some days Misha wanted to sit and tease through all of the complexity for hours and hours and lose herself in the pursuit, and some days she was sick of it and felt like she was wasting her time. Every time Misha thought she'd started figuring Tess out, there'd be something out of whack and then she'd have to start over from the beginning.
Tess could be frustrating sometimes. She could be callous, and there were days when Misha felt like just another piece of furniture in the background. But that wasn’t why Misha pulled up a new contact. Misha didn’t know any of the specifics, but it sounded like Elizabeth was doing the same thing as her - clinging to something familiar, and subsisting on little scraps of all of the things they weren't getting. Misha didn’t want to leave Tess, and she didn’t think Elizabeth wanted to leave her partners. So she pulled up the keypad to input a new phone number. This wasn’t cheating, she told herself. This was nourishing. With this little morsel of something, maybe they’d both be strong enough to stay.
Misha needed to know that she was choosing to be with Tess, and not just staying on because there was nothing else out there. Maybe Elizabeth needed that too. And, on a purely selfish level… It would be nice to know that someone out there was thinking about her.
Wordlessly, she passed over her phone.
Elizabeth took Misha's phone from her hand, their fingers coming into brief contact with each other, but Elizabeth harshly repressed anything from showing on her face. It didn't stop a little tingle from flowing through her body, though. After a few seconds, she had transcribed Misha's number and her name into a new contact. Then she tapped on the message button and sent Misha a text.
Hi :)
She then handed the phone back to Misha, gently placing it in her palm while letting their fingers touch for just a moment again. The warmth that had so hurriedly fled her body was now returning to it, albeit in small and measured portions. Her body worked up the courage to look Misha dead in the eye again.
"H-Hey, um... I'm gonna go walk back to my dorm. Uhh..." Elizabeth struggled to remember what building she lived in for a moment before it popped into her brain. "I'm in the Melcher dorms. I don't know what dorm you're in, but uhh..."
Elizabeth didn't want to overstep any of the recently established boundaries, but she thought that what she was about to ask next was harmless enough, especially in comparison to what they'd done mere minutes before. Still, she didn't want to scare her away so soon.
"I can walk you back to your dorm, i-if you'd like. If there wouldn't be, uh, any issues, yeah?"
Hi :)
She then handed the phone back to Misha, gently placing it in her palm while letting their fingers touch for just a moment again. The warmth that had so hurriedly fled her body was now returning to it, albeit in small and measured portions. Her body worked up the courage to look Misha dead in the eye again.
"H-Hey, um... I'm gonna go walk back to my dorm. Uhh..." Elizabeth struggled to remember what building she lived in for a moment before it popped into her brain. "I'm in the Melcher dorms. I don't know what dorm you're in, but uhh..."
Elizabeth didn't want to overstep any of the recently established boundaries, but she thought that what she was about to ask next was harmless enough, especially in comparison to what they'd done mere minutes before. Still, she didn't want to scare her away so soon.
"I can walk you back to your dorm, i-if you'd like. If there wouldn't be, uh, any issues, yeah?"
Hi 
Elizabeth's message was a simple one, but it made Misha's heart flutter a little. The smiley face was cute. Elizabeth was trying to be cute to her. Friendly. Like Misha was someone that deserved cuteness and friendliness organically instead of ironically.
There was a lot of potential packed into the hi, too. It could have been Hi, I remember you. Hi, I'd like to speak again sometime. Hi, I've been thinking about you. A lot of hi's, with a lot of potential. Somehow just having this little thing, this little seed of something positive, made her feel a lot better than she'd felt in a long time. And that, in and of itself, worried her. The objectively correct thing to do, the morally right thing, would be to smash the phone into circuitry and shrapnel. Right was supposed to feel better than wrong, deep down inside. But it didn't, not always. Sometimes a little wrong gave edges to the right, made a nice little boundary line so you knew just how far you could go. A little wrong couldn't hurt every now and again.
Misha realized that she was smiling at the text message like a besotted teenager, and immediately slipped the phone into her pocket. It was too late to play it cool, so she'd have to settle for playing it Misha.
"Sure," she said. Elizabeth was pretty, plastered, and pretty plastered. Wasn't safe for her to be walking around, no matter how much fighting prowess she claimed to have under her belt. "My dorm's near there. My partner's in the same dorm but I don't think they'd notice us together unless we sounded a bullhorn."
She stood up, and absently dusted off the seat of her jeans. "Shall we?"
Elizabeth's message was a simple one, but it made Misha's heart flutter a little. The smiley face was cute. Elizabeth was trying to be cute to her. Friendly. Like Misha was someone that deserved cuteness and friendliness organically instead of ironically.
There was a lot of potential packed into the hi, too. It could have been Hi, I remember you. Hi, I'd like to speak again sometime. Hi, I've been thinking about you. A lot of hi's, with a lot of potential. Somehow just having this little thing, this little seed of something positive, made her feel a lot better than she'd felt in a long time. And that, in and of itself, worried her. The objectively correct thing to do, the morally right thing, would be to smash the phone into circuitry and shrapnel. Right was supposed to feel better than wrong, deep down inside. But it didn't, not always. Sometimes a little wrong gave edges to the right, made a nice little boundary line so you knew just how far you could go. A little wrong couldn't hurt every now and again.
Misha realized that she was smiling at the text message like a besotted teenager, and immediately slipped the phone into her pocket. It was too late to play it cool, so she'd have to settle for playing it Misha.
"Sure," she said. Elizabeth was pretty, plastered, and pretty plastered. Wasn't safe for her to be walking around, no matter how much fighting prowess she claimed to have under her belt. "My dorm's near there. My partner's in the same dorm but I don't think they'd notice us together unless we sounded a bullhorn."
She stood up, and absently dusted off the seat of her jeans. "Shall we?"
"Hm. Aaaaaalright then, let's go!" Elizabeth said excitedly as Misha got off the chair. Without bothering to ask, she leaned on the other woman's shoulder, and they stumbled out of the bar together, Elizabeth grinning and giggling the whole time.
Misha had taken her to her dorm first bidding her goodbye as Elizabeth fished the key out of her breast pocket. Her hands were shaking as she pressed the key up against the fob, the familiar electronic "beep!" echoing through the entranceway. She stumbled her way to the elevator before hitting the button that went up to the fifth floor, trying her best not to fall over.
Elizabeth fumbled with the key, taking a little over thirty seconds to slip the key into the lock, but she got there eventually. When she swung the door open, a sense of relief washed over her as she realized her roommate was still out. God bless her, she really went wild at those parties.
By the time she stripped down and got into bed, she was already half asleep. By the time she covered herself with the blanket, she was practically knocked out cold.
((Elizabeth Rodney and Misha Yeager continued elsewhere))
Misha had taken her to her dorm first bidding her goodbye as Elizabeth fished the key out of her breast pocket. Her hands were shaking as she pressed the key up against the fob, the familiar electronic "beep!" echoing through the entranceway. She stumbled her way to the elevator before hitting the button that went up to the fifth floor, trying her best not to fall over.
Elizabeth fumbled with the key, taking a little over thirty seconds to slip the key into the lock, but she got there eventually. When she swung the door open, a sense of relief washed over her as she realized her roommate was still out. God bless her, she really went wild at those parties.
By the time she stripped down and got into bed, she was already half asleep. By the time she covered herself with the blanket, she was practically knocked out cold.
((Elizabeth Rodney and Misha Yeager continued elsewhere))