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Amelia opened the bedroom door and stood in the frame of the doorway, staring into its darkness. She hesitated going inside, as if she would be somehow violating Calvin's privacy, and then she remembered her brother had no privacy...she had no brother anymore. Amelia slowly set foot inside the room and flipped the lightswitch by the door, looking around as she did. She and Calvin had been close once, but that time had long since passed. Amelia got further into the room and sat down on his bed cautiously, almost as if he were still laying in it and she didn't want to disturb him, before looking to the nightstand by the bed and noticing a photo of the two of them as kids at a theme park. She smiled as she looked at it, wondering if she'd stayed if they'd still be close. She did always regret losing touch with him, after all, though she'd never admitted to him. And, really, truth be told, she always thought she'd be the first one to die.

A feeling which, at this very moment, Wyatt himself was wishing was true about himself and his father.

Wyatt and Angie were carrying a dresser off a moving truck while Kelly leaned against the wall of the apartment building, sipping her iced coffee.

"You need to tilt, you need to tilt forward, give me more leverage if we're gonna get this thing down the ramp," Wyatt said, groaning.

"I don't have much upper body strength," Angie grumbled, "what is inside this?! Your rock collection!?"

As they got to the bottom and dropped it on the ground gently, Wyatt leaned against it and wiped his forehead against his arm while Angie put her face down against the wood grain. Wyatt looked up to Kelly who just smiled at him, making him smirk.

"Can we get you anything? A pillow or perhaps one of those pair of binoculars rich people use at the opera?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly laughed.

"No I'm good, thanks," she said.

Kelly had purchased a new apartment and was finally moving out of her parents house, ready to be back on her own. Her folks were worried she wouldn't manage it, but she'd gotten better at walking with her new prosthetic and she was feeling pretty confident. She didn't have to walk down stairs, she could take the elevator, plus anyone at work would help if she needed it, and then of course she knew she could rely on Wyatt if she really needed to. Angie finally looked up and exhaled.

"I need two things, something to drink and somewhere to pee, not exactly in that order," Angie said.

"There's a corner store down the street," Kelly said, as Wyatt pulled his wallet out, grabbed some cash and handed it to Angie.

"Get me something too," he said, "root beer and some chips, don't care what kind, something sour cream related."

"You can't say you don't care then give me specifics, those two cancel one another out," Angie said, taking the money and walking off. Wyatt walked up beside Kelly and together they sat on a nearby bench, taking a moment to relax. As Angie disappeared down the street, Kelly, sipping her coffee, motioned towards her.

"What is with that girl?" she asked.

"It's a long story," Wyatt said, "so, are you...I mean, will you be okay? I can stay for dinner if you'd like."

"Oh?" Kelly asked, smiling, "inviting yourself in already?"

"I just don't wanna see my parents," Wyatt said, "my father's been...hounding me, and I'd really rather not see them. Supposed to have dinner with them tonight, but I don't wanna go home. I don't wanna deal with him. He's...he's terrifying."

Kelly was surprised to hear this fear from Wyatt. He'd always seemed so collected, so very sturdy. It didn't make her like him any less, of course, if anything it just made him all the more real to her. Wyatt sighed as Kelly handed him her coffee, and he smiled, taking a drink of it.

"You'd think," he continued, "that with everything we've been through, I'd be a rock by now, but, that just isn't the case. No matter what happens, no matter what I endure and survive, I think my father will always terrify me, and that sucks. I hope my children never feel terrified of me. I don't want that to be the thing they remember best about me, is their fear of me."

"I'm sure that won't be the case," Kelly said, taking her coffee back, "I know it won't."

Kelly lifted her drink back to her lips and Wyatt glanced at her, sideyed so she wouldn't notice his stare. It was early afternoon, the sun was bright, breaking through the leaves of the many trees that covered the sidewalk this apartment complex just happened to nestled on, and was lighting up her face. Kelly, with her big eyes and her small nose and her golden hair. Wyatt felt a pang of fear in his chest, and he looked away, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, well, I am gonna do whatever it takes to be his opposite," he said, "enough people fear me as it is, I'm sure. My kids don't need to be on that list too."

                                                                                                         ***

Celia had had a busy day.

First work, then she had to pick up her son, Daryl, and now the two of them were at the pediatricians office. He was on the floor, playing with one toy or another with a little girl around his age. Daryl was 5 and she was 7. Celia was glancing up over the top of her book on occasion and smiling at the sight before going back to reading.

"What are you in?" a woman asked, sitting nearby, making Celia chuckle.

"Um, he's having a problem sleeping through the night," Celia said, "I want to rule out anything like sleep apnea or whatever, you know? That way I can rest easy knowing he's resting easy. What about you?"

"My daughter's just here for a minor checkup," she replied, "nothing serious. We have other doctors to attend to her medical needs, this is just a general practitioner visit, you know?"

"I hope he's not running late, I have to get back to work," Celia said, checking her watch, "last thing I wanna do is be coming home late again. At some point the babysitter is gonna accuse me of child labor for all the hours she's had to watch him for me. Girl shouldn't be complaining, she's makin' a mint off me, lemme tell ya."

The woman snickered, and Celia smiled. It was nice, she thought, chatting with another mom. A totally normal, simple thing to do. Almost made her feel like her life wasn't the kind of fucked up twisted soap opera it was.

"What about his father?" the woman asked, and Celia sighed.

"We aren't together," Celia said, "he actually isn't even in town anymore. He wasn't abusive or anything, don't let me give you the wrong idea, we just...he had things he had to figure out, and we weren't as ready to have a kid as we thought. We were young. Believed in true love and all that nonsense that accompanies it. I try to hold no ill will towards him, but it can be hard. What about you?"

"My husband is dead," the woman said, sniffling, "um, but, you know, I make do. With settlement money, lawsuit money, money from his job, savings, etc. We manage."

"I'm so sorry, what happened to you-" Celia started, when a nurse came from the back with a clipboard.

"Leslie Grudin, the doctor will see your daughter now," she said. The woman gathered her things, stood up and took her daughter by the hand, waving goodbye at Celia, who stared on dumbstruck. She couldn't believe her eyes. Of all the mothers she could've been seated by, it was Leslie goddamned Grudin. And the worst part? This wasn't even the most shocking thing that would happen to her today.

                                                                                                             ***

"Where are Calvin's papers?" Amelia asked.

She was standing with her parents in the living room, the two of them seated on the couch watching a golf tournament while sharing a bowl of mixed nuts. Her father stood up, wiped his hands on his pants and motioned for her to follow him. As they headed down the downstairs hall, to his office, Amelia didn't know what to expect, really, from her brothers will.

"When you two were little," her father, Barry, said, "you guys used to hide things all around the house, remember? Little notes and stuff. Stuff for mom and I to find. You'd put 'em in our books, in our dressers, anywhere you knew was important enough that we would find them. So, when Calvin came to me, asking for a place to keep this kind of stuff once he was married and it became important to him, I knew just the right spot."

Barry opened the door to his home office, and the two of them walked inside, Barry shutting the door behind them. He then turned his attention to an air vent, pointing. Amelia dragged his desk chair over to the wall, climbed up on top of it and pulled the grate off, then reached inside, pulling out a folder.

"This isn't even a proper air vent," she said.

"No, it's not, I hollowed it out to make room for this specifically," Barry said, and Amelia couldn't help but smile at their fathers efforts for them. She climbed back down from the chair while he held it steady, then once her feet were flat on the floor, she opened the folder and looked inside.

"Anything in here I should know about that you already know about or?" Amelia asked, and Barry shrugged.

"I never read it. He named you the sole benefactor of his estate," Barry said, "didn't want us dealing with it. I think...I think maybe he knew how it would hurt us, because of the loss he went through firsthand. Didn't wanna impart that on his own folks on his way out."

Barry sat down in the chair and covered his face with his hands as Amelia shut the folder, tucked it under one arm and put her other hand on her fathers back, rubbing in a slow, soothing motion.

"I miss him so much," Barry whispered, trying not to cry, "...I can't believe he did this. I mean, on one hand, and your mother would never want to hear or agree with it but, on one hand, it really isn't all that surprising. He lost everything. He was lost, himself. He had a few friends, but that was it. Otherwise he spent most of his time out in the shed, working on various little projects. Keeping his mind occupied. Because that's what hobbies become when you have nothing else, they become your everything. Instead of a hobby, they become an outright distraction from the pain. When I was in college, my grandfather, who I'd been very close to, died suddenly, and as a result, I started building model airplanes with alarming regularity. It was something we'd done together. At first I figured, you know, it made it feel like he wasn't gone but...but in actuality all I was doing was hiding from the fact that he was. He was gone. And now my son is gone too."

Amelia, now doing her best not to cry either, leaned down and kissed her father on the head.

"I got this dad, you don't have to worry," she whispered, "I'll take care of it all. We'd always been close, so I don't mind."

After they left the office, Barry heading back to the living room while Amelia headed back to Calvin's room, all she could think about was how her father was right. Calvin's death, presumably suicide to his family - that's what it had been labeled as anyway, despite the shot being in a rather suspicious place - really didn't come as that much of a shock after the initial, inevitable shock. Calvin had always had one foot in the grave, she felt. They both hand, they were morbid, that was part of what they had in common. Amelia set the folder down on the bedside table and then curled up on her brothers bed once more, pulling a stuffed bunny to her chest and hugging it tightly.

Ironic, she thought. She always assumed she'd be the one to off herself.

                                                                                                       ***

Wyatt and Kelly were in her apartment loft, as Angie had to attend another engagement so she couldn't help finish the job. The place was spacious, with a sunken in area in the middle of the living room for a couch and a table, large sliding glass doors that led to a balcony, tons of closet space. Wyatt had to admit, he was impressed. He didn't know news anchors made this much. Course, Kelly probably got a mint from the airline for the crash, which probably didn't hurt. He dropped a box onto the floor and sat on it, as she came walking in.

"No no, don't sit on that!" she shouted, and he quickly leapt off.

"Sorry, I didn't...I didn't know it was fragile or something, it's not labeled," Wyatt said, as she opened the lid, revealing her plastic horse collection.

"Well why would I label anything, I moved across town, not to another city with a moving company handling it, I know what's in what," Kelly said, Wyatt smirking as she pulled out a few horses and checked them; after a moment she looked up at him and blushed, asking, "what?"

"Nothing, just...nothing. You're such a girl," he said, laughing.

"Ya know, girls aren't the only ones who like horses," Kelly said, standing up and walking to a nearby buit in wall shelf where she started to place the horses, adding, "I mean, most of the most famous people in the west were guys, cowboys. Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, Sherrif Matt Dillon from Gunsmoke. We're not the weird ones. Guys liked horses just as much. It's just that, at some point, society decided that horses were a girl animal and now guys are afraid to like them."

"I won't argue with you on that, cause you're right," Wyatt said, stepping down into the sunken area and plopping onto the couch as Kelly continued putting her horses on the shelf.

"I loved riding," Kelly said, "I'm so sad I probably won't get to do it again."

"Who says you can't do it again?" Wyatt asked.

"I mean, prosthetic leg, hello?" Kelly asked.

"So fuckin' what?" Wyatt asked, making her laugh; he leaned forward as she sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, and he continued, "I mean, you yourself told me about that girl in college, the track girl, and she had a prosthetic leg. You can do the same things you did before, Kelly, you're the same person. You're not fucking suddenly prisoner to some weird ass restrictions, okay?"

Kelly smiled and looked at her hands in her lap, playing with her false nails.

"Do you, I mean...have you gone horseback riding?" she asked.

"Kelly I'm rich, yes, I've been horseback riding. I don't know if you know this, but rich people use horses a lot. Fox hunting, polo, it's a little ridiculous actually, our reliance on the equine. Especially when we can afford Ferrari's," Wyatt said.

"Yeah but you can't hunt foxes in a Ferrari," Kelly said, as Wyatt snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

"No need for guns when you can run 'em down," he said, the both of them laughing. After the laugh ended, they sat in their respective seats and looked at one another. It was getting later in the day, and Wyatt figured he should be going home. He stood up, and she did as well, surprising him with her sudden movement.

"Are you going?" she asked.

"I really should have dinner with them, much as I don't want to," Wyatt said.

"Oh, right, okay that makes sense," Kelly said, walking with him to the door. As they got to it, Wyatt stopped and turned to face her.

"You wanna go horseback riding with me and my daughter?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly's eyes widened in excitement.

"Really?!" she asked, with the infectious enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning.

"Yeah, really. I bought her a pony, you know that. We can use some of the horses at the stable, just go for a ride. Prove to yourself you can still do it," Wyatt said, and Kellys face redened more than he'd ever seen as she looked at her feet, smiling like an idiot.

"I would love to," she said, "thank you."

"I got you girl, we'll go soon," Wyatt said, before exiting into the hall, Kelly holding the door open as he went. He stopped again and looked back once more, adding, "it's a nice place. I'm a little jealous. Hopefully by the time I come back, you'll have it fully furnished, and I can see all the things you're interested in so I can more accurately make fun of you."

"That's what friends are for," Kelly said, shrugging, the both of them laughing. He hugged her, then went along his way. Kelly watched him disappear down the hall, into the flight of stairs, and she sighed. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to have dinner here, with her. She wanted to keep cracking wise, unpacking with him, and then, after they were finished, she wanted him to take her to the bed and make love to her. She wanted to feel him inside her, to feel like she finally understood what it was to be desired by someone. But he had a wife. He had a family, and children. Kelly would, as she'd done so many times in her life, have to live inside a fantasy instead.

Part of being a weather girl, really. Her head was always in the clouds.

                                                                                                         ***

Celia had put Daryl to bed and was finally winding  down for the evening. She was sitting on her bed, eating ice cream in her silk black and pink pajama set. She didn't have anything in particular on the TV, she was just watching it rather absentmindedly, but the background noise helped keeping her thoughts from returning to the afternoon. To the interaction with Leslie. She sighed and shook her head. After Celia finished her ice cream, she took her bowl to the kitchen, filled it with some water and left it in the sink. She would deal with it in the morning. Halfway back down the hall was when the knock on the front door came. She turned and walked back, peering through the peephole before sighing and opening it.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"We have to talk," Paul said, "We have to, Celia."

"...I won't fight you on that, I do think we need to talk. He's asleep already, in case you were hoping to see him."

"I can wait," Paul said, "but you and I need to discuss some things. Can I come in?"

Celia sighed and stepped aside, allowing her estranged husband to enter the house. Meanwhile, across town, Amelia had just woken up from a nap. She went downstairs and found it quiet. Parents already in bed, clearly. TV still on in the living room, but on mute. She clicked it off before hitting the bathroom and brushing out her hair. She then headed for the kitchen, made herself some cocoa and took it back upstairs. Once back in Calvin's room, she sat on the bed and set the glass down on the bedside table, atop the folder. As she moved to get into the bed, her knee knocked against the table, making it shake, the glass spilling a bit onto the folder and the photograph she'd been looking at of the two of them falling back between the table and the wall. Amelia grasped at her knee, wincing.

"Mother fuck," she whispered, before pulling the table out a bit to retrieve the picture. Instead, what her hand grabbed, was a small black book. She pulled it out and opened it. A day planner. And inside, on the day he'd died, Calvin had written one thing.

"Call Rachel."

"Who the fuck is Rachel?" she mumbled to herself, before flipping through and her eyes catching something else, from a few pages back. Something about a lunch. A lunch with Wyatt Bloom.
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Liam was sitting in the pizzeria, watching the animatronic band. He had been coming here a lot lately, trying to grapple with his mortality. He was holding his cane in his lap, his other hand gripping one of the turquoise plastic cups used for soda, and sipping from it casually as he watched the band perform. He heard the swing doors open and close behind him, and he smiled to himself weakly.

"Glad you could make it," he said as Beatrice sat on the other chair he'd pulled beside his own, but she didn't speak; he added, "guess you're mad at me, which is understandable. Just figured...after what happened to Casey, now would be the best time to talk about this."

Bea folded her arms, but continued her silent approach. Liam sighed and lifted the cup to his lips, taking a long drink before shaking his head.

"Bea, we need to talk about it. It's not going to change. This is going to happen, regardless of your feelings."

"When have you ever considered my feelings?" Bea asked, "...you're an asshole, you know that?"

"That's a valid response, considering the situation, so I'm gonna let it slide," Liam said, "and yes, I...I've done some bad things in my life, but I've spent the last few years trying to make up for them. Starting with you. With this show. But there's things we need to discuss, but I don't have much time left."

"I hate you," Bea said, with such vitriol in her voice, such venom, he was almost prepared to believe it; she added, "I can't...I hate you, Liam. You took my show from me, you took Claire, and now you're leaving me too? How else am I supposed to feel?"

"First of all, I didn't take Claire. We mutually decided to end that situation because we recognized it wans't-"

"I didn't mutually decide shit!" Bea shouted, snapping at him, "no, I did what you wanted to do, because I trusted you! I gave into the demands of the pizzeria because I trusted you! Everything that has had an enormous negative impact on my life has been a direct result of trusting you! Now you're gonna fucking tell me you're dying, and I'm supposed to be sad and weepy as if that isn't also a horrible thing? You're selfish, is what you are!"

Liam didn't respond. He knew Bea needed to vent. He'd let her do what she had to, process the grief in the only way she knew how. Next to her parents, Liam was the person she'd known the longest, and this...this was eating her alive, he knew this even without her admittance. Bea shifted in her seat, breathing hard, watching Liam to see any change in his face but nothing came.

"...I can't do this without you," Bea said quietly, making Liam finally look at her.

"Of course you can," he replied, smiling back, "look at what you accomplished before me. You created the character, you staged the first iteration. Bea, I only know you because of seeing your show. You did all that on your own. You can absolutely do this without me."

"Okay how about I don't want to," she said.

"Well, that's different," Liam responded, shrugging, "but you gotta keep the flame alive. We built this thing up together. Just cause one half of us is gone doesn't mean-"

"I always thought we could fix things," Bea said, interrupting him, "I always thought...I always thought there'd be more time to set things right."

Liam raised an eyebrow, confused.

"What do you mean, we...we got this thing off the ground, have completely creative control, more or less, what else could we possibly-"

"Claire," Bea said, looking at the floor, not at him; she cleared her throat and added, "I always thought we'd fix things. We just...we just left. I have never felt right about it. I agreed at the time, cause it did seem like the right thing to do, but...I think that's why I've clung onto so many other, younger women with family problems. Trying to raise them up because we abandoned her. Michelle. Eliza. Casey. I think that's why. I have never managed to forgive myself."

"You blame me for that too?" Liam asked, and after a moment of chewing on her lip, thinking hard, she shook her head.

"No, I...I don't, actually. I do think you were right about that one. It was a messy situation. But that doesn't mean I don't feel remorse about it. I just hope she's doing well. I hope she grew up to be a wonderful adult. I suppose maybe it's the not knowing that kills me the most. Sometimes, when Leslie and I go for walks in the evening, we'll pass by this little local park near my apartment, and we'll see these families playing, and I see these little girls and I think of Claire. I hope she understands why we left. That it wasn't personal."

"I'm sure she does," Liam said, grimacing. He knew Bea was in pain over this, but he had no idea just how deep it went.

Bea looked up towards the stage and exhaled. She didn't really hate Liam, and he knew that, so she didn't have to clarify. They'd always had this sort of unspoken rule that they could say whatever they felt in the moment and it would be taken as an irrational statement because of the overwhelming feelings included therein. That's what happens when you work on a show for kids about learning and acceptance. You don't take things at face value and you, instead, operate in a sort of 'let us feel and sort it out later' mentality. Bea looked at her hands, her freshly manicured nails that she'd had done just before Casey ran off.

"It's funny, isn't it?" Bea asked, sniffling, smiling weakly.

"What is?" Liam asked.

"Us. How...how queer people gravitate towards one another, regardless of knowing their own identity in the moment. When we met, neither one of us was sure we were who we are. And now look at us. You had a lovely, long relationship with Marvin, and I'm with Leslie. I don't know that we could've done it without one another. I think...I think we needed eachother, Liam. I know I sure as hell needed you."

Liam nodded solemnly. He knew what Bea meant. The two of them, together, they'd both discovered who they were because of their direct interaction with one another. He sighed and ran a hand over his face, clearing his throat. He thought back to that first apartment they shared back in the city, back before the show was officially on the air. Back when they were still workshopping, doing small performances, doing fine-tuning. He smiled. Those were some of his happiest memories. Liam looked towards her, and noticed she was looking at him now.

"You don't regret it, do you?" Bea asked.

"Which part?" Liam asked, the both of them chuckling.

"What we did," Bea whispered, "you don't regret it, do you?"

"I really don't. It isn't who we ended up being, but I sure as shit don't regret it, no. We did the best we could, considering the situation," Liam said, "I just kind of wish, if anything..."

Liam scuffed the floor with his shoe, making Bea tense with anticipation.

"...I wish, if anything, that maybe circumstances could've allowed us to see it through. That we could've known what it would've been like. I'm not saying I'm unhappy with who we are, because I'm not and I wouldn't change a moment of my life, with Marvin, or with you, but it would've been fun to see how it would've been. You know, when my father learned that I was queer and living with Marvin, he wasn't disgusted or angry or confused. Instead I was met with quiet disappointment. Acceptance isn't acceptance in that case. I never felt welcome home, especially with Marvin. When he got sick and started to go down, I asked him what his biggest regret in life was, and he told me that it was not being as brave as his son wound up being. A small consolation prize, too little too late certainly, but you have to take your wins where you get them. But even if he admired my bravery, I know he always wanted...well...what came before that, to last."

Bea smiled weakly and nodded, looking back at her shoes. She sighed and shut her eyes, rubbing them with her fingers.

"I'm so mad at Michelle," she whispered.

"What? What for?" Liam asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Because she told me Casey wasn't my responsibility. Leslie even backed her up. But because of what she told me, because I listened to her, Casey is dead. I could've prevented it, and-"

"Bea, you couldn't have prevented it. That girl was a ticking time bomb. It would've happened sooner or later. Some people are just like that, with this built in self destruct, and I've never seen a more clear example of that then with Casey. I know it hurts, but please don't be mad at Michelle. She's right. And she was saying it to alleviate yourself of the guilt of not being able to be there all the time for everyone. You're allowed to look out for yourself."

"I did that already, and look what happened. Claire is gone," Bea said, and that hit Liam in the heart. He knew she was upset about Claire, even all these years later, as was he, but he had no idea how deeply that sadness truly went. Bea had cared so much, hadn't wanted to leave her with those people, but she knew, in the end, that it was the right decision. Still, to see that sadness upfront, clearer than he ever had before, it hurt intensely. Bea wiped at her face with her sweater sleeve, drying herself of her tears and exhaling, adding, "I promised myself, after that, that I would never put myself first again. That, for every young girl who needs familial harmony, I would provide that."

Liam hated himself more in that one singular moment than he ever had before.

"...i'm so sorry," Liam whispered and Bea nodded slowly.

"yeah, me too," she replied quietly.

Liam was so mad. He didn't want to die, not while she was in this state. He wanted to stick around. He wanted to make things better. He groaned and climbed out of his chair, pacing, his cane tapping on the ground as he walked.

"For what it's worth, though, thank you," Bea said, catching him off guard. He glanced at her as she added, "I mean, I was determined to make something of myself, of...of making Beatrice a real thing, but...but I don't know that I could've done it without you."

"You absolutely could've," Liam said, "the success you found wasn't because of me, I just happened to be here."

"No, you don't get it. At first, yeah, I was doing the stage show myself, creating the world without you, and that was fine, but after we left Claire, that was when I became dependent on you. I felt like maybe you believed I couldn't do what needed to be done and that was why we did what we did, so I worked harder to prove myself to you that I could. I wanted you to be proud of me. I know that's stupid, especially for someone as seemingly independent as I am, to be so co-dependent and reliant on someone, but...you made me want to be better."

"I never thought that, Bea," Liam said, feeling hurt, "I never would believe-"

"I know that, I just felt that way at the time," Bea said, shrugging, "I was young, and stupid. I couldn't help but believe dumb shit like that. Now I realize, of course, that I could've done anything without you, but I'm glad I didn't have to. I'm glad you were with me. I can't imagine the journey without you..."

Bea and Liam locked eyes and stared as Bea started crying.

"...but reaching the destination without you kills me," she muttered, before breaking down. Liam walked back to the seats and leaned down, hugging her, letting her sob into him. Liam rubbed her back and looked around at the pizzeria, taking it all in. This history they shared. This thing they'd built together. After the hug broke and Liam pulled away from her, she looked up at him and asked, "...what happens to you?"

"You mean who gets custody of me?" Liam asked,smirking, and she laughed; he continued, "I'll be being cremated, and you can do with my ashes what you want. It's up to you. But Bea, you gotta promise me something. You can't stay frozen in time anymore. Especially not with this. I know you have trouble moving past things, losing your mother, losing your dog, but I can't be one of those. Use me as a springboard for growth, not a mouse trap for nostalgia. Can you make me that promise?"

Bea squeezed him tighter and sighed.

"I wanna say yes," she mumbled, "but I don't know that I can. I'll try, is that okay?"

"That's a perfectly reasonable response, yes," Liam said, kissing the top of her head.

Bea thought back to their time in the city. When they were young, fresh, just starting out. A different world, it felt like. A completely different world than the one they currently inhabited, and not just in their own day to day lives but moreso in the sense of society itself. She and Liam were both lying to themselves then, trying their best to pretend to be anything, anyone, other than who they were simply because of societal pressures. Now she got to see Michelle and Eliza be happy together, openly, and it warmed her heart, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't jealous of that freedom, the very freedom she was denied. Because of that, she and Liam had made a decision, a decision that haunted her to this very day. A decision she wasn't sure she could ever recover from.

"Just...tell me," Bea said, as Liam pulled away a bit and looked down at her, stroking her face gently with one hand as she asked, "tell me you'll remember me."

"How could I ever forget you," Liam whispered, "what we tried might not have worked out, but look where we are now. Look what we've accomplished. Bea, I couldn't have done any of this without you. You could've gotten here on your own, but I like to think you are happier you did it with me at your side. I'm sorry things crashed the way they did, I made some big mistakes, but I've tried so hard to rectify them for the sake of our relationship, to prove how much I loved you, love you, have and always will."

Bea nodded, wiping her face on her sleeve as she stood up and walked with him, arms linked, towards the stage as the curtain came back up and the band started once more. They stood there, watching, smiling together. Bea rested her head on Liam's shoulder, and he blushed.

"Nobody would ever believe it, you know," she said.

"I know," he replied, "trust me I know."

Bea turned to face him, as Liam did the same, the band playing atop the stage before them, music echoing, filling the empty hall. Bea put her hands on Liam's face, feeling his stubble, knowing she would likely never touch this face again. She leaned up on her toes and planted her lips on his, and he happily kissed her back. After a very long, loving kiss, Liam rested his lips against her forehead as she wept against his chest, Liam running one hand up and down her back.

"Luckily for us," Liam said, "there's some stories that are just ours."

"It was a pretty good story," Bea whispered.

"It was," Liam said, "happy I got to see how it ends. Now, go make another."
Published on

When Lilian got the black envelope, everyone knew what it meant.


It had been something they'd all hoped to never receive, and, for the most part, hadn't. There'd only been one instance of someone getting it before, and that was Alexis who had refused to do the job, much to Vera's frustration. When she first held it in her hands, Lilian couldn't believe it. Alexis, Vera, Rina, Tyler and Miranda were all around to watch her open it, slide the work paper out, and read it silently, all of them peeking over her shoulder. A funeral. A funeral for a little girl who'd died of cancer. A little girl who'd loved princesses. Lilian was shaking a little, but she was nothing if not the most professional of them all, sans Vera, so she was going to give this job the proper respect it deserved. Still, now standing near the snack tables where the wake was being held, she could hear Alexis's comment loud and clear.


"Goddamn dude, what a bummer."


She wasn't wrong. A wake is, after all, a type of party. It had initially been Tyler's idea to issue the black envelopes, including wakes as part of their efforts, and everyone had uncomfortably agreed to go along with it, but thankfully they'd rarely had to go through with one. Lilian tapped her fingers on the plastic red cup in her hands, sipping her cider as she watched permanently bereaved family members hug one another, kiss one another, hoping to find some kind of solace in a world so cruel it would kill a child. Lilian sighed and turned back towards the table, scooping some chips up in her hand and shoveling them in her mouth. Suddenly she noticed a girl, about on the cusp of teenagerhood, standing next to her.


"I can't believe they actually did it," she said.


"You and me both," Lilian said, lifting her drink to her lips.


"It just seems...gross, right?" the girl asked, "like...like yeah, she liked princesses, but she's not here."


"She's kinda here," Lilian remarked, glancing over her shoulder at the open coffin, making the girl smirk as she added, "but I suppose I understand the mentality of bending to the whims of a dead child. Having her interests be represented at this wake makes it feel less like she's gone and more like a celebration of sorts. It would've made her happy, and that's what we should all spend our time doing if we have children, making them happy."


"I guess," the girl said, shrugging as she and Lilian turned to face the crowd once more.


"How did you know her?" Lilian asked, and the girl sighed.


"Support therapy," the girl said, "I have cancer too, but mine's nowhere near as aggressive. All the kids in the therapy know one another. We aren't exactly friends, but we are friendly. We all thought she'd get better, she was so young, it just doesn't seem fair."


"A friend of mine worked a party about two years ago," Lilian said, "a birthday party, where this little boy ate some candy and died as a result. Ever since then I've been acutely aware of how nasty the world is, even though I experienced it firsthand myself as a child. The world doesn't care about your age, your innocence, your purity. We're all fodder. But it also doesn't kill with malice. It's ambivalent to us. It's not personal."


"...wow, you're depressing," the girl said, "I like you."


The girl and Lilian laughed, before the girl was called away and had to leave. Lilian grabbed more chips.


"She's not wrong, you are depressing," a voice said, and Lilian turned to see Greg there.


"What are you doing here?" she asked, confused.


"I do therapy work for kids in the hospital," Greg said.


"You're not a child therapist," Lilian said.


"I'm a kid on the inside," Greg replied, the both of them chuckling; Greg pushed his hair from his face and turned to look at everyone, continuing, "giving kids therapy is much different than giving therapy to adults, but especially giving dying children therapy. That's a very unique experience. A lot of people think kids cannot comprehend the magnitude of their situation, but they're much more intelligent than most adults seem to believe. Kids understand more than we think. Certainly, the idea of nonexistence is weird to them, because all they know is the five or six or seven years they've been alive. The older they get the easier it becomes, but when they're very young, like a lot of the children in this hospital wing are, it can be a bit more difficult, but that doesn't make it any less important. They're already in a scary situation, the last thing they need is a lack of understanding of said situation."


Lilian smiled warmly. Greg was such a good person, and she was grateful to know him, as her therapist or not. She turned with him and together they stood there, snacking, drinking, watching. So many families, so many kids, clearly this child had been loved, and that made her all the more sad. They were so loved, and yet...they weren't here to experience that warmth. And then she saw him.


"You alright?" Greg asked, noticing Lilian tensing up.


"It's him," she whispered, pointing to a man in a suit, "...it's Michael."


                                                                           ***


Vera had only done a few parties in her time being a proper employee, and most of those were for very little kids, kids so little that they probably wouldn't be able to remember having her there when they got older. But still, a gig was a gig, and she was more than happy to abide. But this party was different, this was for a young girl, about 9, who would in fact recall having her there. Though, to be honest, she felt a little strange being there for a 9 year old. She figured a kid that age would feel embarrassed having a costumed character at their party. What she didn't know, however, was that it had been the kids request. The front door opened while Vera contemplated how this day was going to go, and a handsome, tall, black man was standing there. He smiled politely at her, then allowed her to enter.


"Thank you for coming," he said.


"...there's...not really anyone else here," Vera remarked, laughing awkwardly.


"I know, it's...it's a tough situation. Um," the man said, shutting the door and pulling his sports coat on, "I have to go to work, it was something I couldn't get out of, awful scheduling conflict, and as a result, we weren't able to really plan a proper party, so I figured, this way-"


"We're not a babysitting service, sir," Vera said, feeling a little annoyed.


"I know that, but..." the man said, sighing, approaching Vera, his voice lowering as he glanced past her towards the hallway; he added, "...her mother died last year. And not from some, long, drawn out illness. Just a heart attack, right in the middle of making her lunch while we played outside. I had to keep her from going back in the house once I found her. She needs this, please."


Vera had to admit, that hurt her heart to hear. She looked back at the hall before turning her attention back to the man as he headed for the door.


"Is there anything...anything I should do? Anything specific?" Vera asked.


"Whatever she wants, I guess," the man said, "good luck."


With that he exited, leaving Vera alone in the living room. She groaned and threw her arms up in frustration. Then she turned and looked around, taking in her surroundings. The house was well kept, clean and organized, with all manner of family photos either hung on the wall or placed on various shelves. Vera approached one near the TV, it featured the man, his dead wife and their daughter and she picked it up, smiling. The family looked so happy, and it reminded Vera of her own family when she was little. At least, before things got bad. Vera then put the photo down and headed to the hallway. She walked down the hall and knocked on the bedroom door that was clearly marked as a childs, with stickers on it, before opening it when she received no answer. Peering inside she found it empty. She felt confused, then noticed, through the window, a treehouse in the backyard. Vera walked back out, headed through the sliding glass door that led to the backyard, and went to the treehouse. She sighed, reached out and grabbed onto the ladder hung from the treehouse to the ground, climbing up. When she got to the top and looked inside, she noticed the little girl, sitting in the corner of the treehouse, dressed as a fairy herself. She looked up and caught Vera's eyes, her eyes filled with tears.


"...are you a fairy too?" the little girl asked, and Vera nodded slowly as she pulled herself up into the treehouse and sat cross legged across from the girl, who sniffled and then, tapping her plastic light up wand on the floor, asked, "can you make wishes come true?"


"Uh, well, depends on what the wish is. Something easy? Sure," Vera said, "for example, I can get you a piece of cake."


"I don't want cake," the girl whispered, "i want my mom."


Vera felt that in her soul.


                                                                         ***


Lilian, with Greg still, was watching Michael's every move. How he acted around the adults, appearing as if he were totally normal. As if he wasn't an absolute creep. Lilian grimaced and tapped her foot anxiously as Greg sipped his drink and bit the cheese cube off the top of his toothpick.


"What is he even doing here?" she snarled through her teeth.


"He must've known her, or knows someone who knew her," Greg said, "you say he's a judge on the child beauty pageant circle, so maybe one of these girls is a contestant of his, and he knew her by proxy. Maybe she participated herself. I don't know."


That's when she saw Anna, and got even more confused. Why would his assistant be here? Anna, however, wasn't with Michael. She was a bit aways, leaning against a wall by herself, sipping a drink and wiping at her eyes, clearly having been crying. Lilian looked at Greg, who returned the glance, raising an eyebrow.


"Come with me," she said, and he nodded. Lilian grabbed Greg by the arm and led him through the room, towards the hall. As they passed closeby, her and Anna caught sight of one another - which was what Lilian was attempting to do - and Lilian jerked her head towards the hall, indicating Anna should follow her. Anna nodded solemnly, finished her drink and set the glass down before wiping her mouth on her jacket sleeve and heading into the hall with them. Once the three of them had gotten down the hall a bit, they formed a semicircle and looked at one another.


"What are you guys doing here?" Lilian asked.


"He was a friend of the families, judged her older sister in pageants," Anna said, making Greg snap his fingers.


"If only I were a bettin' man," he said, making Lilian smirk a little.


"He used to bring gifts to the hospital for the child, only to hope to run into her sister, who, by the way, I say is older, but...she's 14. She was 9 when he started judging her. Thankfully, her parents are watchful, they don't leave him alone with her, but still...they felt obligated to invite him."


"Why are you here?" Lilian asked.


"Why do you think," Anna said flatly, sounding defeated, "to possibly vet new girls for pageants."


"At a WAKE?" Greg asked, now sounding pissed, "that's absolutely vile."


"...you don't even know the things I've seen, heard, had to hide. You don't...you don't know what a gift it is to be deaf until you hear a grown man take advantage of a young girl," Anna said, making Lilian's skin crawl; Anna continued, "he's an animal. No impulse control. I always have to clean up after him. Smooth things over with these poor girls after he's done his damage. Now I'm tired of it."


"I want you to come with me to the police," Lilian said, "I don't feel safe taking it myself. I need someone who's close to him."


"As if the police wouldn't be on his side," Greg mumbled, surprising Lilian, who looked at him until he added, "you know they're simply a force there to keep people like that in power because it's things they themselves support. The police aren't there to help you and I, ordinary citizens, no, they're a mobile task unit for the elite, a shield for the wealthy. I'm just saying, don't be surprised if they don't care."


"What kind of anti-capitalist hole did you crawl out?" Anna asked, making Greg laugh.


"I'm not anti-capitalist. I love money just as much as the next guy. I just happen to believe that peoples worth and value shouldn't come at the expense of it," Greg replied, shrugging, lifting the remainder of his drink to his lips. Anna then turned her sights back to Lilian and sighed, shaking her head.


"I can't," she whispered, "I can't, he would...it would be..."


"Anna," Lilian said, "he tried to do it to me too. When I was these girls age. He came into my dressing room, he tried to do it to me. We can stop him, right now. We have the means, together, the two of us. We can put an end to lots of girls suffering. We just have to be brave. Now goddammit I am a princess, and I'll be damned if I'm going to allow the continued abuse of my loyal subjects at the hands of a tyrant."


Anna looked Lilian in the eyes for a moment, and then she smiled.


"...okay," Anna said, "I'll help."


                                                                                 ***


"She used to tell me fantasy bedtime stories," the girl said, sitting with Vera in the treehouse; she continued, "at nighttime, she would sit on my bed and she would tell me stories until I fell asleep, and my favorite were the fairies. She wrote stories about fairies that got made into real books. But she was always telling me new ones, ones nobody else had heard yet."


"That sounds special," Vera said, "my mom worked a lot when I was young, but she tried her best to be there for me. You should hold close to those memories, cause those are the ones that are the best, that bring you comfort."


"Dd she stop trying to be there?" the girl asked, and Vera sighed, shrugging.


"She and my dad had a lot of problems together, but they tried their best to make it good for me. Still, by the time I was twelve or so, I guess they figured I was old enough to stop pretending, and they started fighting a lot more until my mom finally left. I always thought maybe I'd done something to make her leave, but I know it wasn't me. She still loves me, but...but I'm still mad at them both for not working things out more for my sake, but then I feel selfish because that wasn't what was right for them. It's hard. Being an adult is difficult. You know your dad is doing his best for you, right?"


The little girl nodded, and looked down at her wand again, as Vera thought about things. Thought about Tyler. His insecurities about being a father. Maybe she was being too harsh on him, cause she had her own thanks to how her family had fallen apart. Maybe she should try to be more understanding, listen to him more. She promised herself she'd talk to him more openly about this when she got home tonight. Vera looked out the window of the treehouse, noticing the wind chimes hanging, blowing in the breeze, before she smiled and looked back at the girl.


"You know," Vera said, "fairies are often not able to be seen by people. So maybe...maybe your mom is a fairy. Think about it, you can't see her now, can you? So who's to say she isn't out there, watching you, granting wishes? Have you wanted something lately and gotten it?"


The little girl thought for a moment, then looked up at Vera.


"I wanted a fairy at my fairy party," she said, and Vera smiled.


"And here I am," Vera said, making the girls eyes light up. She crawled across the floor of the treehouse, wrapped her arms around Vera and hugged tightly, Vera hugging her back.


Vera finally got it. She got why Lilian, why Alexis, why they all did this job. Having been on the boss side of things for so long, she had a lot of trouble understanding why they would choose to do this, but now she got it. Now it made sense. She understood why Lilian had fought so hard for Maddie. The best gift you can bring to a child on their birthday isn't an item.


It was comfort.


                                                                                ***


Lilian approached Michael through the crowd, Anna and Greg behind her. As she got closer, he turned his focus towards her, the people he was talking to turning and walking away. Michael looked her up and down briefly, then snapped his fingers at her.


"I know you!" he said, "you started judging recently, right?"


"You do know me, but not for that," Lilian said, "I used to do pageants when I was little. You were a judge then."


Michael's eyes widened a little in surprise. He was almost never approached by adult women he'd judged as a child.


"Oh, well, it's nice to see you maintained an interest in the work," he said, "if you ever need help with anything, please don't hesitate to ask my assistant," he added, pointing at Anna behind her.


"Actually, funny you say that, because I already did," Lilian said, leaning in towards him and lowering her voice, "and you're done. You're done doing this. I'm not going to let you do to other little girls what you tried to do to me. I was lucky enough to have an overly watchful mother. You may have been the judged, but now...you're about to be the judged."


With that, Lilian turned, along with Anna and Greg, and walked away, leaving Michael white as a sheet and speechless. When they got outside, the two of them hugged Lilian, who started crying, and she thanked them both. The thing about bravery, Lilian had learned from Maddie, wasn't that the bravest thing you could do was act, not just want to act. Maddie had spoken up, had saved her father, and that bravery, from a child, had made Lilian realize she could do the same thing for other young girls. But, funny enough, Maddie was about to one up her again, because right now, Maddie was opening the door to the apartment to a terrified Lux.


"...are you okay?" Maddie asked.


"no," Lux said, pushing her way into the apartment, Maddie closing the door behind them.

Published on
"Your father scares the hell out of me," Amelia said.

She and Wyatt were sitting in his bedroom, Wyatt on the floor leaning against his bed while Amelia was up in the nook of the large, round window overlooking his mothers garden. Wyatt was sipping from a can of soda as he looked through his collection of baseball cards, sorting them, organizing. Something he often did when he felt stressed. Amelia was sketching in her notebook, eating a cracker mix from a nearby bowl as she did.

"He scares the hell out of me," Wyatt replied, "I'm not sure if he knows he's intimidating or he does and he uses it to his advantage, but...god knows I'd never want my kids to be scared of me."

"I don't think it'd be a problem for me because I can't envision myself ever having kids," Amelia said, "I don't think I'd be a very good mother."

Wyatt grimaced. He wanted to be a dad someday, but he also wanted to be with Amelia, without forcing her to give up her autonomy. He wasn't sure how to reconcile this. He thought, maybe, with time, she'd come around, but...but what if she didn't? Would this lead to resentment? He wanted his future wife to be his best friend, not his enemy. Wyatt looked up towards her, diverting his attention away from his cards and to Amelia, smiling as he did. She looked ethereal, like a pixie, with her small face, her curly bangs falling halfway over her eyes, her small frame fitting perfectly into the windowsill as if it were custom made for her body.

"I hate playing baseball," Wyatt finally said, "my dad's the one who pushed me into sports. I mean, it's good exercise, helps you learn how to work with a team, sure, but it just...it isn't something I wanted. And then these cards...they were his, and he got me to start collecting, and I don't even like that. I feel like I'm nothing but an extension of his interests and not my own person."

"There's living vicariously through your kids and then there's whatever the fuck it is he's doing," Amelia said, making Wyatt laugh, which in turn made her smile. Wyatt stood up and walked to the window, climbing up onto the small built in wall bench in front of it. Amelia looked up from her notebook at him as he reached out and put a hand on her face. She shut her eyes and put her hand over his, enjoying his touch. Wyatt then leaned in and kissed her, and she happily kissed him back. Amelia had never felt this kind of love before.

And she never would again.

                                                                                                        ***

"You know, we could just cram a bunch of stuff into an underutilized piece of foreign bread and call it a specialty food and start our own business," Wyatt said, biting into his lunch, "people will try anything once. Look at folks who use cocaine."

"An odd jump to make but you're not entirely wrong," Celia replied, laughing.

Celia had come to his place of business to check up on him, have some lunch. Wyatt looked better than he had at the funeral, that was for sure, but he was still pretty not with it, wearing sunglasses indoors, not matching his clothes as well as he used to. Celia could tell Calvin's death had hit him really hard, harder than he'd likely ever admit. Wyatt picked up his root beer and took a long drink, then wiped his mouth on the arm of his suit before leaning back in his chair and burping. Celia smirked.

"So..." Celia started, "...things seem to have...quieted down, for the time being."

"Remarkable how that happens when you don't have someone constantly stirring the pot, isn't it?" Wyatt asked, "...still, I'd like to find out who was behind it all. Not the person who sent Ricky, we know that. We know that was Grudin's wife. I mean with Wattson. With the trade ring. That's the loose end that's eating at me."

"We'll figure it out, don't worry," Celia said, "in the meantime, just-"

"In the meantime," Wyatt interrupted, "I'm not able to just do anything. I can't focus, I can barely sleep, I've been drinking more. I don't...I don't like who I'm becoming. I know getting Calvin out of the picture was a necessity, hell, a prerequisite, even, but that doesn't make it easier to swallow. If anything, it makes it harder to SHIT."

Celia gave Wyatt a confused, but mildly bemused look until she noticed he was looking at his office door, now open, his father standing in its frame smiling at them.

"Hello," Rufus said, "I didn't realize you had company."

"I'm Celia Moss," Celia said, reaching out her hand to shake, which he politely did, adding, "I'm just someone Wyatt went to high school with."

Rufus then entered the room, and, standing between Celia and Wyatt, looked down at her.

"Would you mind giving us a few minutes?" Rufus asked, "I need to speak to my son about the business."

Celia glanced at Wyatt, who looked nervous as hell, but she couldn't really say no. Instead, she gathered her things, what was left of her lunch, her purse, her jacket, and headed outside the office. Leaning against the wall and continuing to eat gave her perfect earshot of the conversation going on inside. Rufus had sat down in the chair she had been seated in and crossed his legs.

"You don't seem particularly pleased to see me," Rufus said.

"I'm sorry I didn't throw you a ticker tape parade for coming into your old job," Wyatt said sternly, making his father smirk. He'd always appreciated his sons sense of snark, albeit generally moreso when it wasn't directed at him, which he found rather disrespectful.

"I don't know what Scarlett was talking about. You seem okay to me," Rufus said, which got Wyatt's attention. He looked up now.

"...Scarlett called you?" he asked.

"Everyone is worried about you, Wyatt. You look like hell, her words not mine though I certainly won't debate them, and she says you've been drinking more. As your father, it's my duty to ensure you're doing okay," Rufus said and Wyatt scoffed.

"No, it's your duty to ensure I'm still capable of running the business, which I am," Wyatt said.

"You think I don't care about my own sons well being?" Rufus asked, sounding genuinely hurt, which made Wyatt feel remorse. Wyatt sighed and shrugged.

"I...I don't know, dad, I just...I'm sorry. I've been under a lot of stress and-"

"The you go to a doctor. You get on medication. You don't do whatever this is," Rufus said, his tone now changing, colder, more direct, catching Celia off guard, but certainly not Wyatt, who was more than prepared for this having grown up with it.

"That's easy for you to say, Mr. My midlife crisis was paying showgirls in Vegas to hook up with one Another," Wyatt said, making his father glare at him until he added, "at least mine is just me being a little run down and drinking more, not cheating on my wife. Not that you ever loved mom."

Rufus stood up, the chair scooting across the floor, Wyatt now regretting his words. Rufus walked around to his side of the desk, hand planted firmly atop it, as he leant down and lowered his voice to a low growl.

"You listen to me," Rufus said through his teeth, his eyes boring a hole into Wyatt's, "and you listen damn good. You may be a grown adult, but that doesn't entitle you to the right to backtalk me. I put up with this shit when you were a teenager because adolescence is a time for rebellion. I didn't like it, but I would've been wrong to quash what was a relatively normal phase of growing up. But you're a fucking grown man now, you need to get your shit together and start acting like it, do you understand me? Because you think the worst I could do is turn your wife against you? Take this business back? Dream on, boy. What I could do is so. much. worse."

Wyatt, breathing hard and fast, nodded, giving in. Rufus smiled and patted him on the face with his other hand.

"Glad we had this talk, I'll be back in in a few days, and we'll be having dinner at your place soon," Rufus said, standing up firmly and heading to the door; he tugged it open and exited, saying goodbye to Celia as he passed by. Celia entered and sat back down, looking at Wyatt, pale as a sheet in his desk chair, one hand to his chest.

"That was brutal," she said, "you okay?"

"I'll be okay when he's dead," Wyatt said.

                                                                                                     ***

Something Wyatt had never told Scarlett, or anyone really, was that she wasn't, in fact, his first time, like he'd led her to believe. That was also Amelia. It had happened late at night, and had been unplanned. In fact, it hadn't even been on a date night. Wyatt happened to have Amelia over while his folks were out for the night, and she had been helping him with a science project. Sitting in his bedroom as they worked on it, Wyatt couldn't stop feeling so lucky for how smart his girlfriend was. Amelia stepped away from the table the project was atop of and put her hands on her hips, smiling.

"There we go," she said, "now that's a guaranteed A+."

"You're amazing," Wyatt said.

"I know," Amelia said, the both of them laughing. Wyatt was sitting on the bed, watching, as Amelia turned and faced him. Wyatt smiled at her, as the early evening moonlight peeked through the shuttered blinds and splashed across her face. She was so beautiful, and Wyatt had no idea why she was in love with him, but he was so grateful for it.

"What did you tell your parents about having to go out?" he asked.

"Just that I had to help a friend with a school project," Amelia repled, shrugging, "Seeing as I'm a good student, they don't question that, plus it's the truth."

"What, that we're working on a project or that I'm a friend? Cause I'd sincerely thought we'd moved past the friend phase," Wyatt said, making Amelia laugh as Wyatt scrambled off the side of the bed and reached under, saying, "by the way, I got you something!"

After a moment, Wyatt climbed back up onto the bed and held out a large case for Amelia. She took it, looking confused, and set it on a nearby desk, opening it, then gasping, a hand over her mouth. She slowly turned and looked back at him.

"I remember, months ago, you were talking about this specific kind of paint you can only get in France, so I looked into it, had my mom mail order some," Wyatt said, "I guess, now that you've helped me with this, it'd be a perfect time to give it to you, though I was gonna give it to you no matter what, so. I just wanted to do something nice for you."

Amelia had never had much luck with guys. She also hadn't really been interested, but the few times she'd been, it hadn't exactly gone well. The thing was, too, that she never expected to be with a jock. Okay, sure, Wyatt was only a jock by proxy of playing Baseball for their school team, and mostly because his dad made him, but he was, in fact, a popular jock, and yet he wasn't ashamed in the slightest to be dating who many considered the weirdest most socially unpopular girl in their school. Amelia pulled her glasses off her face, set them down on the desk, and then tied her messy frizzy hair up into a bun before walking to the bed, pushing Wyatt onto his back and climbing on top of him, surprising him.

"What, uh, hey now, this could be considered assault," Wyatt said, chuckling, and Amelia smirked.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked, and he blushed, shaking his head; she bit her lip, then leaned in and kissed him as he reached over and shut off the bedside lamp. That first time was special. So many peoples first times are often awful, things they try to forget, but Wyatt and Amelia were lucky. They were really truly happy to be with one another, and afterwards, lying in the bed beside a sleeping Wyatt, Amelia couldn't believe what they'd done, not that she was regretful but just in the sense that they'd actually done it. She stood up and walked back to the desk, looking at the paints again, then glancing back over her shoulder at Wyatt, smiling to herself. This boy...this boy was such a good person. She felt so lucky. She wanted to spend her life with him. He had stolen her heart completely.

And just as easily he'd be the one to break it.

                                                                                                        ***

"He sounds awful," Celia said.

Celia and Wyatt had taken off from the office and driven up to pick up Celia's son from school. They then took him to a playground, and sat on the hood of Wyatt's car, watching him play with the other kids. Wyatt inhaled his joint then handed it to Celia, who partook. Wyatt exhaled and shook his head.

"He's a monster," Wyatt said, "an absolute monster. All he cares about is his empire of shit. He was so abusive to my mother, never physically - though it came close at times - but definitely psychologically, mentally, emotionally. If I hadn't had my girlfriend in high school...I don't know how I would've survived. She was a safe place for me in the midst of his bullshit."

"Scarlett seems very sweet and-"

"No, not Scarlett," Wyatt said, interrupting Celia, "the girlfriend I had before her. This girl, Amelia. She was the absolute sweetest girl, a totally different breed of person. There was just...no bad in her. I genuinely think I didn't become my dad because of her influence, because it would've been so easy to fall in line under his thumb. But she made me realize it was okay to be empathetic. To be what a man should be. Whenever my dad was awful, I would remind myself that not having his love didn't matter, because this amazing girl loved me instead, for who I actually was, not for who he wanted me to be."

Celia smiled and patted him on the back.

"You are a good man, Wyatt," Celia said, "I don't think anyone could ever argue otherwise."

"That's the thing, people could argue otherwise," Wyatt said, "I'm a perfectly curated lie. I've done awful things. But they've all been under the guise of good intentions. I'm just as bad as Calvin was, I'm just better at hiding it."

"No, Wyatt," Celia said, feeling truly bad that he believed this sentiment; Celia put a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look at her as she said, "Wyatt, listen to me, what Calvin was going to do would've been unforgiveable. Up to a point his decisions were understandable from his grief and pain, not justifiable but understandable...but what he was planning? That wouldn't have been okay. You. are NOT. Calvin."

Wyatt smiled weakly and nodded, taking another long drag on the joint before handing it back to Celia.

"So what happened to this amazing girlfriend?" Celia asked, and Wyatt sighed.

"I did something bad," Wyatt said, "...all because of my dad."

                                                                                                        ***

"I'm sorry," Wyatt said, his voice hoarse from crying, "...I'm sorry. I can't...I can't take it anymore. He's threatening to take everything away from me. Threatening to not help me with college, to...to not let me have the business. I need those things."

"More than you need me?" Amelia asked, her voice also broken from screaming and crying. The two had been arguing for hours, and now were just sitting on his back patio, near the pool. His folks were once again out for the night, trying to fix their marriage - ironic, Wyatt thought, taking relationship advice from a man who can't keep his own marriage afloat - and Wyatt had invited Amelia over after his fathers ultimatum.

"I'm not...I'm not good enough to do it on my own," Wyatt whispered, "I need his help. His resources."

"Bullshit you're not," Amelia said, "bullshit bullshit bullshit. You're so capable, dude. And I'll be with you. We can do it together."

Wyatt broke and started crying again. The pressure had finally made him crack. He didn't want to end things with Amelia, he loved her so much, but his father terrified him more than he loved her, at least in the moment. Amelia sighed and looked at the pool, trying not to cry again herself.

"...so that's it?" she asked, and he nodded.

"i'm sorry," he whispered.

"...it was supposed to be you, you know," Amelia said, sniffling, wiping at her eyes as he looked up at her, hating himself for making her cry as she added, "the future was supposed to be you. now i just don't want it. good luck with your father."

Amelia hopped down from her seat and walked briskly to the fence, pulling the gate open and exiting. He would see her around school for a bit, but avoid her best he could. His father would start treating him better because he'd listened. A few weeks later he would start dating Scarlett, a cheerleader, someone his father vastly approved of because of her conventional beauty and overt femininity. And a few weeks after that, Amelia would leave school, and soon the state entirely. So when Celia told Wyatt of the lives he'd saved by taking Calvin out, it didn't make a difference to him, because he'd already ruined the life of the only person he'd never wanted to hurt.

And there was no forgiving that.
Published on
Beatrice woke up that morning to the smell of coffee. She slowly sat up, pulled her silk robe on over her night shirt and sleep shorts and headed out into the living room, where she found Leslie standing in the kitchen, sizzling bacon on the stove, her hair in tangles from the previous nights escapades. Leslie was wearing a long sleeve button down shirt and nothing else, but it covered her perfectly. Bea walked up behind her and wrapped her arms around her tight, nuzzling the back of her head, kissing it gently, making Leslie blush.

"Gosh, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Leslie asked, and Bea shrugged.

"Well," Bea said, "You were pretty incredible last night, I guess I just like to show my appreciation for the effort."

"Oh, you're a supporter of the cause? I can accept that," Leslie said, grinning as she turned around. Bea pinned her against the counter, making her catch her breath, and leaned in, kissing her. Leslie happily kissed her back. These were the good mornings. The perfect mornings. The mornings Bea always dreamed of having, and now couldn't believe she was lucky enough to get. As she pushed herself against Leslie more, Leslie's hands trying to find space on the countertop to hold herself up so her knees didn't completely buckle, she accidentally hit the remote for the small TV they had in the kitchen, turning it on.

"Goodness," Leslie said, breathing hard after Bea finished frenching her, "what did I do to deserve such adoration?"

"...I'm just tired of not taking advantage of the good things in my life," Bea whispered, running a hand up to her face and cupping her cheek gently, looking in her eyes, "I'm tired of, you know, not feeling like I deserve them too. After losing my dog, my mom, I guess I just want to grab hold of those close to me and keep them here forever."

"I can accept that answer, and you're more than free to grab me," Leslie said, giggling as she hopped up onto the counter to sit, hitting the change channel button on the remote now, shoving it aside, as Bea put her hands on her hips and kept kissing her. As Bea made out with her neck, Leslie's eyes scanned over her shoulder to the television, and she got a concerned look on her face. After a moment, Bea stopped and looked as well.

"What is it?" Bea asked.

"I don't know, something on the news, they're pulling a body out of the water by Garvins Bridge," Leslie said, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up a bit, the newscasters voice now coming in clear midsentence.

"-certainly not foul play, and definitely a suicide, the police have reiterated repeatedly. A car was found parked on the bridge with a note in its windshield, indicating as such. The car, after having its registration run through the system, was found to belong to one Casey Kochawski. The police, now having retrieved the body from the lake, have in fact confirmed that it is Miss Kochawski, tying her to the vehicle. At the moment, none of her family, nor anyone else, has come forward with statements about the matter, but all signs point to Miss Kochawski have struggled with intense depression, and she appeared to have a history of drug abuse. More on-"

Leslie switched the TV back off, and looked at Beatrice, who was standing deathly still, staring at the now blank screen in front of them. Leslie didn't know what to do, Bea seemed to be in a trance. After a minute or so, Bea slowly dropped to her knees on the kitchen floor, then laid down on her side, wrapped her arms around herself...

...and screamed as loud as possible.

                                                                                                         ***

"You have a visitor," a woman said to Liam as he sat at his desk. He looked up to spot a woman entering, struggling to walk a little. She looked relatively young, around Michelle's age, maybe a bit older. She stopped and looked at him, appearing nervous. Liam just smiled politely and leaned back in his chair.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm looking for Michelle Helm, I'm Justine Hench. Is...is she here? I know this is her place of business."

"Michelle has not come in yet, no," Liam said, "...can I ask what this is regarding?"

Justine pulled the chair opposite Liam out and slowly seated herself in it, groaning as she did, likely from her injuries. After a few minutes, Justine finally gathered herself, mentally, and exhaled, looking back up at Liam.

"Okay, um," Justine said, "it's about Casey. She came to my home the other day while I was entertaining guests, and she...she was...clearly having some kind of psychological breakdown. I offered to meet with her after that, but she ran off, drove away, I haven't heard from her since. I've texted, I've called, I've e-mailed, but not avail. I just...I need to get in touch with someone who knows her who can maybe fill me in on what's going on because, at this point, I'm genuinely concerned for her wellbeing."

Liam's heart broke. He had already heard. He'd heard on the radio on the way in that morning. He swallowed and leaned forward, cupping his hands on the desk.

"Uh," he said, "fuck. Um. You'll have to apologize, I'm...I'm not used to having to break this kind of news to people, and I'm not doing so well myself health wise, so please forgive me but...you haven't...heard anything? Seen anything on the news?"

Justine, now afraid, slowly shook her head, her fingers tugging at the hem of her skirt.

"...Casey jumped off a bridge last night," Liam said, struggling to get the words out without breaking into tears himself, "uh...the...the cops pulled her out of the lake this morning, a few hours ago actually, and it's been on the news since then. I'm honestly surprised you somehow hadn't heard anything yet."

A quiet filled the room. The kind of quiet that's somehow deafening it's so loud. The kind of quiet one only hears on certain occasions, when presented with the worst news possible.

"...Casey...what?" Justine asked, now starting to cry herself.

"Yeah," Liam whispered, looking down at his desk now, feeling his tears rolling off his face and onto the wooden finish, "uh yeah...her folks aren't going to be of any help, or care, so I have to go and identify her, just for the sake of it, at some point today once she's been processed into the morgue. I'm sorry to have to be the one to break this to you, I never like-"

"She can't be dead," Justine replied in a broken, hushed tone, "no she...she can't. She was...she was JUST on my porch. She can't have...in that time span, she can't..."

Justine knew all too well though the seven stages of grief. Having survived a near-death experience herself, she knew she was just speedrunning them now. Justine finally cracked and started openly weeping, burying her face in her hands. Liam groaned as he did his best to stand up, head back to where his secretary was and ask for some coffee and pastries, before grabbing a box of tissues and shutting the door to his office. He wouldn't be taking any other meetings today.

                                                                                                        ***

Michelle had found Eliza in outright hysterics. She'd gone out to get them breakfast, and when she got back...

...Eliza was lying fully clothed in the bathtub, full of water, screaming at the top of her lungs. Michelle quickly dropped everything in the kitchen before rushing into the bathroom to find this sight, completely befuddled at what she was witnessing. She dropped to her knees by the bathtub and grabbed Eliza's hand, holding it, just letting her finish getting her emotions out. After a bit, after Eliza had calmed down, she rolled her head towards Michelle, her eyes bright red from the tears, big dark circles underneath.

"What is going on?" Michelle asked, "what...what caused this? Are you okay?"

Eliza just stared. All the death. All the death surrounding her. First Liam's diagnosis, of which she couldn't even tell anyone about, and now Casey. She simply couldn't handle it, she was losing her grip.

"Don't leave me," Eliza whispered, her voice shaky and scared.

"Never!" Michelle said, leaning in and kissing her on the forehead, "why do you...when...why would I ever leave you?"

"I don't even mean just leaving, I mean...don't die," Eliza said, "you almost died, and you almost died before I told you I loved you, and...and please don't die, ever. Ever. Please."

"Okay, I promise, I'll find a way to be immortal," Michelle replied, the both of them laughing weakly at this, before adding, "but you...you have to talk to me, what's happening? Did something happen? Did somebody hurt you?"

"Somebody hurt all of us," Eliza mumbled, "Casey is dead."

This hit Michelle like a brick to the face. She was not prepared for that. She fell back onto her ass, still holding Eliza's hand. The last time she'd seen Casey had been at that audition, where she'd flipped out at her and Bea. She told Casey she'd have her removed if she couldn't behave. Fucking fuck. Fuck. What the hell had she been thinking. She'd acted in a professional manner, not her usual comforting one, and now...now it'd cost Casey her life, all because she simply hadn't listened.

"...she begged not to be an afterthought," Michelle said, sniffling, "the last time I saw her, she was SO upset, and she begged me and Bea for her to, just once, be somebody's first choice for something. I should've listened. I was never my mothers first choice, I know what that does to a person. I should've listened. I killed her."

"No!" Eliza said, rolling onto her side in the water filled tub, "no you didn't, don't think that! If I didn't kill my mom then you didn't kill Casey, okay? Just cause...just cause we have bad last conversations with people before they croak doesn't mean we're responsible for their deaths, right? That's what everyone has always told me, so you need to believe it too."

Michelle looked back at Eliza, and in that moment, in that very moment, she realized something. She never, no matter what, wanted to let this girl go. Michelle reached out and took Eliza's face in her hands and pressed her lips to Eliza's, kissing her for a good minute or so. After it broke, Michelle rested her forehead on Eliza's, the both of them crying.

"...if I can't leave, you can't either, okay?" Michelle asked, and Eliza nodded eagerly; Michelle then, after a deep breath, added, "...if...if all we can do is keep living, then...then I wanna do it together."

"Me too," Eliza whispered, kissing her again.

Death has a funny way of making people realize what they really want.

                                                                                                     ***

"The thing about death," Liam said, "is nobody and nothing can properly prepare you for  it, whether it's happening to you or to somene else. You're never ever ready for it. I've got...I don't know...weeks left maybe? You wouldn't really be able to tell, looking at me, because I'm putting up a good front, but every single day I'm so weak, so tired. But I'm not scared. That's the one saving grace I have for my own sake of mind. Casey didn't seem scared either."

"How are you NOT scared?" Justine asked, biting into a donut hole, sipping her coffee, "god, I remember being on that plane, heading for the ground, knowing that could very well be it, expecting that to very well be it, and I was terrified. I'm shocked I didn't shit my pants."

"...people have always assumed that Beatrice writes the show. But we mostly do it together, and I've written a lot of it myself. It's...it's like this child we have together. Or, a thing that took the place of where a child would be, since we don't have one. My whole life, I...I've been living lies. Creating personas for myself. Telling stories. That's what I do. I can't cope with reality, neither can Bea, so we tell stories to help placate our eternal sense of unease. Death is just...another story. It's the next chapter. The final installment. If anything, I'm excited to see it."

Justine couldn't help but smile, albeit weakly, at this sentiment. Liam was a remarkably well adjusted person. She shook her head and looked back down at her lap, resting her coffee mug in it between her palms.

"...losing my boyfriend, I used to think, was the worst thing that could happen to me," she said, "but this might be worse. Casey and I were working on so many little projects, we were creative partners. I'd never had that before. We just got one another. She was so talented. She was...my friend. I hope she knows she was my friend."

This statement pushed her to start crying again.

"I feel so fucking selfish," Justine continued, trying to speak between sobs, "if I'd just talked to her, if I'd just...put in a tiny bit of effort that one day...fuck."

Liam stood up and walked past her to a filing cabinet, retrieving something from there and then plopping it onto the desk between them before taking his seat once more. Justine, after recomposing herself, looked at the folder, then up at Liam, raising an eyebrow.

"What's that?" she asked.

"That," Liam said, putting his feet up on his desk best he could with some effort, pointing at the folder, "is something Casey gave me. She wanted me to help her with something, and, as a result, she gave me this. Gave it to me to find a way to get it organized, published. It's something she'd been working on for a good portion of her life. I've read through it, it's shockingly grim and beautiful, feels autobiographical in nature. I am putting this in your hands. You work in literature. You're the one who needs to make this happen."

Justine slowly reached out and took the folder, opening it, reading through Casey's notebook, her sketches, her concepts. She nodded slowly. Liam was right. She had to get this out there. She had to do this for Casey. It was the only way she would feel like she didn't completely let her down. Justine shut the folder and looked back up at Liam, biting her lip, chewing, thinking.

"...so you're excited?" Justine asked, and Liam grinned.

"I'm THRILLED," he said.

                                                                                                      ***

Beatrice was laying on the couch, her head in Leslie's lap as she ran her fingers through Bea's hair. Bea hadn't said a thing since screaming her lungs out and calming down. Now she just stared ahead in dead silence. The TV in the living room was on, on some show about antiques, but the sound was off. The lights were off in the apartment. When Bea got overwhelmed, Leslie knew it was her duty to remove all the sensory issues to help her ease back down. Bea exhaled and shut her eyes, gripping the bottom of Lesle's shirt.

"I put myself first," Bea said, "I put myself first, and look what happened. Michelle told me she wasn't my responsibility, and now she's gone."

"To be fair, she wasn't," Leslie said, "you can't save everybody without ruining yourself, babe. You need to recognize that. Michelle was right. It's understandable to feel guilty, or whatever, but this wasn't because of you. She was clearly struggling with so many other things."

"I'm never putting myself first again," Bea whispered, "that's a promise."

Leslie sighed. She knew that when Bea made promises, she NEVER broke them. Leslie just continued stroking her hair as Bea rolled onto her back and looked up at Leslie, who smiled down at her warmly.

"If you wanted to kill yourself, you'd tell me, right?" Bea asked.

"Of course!" Leslie said, "sweetheart, I would never do that to you, not without discussing it first. Trying to get help. But I'm also not about to judge those who need to just have a swift exit. Life isn't for everyone, and there's nothing wrong with acknowledging that. Some people...they just....aren't built for this, built for longevity. But I wouldn't do that, not to you."

Bea smiled weakly and nodded, rolling back onto her side.

"...I'm so mad at Michelle," Bea whispered.

Michelle, meanwhile, was still in the bathroom, laying on the floor beside the tub, still holding Eliza's hand. Neither one had said anything for a while, they were simply taking in the comfort of the silence that surrounded them. Michelle was thinking, anyway. Thinking about herself, her own near death experience. How Eliza had been at the hospital for her all that time, had always sought her out before and after that to get to know her, to get closer. Her thoughts turned to Justine. That woman survived a goddamned plane crash, and sure, she'd lost her boyfriend in the process, but she was here. They both had more in common than she'd initially thought. Michelle, then, turned her thoughts to Marvin. That's where this all started. Goddamned Marvin.

"Marvin killed himself, you know," Michelle said, "I mean you know that, I'm sure. But that's what kicked everything off. Marvin killed himself. Marvin killed himself, and that got Keagan to start looking into the show, which got her in touch with me, which put us in touch with Liam, which led us to Bea, which then resulted in everything else. You and I are here, together, today...because Marvin killed himself."

Eliza rolled her head towards Michelle and sniffled.

"Why are you saying this?" Eliza asked.

"Because...because good things can come from tragedy. Casey didn't have to die, but she also doesn't have to die for nothing. Marvin's suicide created a new throughline for my life. Maybe Casey's can do the same. It can be another fresh start."

Michelle and Eliza stared at one another and Michelle smiled.

"...do you wanna marry me?" Michelle asked, and Eliza's eyes widened in shock, before eagerly nodding, making Michelle laugh as she scooted up closer and kissed her.

As Liam had explained...death isn't the end, but a new beginning.
Published on
Barry Klepper headed down the stairs, out through the kitchen, and across the back lawn to the shed. He tugged the door open, allowing light to flood in and looked around. He then grabbed the old push mower from the wall and tugged it out onto the lawn, where he stood with it, one hand on his hip, surveying the job before him. He heard the sliding glass door close and glanced to see his son, Calvin, coming up to him, his head wrapped in gauze, struggling to move on a cane. Barry smiled as Calvin approached.

"Are you gonna do yard work?" Calvin asked, "I don't think I've ever seen you do yard work."

"I've done yard work," Barry replied, laughing, "how are you feeling?"

"Bad," Calvin said, "really bad. How about you?"

"About the same, all things considered. Just happy to have you home."

Calvin stood by his fathers side and looked out at the lawn with him, one of his fathers hands on his shoulder. Barry shut his eyes and breathed in the pleasant afternoon air, just relaxing and enjoying the moment. Barry, his eyes still shut, could hear the sound of a gentle afternoon breeze wafting through the sky, through the leaves of the overhead trees in the backyard, and he smiled.

"You know things can't stay like this forever," Calvin said, causing Barry to open his eyes, Calvin adding, "you know you'll stop having these eventually, right? It's a trauma response. I'm gone, dad."

Barry looked at his son, and his son looked back and smiled warmly.

"I love you," Calvin said, and Barry woke up. He slowly sat upright in his bed and looked around the dark room. He climbed out, headed down the hall and down the stairs, where he got himself a glass of juice from the fridge, before heading back, stopping by the answering machine that sat on a small table by the wall. He reached out and searched for the message. The one from the police. The one that informed him his son had been shot in the head, and he was needed at the hospital immediately. Barry then headed upstairs and stopped at Calvin's room, opening the door and entering. He set his juice down on a bedside table and he laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

"If only I knew," he thought, "that the last time was the last time."

                                                                                                      ***

Angie Dickenson was tearing ass down the freeway, rock music blaring from her car stereo. She was wearing a tight, slim dress and her hair was done in a pretty upbraid, with a pair of big black sunglasses on her face. She had a cigarette hanging from her lips, and she shifted gears as she glanced over at Wyatt in the passenger seat. Unlike Angie, Wyatt was disheveled. Well dressed, but disheveled nonetheless. To be fair, though, Wyatt had been sleeping like shit and drinking a lot. In fact, that's what he and Angie had been doing just before leaving for the service that morning. They had driven to an old timey themed saloon about an hour or so out of town just to get tipsy before having to see everyone.

"You don't think anyone will mind I came?" Angie asked.

"Who cares what anyone thinks," Wyatt said, even his words sounding tired, "who the fuck cares about anything."

Wyatt, since Calvin's death, had become increasingly withdrawn, morose, cynical. Moreso than usual, and it'd been up to Angie to help wrangle him back in, seeing as everyone else was still reeling from the reality of the situation. In fact, since Calvin's death, the group overall had barely spoken. Rachel had started going to therapy to deal with her parents rejection of her sexuality, while Celia had sunk herself into her work. Kelly, meanwhile, had undergone her surgery for her new prosthetic leg, and had been in bed recovering since then. This service today would be the first time they all had seen one another in months.

"You don't think he'd show up, do you?" Angie asked, and Wyatt shrugged. They were, of course, talking about Ricky

"If he's smart, he'll get out of town and cut ties, never look back," Wyatt said, rubbing his forehead, "that's what I'd do if I could."

Wyatt pulled out a pill case from his jacket pocket and popped some aspirin, moaning. He'd had a killer headache since last night, and drinking today certainly hadn't helped it. They were, at this point, about fifteen minutes from their destination, not that Wyatt was all that interested in seeing anybody. Since Calvin's death, he'd steered clear of most interactions, except for the times Kelly had needed help with her prosthetic leg. Other than that, he didn't want to be bothered. But Scarlett had sensed something was wrong. His whole family had. His father was apparently going to pay him a visit because of this recent behavior, which only resulted in more anxiety for Wyatt.

"Should I stand a bit aways when we get there?" Angie asked, not wanting to make anybody uncomfortable, a surprising show of empathy from her, Wyatt thought. He shrugged.

"I don't know, up to you," he replied, "do whatever you want."

So she would. Angie would do whatever she wanted. Advice he would later regret half heartedly giving her.

                                                                                                      ***

The night of Calvin's death, Ricky was strapped to the chair in the shed. It was dark, sans the moonlight coming in through a small window near the roof, and he had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Would he ever see his apartment again? Should he even go back to his benefactor, given the severity of the situation, or would she simply not believe him? Ricky exhaled and shut his eyes. His fish were probably dead. He wanted to cry. The door to the shed suddenly opened, and Ricky glanced towards it, expecting Calvin, instead surprised to see Wyatt.

Wyatt entered the shed, his eyes red like he'd been sobbing or rubbing at them, or both. He was quiet. Cautious. They didn't look at one another, and Wyatt didn't say a single thing as he entered and looked around the shed for a moment before finally turning his gaze on Ricky, who raised his eyebrows. After a moment, Wyatt sighed and looked around the shed again before speaking.

"Keys?" he asked, and Ricky nodded at a small box on a shelf. Wyatt walked to it, pulled the box down and opened it, retrieving the key and kneeling in front of the chair, beginning to free Ricky, much to his surprise.

"What...what are you...why are you..." Ricky started, but wasn't able to finish.

"I'm doing what should've been done a while ago," Wyatt said, "I brought you here, it only makes sense for me to let you go. Angie is outside, she's going to drive you back to your hotel. When you get there, you're going to take a shower, get some food on my expense, then head home."

The chains clattered to the floor, freeing Ricky, who rubbed his wrists. Wyatt looked up now, their eyes locking.

"Where's Calvin?" Ricky asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer.

"...he's dead," Wyatt said, "that's all you need to know. Now go."

Ricky stood up, then fell back into the chair, his legs wobbly. It'd been so long since he'd walked. Wyatt helped him back up, then helped him walk outside. Angie was leaning against the shed, filing her nails. When they got closer, Wyatt transferred Ricky's weight to her, and she took him happily. The three of them stood there for a brief moment, taking in the late night air, and Ricky couldn't believe how good the wind felt on his skin.

"Take him, then go home. I'll call you," Wyatt said, and Angie nodded. They all walked to the cars parked out front, Angie helping Ricky into hers, before turning back and looking at Wyatt. The two nodded at one another, then climbed into their respective vehicles and heading in opposite directions. As the car headed away from the house, from the shed, Ricky couldn't help but notice a smattering of blood on Angie's hand and shirt. His eyes scanned up to her face, and she was smiling, looking completely unphased.

"...what happened to Calvin?" he asked meekly, almost terrified.

"What could've happened to you," she said coldly, and that was enough to make Ricky not ask more questions.

                                                                                                         ***

Kelly Schuester was sitting on a marble bench in the cemetery, looking around at her surroundings. It was beautiful today. Rachel and Celia were both already here and were standing near Calvin's headstone, but she was staying a bit aways. She felt awkward, having come, considering her lack of proximity to Calvin. She hadn't been friends with him. But Rachel had invited her nonetheless, 'the more the merrier' she'd morbidly put it. She heard someone walk up beside her and glanced up, noticing Wyatt standing there, and she smiled wide.

"Hi!" she said brightly, then felt weird for sounding so chipper, considering.

"Everyone else seems to be here," Wyatt said.

"Yeah, but I didn't wanna interrupt," Kelly said, "Calvin wasn't my friend. I really only came to see you. Forgive me but I don't really feel the need to grieve the man who blew up the plane I was on."

Wyatt chuckled as he sat down beside her and pulled a small bottle of liquor from his jacket pocket and unscrewing the cap, taking a long drink. Kelly watched, concerned, as he finished and wiped his face on his sleeve. Wyatt then glanced down at her leg, noticing the prosthetic under the hem of her dress, before looking back up and catching her eyes.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Is it difficult to live with?" he asked, nodding at it.

"It's whatever," Kelly said, shrugging, "I'm getting used to it. Starting to feel like I can take care of myself again, going back to work soon, going back to my apartment soon - or rather a new apartment - and that'll be exciting. Why are you drinking this early in the day?"

"Don't change the subject, that's rude," Wyatt remarked, smirking at her as he lifted the bottle to his lips again before she reached out and grabbed it, the both of them staring one another in the eyes; Wyatt felt Kelly slowly lower the bottle, his arm, and he looked at her confused before his eyes welled up with tears and he said, "I did this. This is my fault. He's gone because of me."

"He's gone because of his own decisions," Kelly whispered, "you guys did what had to be done. He was going to do something so much worse than what he did to me, and if I'm what helped break that cycle, then I'm happy to have been involved, even if unwillingly so. He had to be stopped, Wyatt."

Wyatt leaned against her and cried on her shoulder, feeling Kelly run a hand up into his hair and massage his scalp. Wyatt wanted to be like this with Scarlett, but she wasn't involved. She didn't know any of what had been happening, and he wasn't about to drag her into it. Besides, he always felt like he had to put on a strong front, be the baseball star she'd fallen for. She knew he was sensitive, but he was still embarrassed to outright breakdown in front of her, to have that cool guy facade crumble, and besides, when she did give comfort, it wasn't the kind of comfort Kelly managed to give him. Something about Kely's comfort felt effortless, Scarlett's felt forced, as if she felt uncomfortable doing it. After a moment, Wyatt sat back upright and wiped his face on his sleeve again, trying to regain what little composure he could manage to have these days.

"I guess we should go over there," Wyatt said, and Kelly nodded. He stood up and tucked the bottle back away into his jacket as Kelly stood up too, stumbling and falling to the ground, looking embarrassed.

"Sorry," she whispered, "I'm still getting used to this thing."

Wyatt smiled, helped her up, then picked her up on his back, giving her a piggyback through the cemetery. Kelly wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on the back of his, just enjoying the moment. Meanwhile, Angie was staying back at the cars, watching from afar, when she heard another car door shut and glanced to her right to see, of all people, Ricky approaching. He stopped beside her, looking far better than he had the last time she'd seen him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Been following you guys for a bit," Ricky said.

"Not still gathering info for your boss, are you?" Angie asked, taking a long drag from her cigarette.

"No, no, actually," Ricky said, clearing his throat, "um...actually, I'd like to help you."

Angie eyeballed him, curious, but cautious. She stubbed the cigarette out on the car behind her and nodded.

"Help us how?" she asked.

As Wyatt walked through the cemetary with Kelly on his back, approaching the headstone where the others were, he couldn't help but smile. Something about being here, in this moment, with Kelly on his back, was the best moment he'd had in months. Since Calvin's death. He stopped for a moment and looked around at the surrounding graves, taking in the statues and the various architecture of tombs. Kelly lifted her head and rested her chin atop his head.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked.

"Just taking a moment," Wyatt said, "I think it's nice here. Something soothing about cemeteries. Back in high school, I dated this girl, Amelia. She liked to have photoshoots in graveyards. Very grim and artistic, but very cool girl. We used to hang out in cemetaries a lot as a result. I guess being in one now, for Calvin, is making me think of her. Not because she still means anything to me, but because she's adjacent to the subject, considering her relation to the deceased."

They were only a few graves from Calvin's, where Rachel and Celia were posted up, talking, so Wyatt slowly lifted Kelly down. She stumbled against a grave, catching herself before he put a hand on her waist, helping stabilize her. She looked at him and smiled, the two facing one another, not saying a thing.

"I understand thinking of her," Kelly said, "but she isn't here, so. You should focus on the people who are here. Not Calvin, certainly not his sister. Focus more on the women who are here today, who love you."

"Oh, is that right?" Wyatt asked, "and who exactly did you have in mind?"

Kelly bit her lip, and Wyatt raised an eyebrow. But before anything could happen, Rachel had walked over. She put her arms around Wyatt, who happily hugged her back, before turning her affection towards Kelly. Together, the three of them walked back to Calvin's grave, Kelly holding Wyatt's hand tightly, partly for comfort, partly to help her from falling over. They stopped at the headstone and Wyatt nodded at Celia, who nodded back, acknowledging his presence. The four of them stood there, looking down at Calvin's final resting place, and Wyatt couldn't help but feel so incredibly guilty.

"...I told him I'd kill him," Wyatt finally said quietly, almost a whisper, "I told him I'd do it. After the crash. That day in the kitchen. I told him I'd kill him for what he'd done."

"You just arranged for it, you didn't pull the trigger yourself," Rachel said.

"That doesn't make me any less responsible," Wyatt said, "I'm who made it happen. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of what happened to him. His wife, his family, taken from him in that manner. His sister being sent out of town. None of it. But...but there's right and wrong ways to cope with something, and he kept choosing the wrong way. Was his anger towards Grudin justified? Absolutely. Hell, I'd even go so far as to say that his want to kill the man was also understandable, but he followed through on every single bad impulse."

"And that's the difference," Celia chimed in, "you looked for every possible alternative before doing the last resort. That's what makes you two different. You are not Calvin, Wyatt. I hope you know that. I really do."

"I try to believe it, but it's hard," Wyatt said, sniffling, feeling Kelly squeeze his hand tighter, "I admit, I miss him. He was a mess, but...fuck. I miss him. That's the weirdest part of all this, is how much I miss him. I guess, in a way, if it hadn't been for him, we all wouldn't be here together today, and I suppose I owe him that. Owe him your friendship. But he's also why we're in a lot of trouble. We can't be reckless anymore. We can't be Calvin."

"Agreed," they all said in unison.

"So what do we do now?" Rachel asked, and Wyatt shook his head.

That was the million dollar question.

"Well, think of it this way," Kelly said, resting her head on Wyatt's arm, "things can only get less complicated from here, right?"

                                                                                                           ***

Amelia Klepper had been watching a documentary about ghosts when she'd gotten that phone call. The one from her father, telling her her brother was dead. She could recall the moment, even now months later, with absolute clarity. She didn't cry, she didn't scream, hell she didn't even pause her program, no instead she simply laid on her side on the couch and curled up into a ball and stared in silence at the screen. Calvin was dead. Amelia felt, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before this happened, honestly. Ever since losing his family to the accident, she felt he was on a path for ultimate destruction of his own undoing.

And now, months later, Amelia was piling bags into the trunk of her car, and shutting the lid. She looked back at her apartment and sighed. She'd be back shortly. She just had to go to town to help deal with Calvin's will, settle his estate. After the accident, he and Amelia had sat down - he'd come for a visit - and written up this will just in case. It had to be changed now anyway, considering he no longer had a wife or children. Amelia was now the sole benefactor, and that required her to be in town to deal with. Amelia walked around and opened her car door, climbing inside and starting the car. As the car burst to life, so did the stereo, playing America's "A Horse With No Name". Amelia turned the volume up and backed out of the parking lot, then headed out onto the road.

And she drove.

She drove so far, rarely stopping for anything. She stopped now and then to nap, to use truck stop bathrooms, to grab some more food, but otherwise she drove and drove and drove. Calvin being gone was so surreal and yet so normal. Perhaps it was the distance, having been so far away for so long now that lessened the blow, but in a way, she also felt like she'd never really known who her brother actually was. In fact, that sentiment wasn't far off. She knew nothing about his inclination for revenge, his interest in explosives, all the things Wyatt ended up knowing. Amelia was scared to see her parents, but she'd been doing better. Much better. She had to be strong for them now. The lost their son. But they were about to regain their daughter.

Every cloud has a silver lining, she thought.
Published on

Lilian was heading straight from therapy to a job, so she'd arrived in costume, and this was the first time, really, that her therapist, Greg, had seen her like this. He had to admit, she made a pretty good princess. The session went well, as expected. Lilian hadn't been having that many problems as of late, so really their sessions these days were primarily just her discussing her life, in a sort of open diary kind of way. Greg was fine with this. After being with her through some truly awful times, he was nothing if not thrilled to see her be steady and stable, happy. Lilian was packing her things, preparing to head out, as Greg did the same.


"You going to your second job?" Lilian asked, making Greg smirk.


"Yeah, those fryers aren't gonna work themselves," he said, the both of them laughing; Greg slung his bag over his shoulder and said, "come on, I'll walk you to the elevator, take it down with you."


"That sounds nice," Lilian said, the both of them heading out of the office. Greg's office was on the 9th floor of the building, his own little private practice, as he rented the space amongst a bunch of other people and companies. Walking together towards the elevator, Lilian couldn't help but chew on her lip, curious; she finally asked, "okay, so, off the clock...how crazy do you think I'd be to take that stuff she gave me and hand it into the proper authorities?"


"Have you looked through it yourself?" Greg asked, and Lilian nodded.


"Multiple times. Had Miranda look through it with me too," she said, "I'm just scared. I know it's the right thing to do, but I also know it'll change my life for a good while. I'll be expected to show up in court, probably, to testify since I was one of his near victims, and I don't wanna drag that poor women in with me, even though she's the one all this information came from. I just don't know what to do."


Greg and Lilian stopped at the elevator and Greg pressed a button, waiting for it to arrive.


"I guess, all we really can do," Greg said, clearing his throat, "is just try to accept that sometimes we need to put the needs of others in front of our own sense of safety. Lilian, your entire job is predicated on the belief that you're making the day better for someone, so why not do the same in your personal life? You want little girls to have the best birthday? Help give them a safe life as well. Take this guy down."


Lilian smiled and nodded in response. Greg had gotten to know her so well that she just took his advice at face value. He was so well put together, so sensible, she couldn't help but admire him. The elevator showed up and the doors slid open, surprising them. Inside was Vera, Tyler, Alexis, John and Helena. Lilian looked confused, but entered anyway, Greg by her side.


"What are you all doing here?" she asked as Greg pressed a button to go down to the parking lot.


"Meeting with an insurance agent," Helena said, looking through a folder of papers, "everyone had to show up, except you, seeing as you had a prior engagement."


"I had a prior engagement, you made me come," Alexis said.


"Eating chips while watching nature documentaries does not count as a prior engagement," Helena said, making Alexis scoff. Helena then shut the folder and looked up, smiling at Greg, holding her hand out for him to shake as she added, "Helena Langdon."


"Greg Arakki," Greg replied, shaking her hand.


"So how was therapy?" Alexis asked, "did you cry?"


"What happens in therapy is confidential," Lilian said, crossing her arms.


"You totally cried," Alexis replied, the both of them smirking at one another.


"Is everyone working today? Is that why we're all in costume?" Lilian asked, and everyone but Helena and John nodded. Lilian then turned her focus to John, who looked more than disgruntled to be here. John, after a few seconds, finally noticed and locked eyes with her; she asked, "and what about you?"


"I'm here to take Alexis to work," John said, an out and out lie. Sure, that was something he was going to do, but they had their own little meeting to stop off and take care of first. Lilian looked back at Greg, who was checking his watch.


"You gonna be late for something?" she asked.


"My daughters recital," Greg said, "but I'll be fine. It's not for another hour."


Just then the elevator creaked and came to a grinding halt, the light inside flickering. Greg turned to the button panel and started pressing the ground floor key again and again, muttering to himself. Everyone in the elevator groaned, and Greg then gave up and leaned against the wall, running a hand down his face. He sighed and looked at everyone, before noticing the cigarette in Alexis's shirt pocket and nodding at it.


"What's that about?" he asked.


"Something someone gave me," Alexis mumbled.


"Someone gifted you a cigarette?" Greg asked.


"It was this guy, at rehab. I won't smoke it. It's a long story," Alexis said.


"Looks like we got nothing but time, so please, regale me," Greg said, and Alexis rolled her eyes.


"Hey, you're not my therapist, okay?" Alexis said, "besides, nothing left to tell beyond that. Just another interpersonal relationship I couldn't salvage. Story of my goddamned life. Between my parents and now Rick, I've got a pretty good track record of wanting to be close to certain people who simply can't be close to me because drugs are more important."


John smiled a little. To hear Alexis say such a thing, with such a hint of vitriol, made him proud. She'd come a long way. He knew she'd never be outright judgmental to those who used, but it was nice to hear her, for once, acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, relationships were more important than getting fucked up.


"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to press the matter," Greg said.


"You're not pressing anything but her buttons," Helena said coldly, "and frankly, while I understand the sentiment of keeping something from someone who meant something to you, I also think it's ridiculous to carry that memento around as much as she does."


"It's not the only thing, he also gave me this necklace," Alexis said, grabbing at the gem hanging around her throat.


"Exactly, so why do you need the cigarette?" Helena asked.


"Maybe she doesn't need it, she just wants it," Vera chimed in, surprising Alexis who looked at her in near shock. Vera? Fucking Vera, of all people, was coming to her rescue? Unheard of. Vera continued, "there's nothing wrong with simply wanting something, without a need for it. For example, my parents are alive and well, but I still wear this ring my mother gave me for graduation simply because it's hers and it makes me feel good to have her close to me everyday. It isn't for closure, it isn't for any reason other than I want to."


"...thank you," Alexis said.


"I agree," Greg said, "I don't think there's a need for necessity or explanation. I think Alexis is perfectly fine just wanting to have it, regardless of anything else."


"I'll be honest, I don't get it, but I won't judge her for it," Tyler said.


"That's rich, coming from you," Vera said softly, surprising everyone, including Tyler, who looked at her with big eyes; she rolled her eyes and sighed, continuing, "I mean, you know what I want, but you judge me for it all the time. Even though you said you wanted the same thing."


"That's different, for one, I'm not judging you, and for two, I'm just trying to make sure we're ready is all, okay?" Tyler said sternly, "you know I want it too, it just isn't the right time yet. We're barely making enough to support ourselves, let alone support a-"


Tyler caught himself, and glanced around the elevator at the others before exhaling and going quiet.


"What, you don't even want to tell others I want a baby with you?" Vera asked, before looking at the others and adding, "yeah, that's right, we've been talking about having a kid. But Tyler, despite telling me he wants it for a good while, won't actually commit to the follow through, and I know that financial difficulties is a legitimate reason but for god sakes we're not as strapped for cash as you think, dude."


"Tyler?" Greg asked, and Tyler looked at him as Greg asked, "if I may? Uh, could your reasoning stem from being around kids all day, and maybe the last thing you want to do is come home and be a father too?"


"No, not at all, I'd love to be a dad," Tyler said.


"Except you clearly don't," Vera said quietly, looking at her shoes.


"Is it to do with the dead kid?" Lilian asked, catching everyone off guard; Lilian sighed and explained, "about two years ago, Tyler worked at a party where a little boy died. It shook him up pretty bad. Is it that? Are you just scared that that kind of thing could happen to you? You're scared to be held responsible for anything bad that might happen to a child you bring into this world? I know what it's like to feel responsible for kids..."


Tyler sniffled. He didn't ever want to revisit that, but it was, in fact, the correct answer. Tyler put his hands over his face and groaned as he slid down the wall to the floor of the elevator.


"I had to watch it happen," he whimpered, "I had to stand here and watch it happen, and nobody asked me how I was afterward. Never really talked to anyone about it. I've been around so many dead kids. When I was a kid, my aunt got into an accident and her son died, and then when I was a teenager I had a cousin who got pregnant and lost the kid a year in due to SIDS. It's like...it's like if kids even come into remote contact with me their mortality chances go up exponentially."


"That isn't true," Vera said, reaching out and rubbing his back, "hey, that isn't true. Look at Maddie. You've been around Maddie ever since that incident and she's thriving, if anything."


Tyler couldn't deny this, thankfully. Maddie was, in fact, thriving. She'd come so far, thanks to the support of them all, and he'd been a big part of that. The truth was, though, that Tyler was afraid he'd screw up. He'd have a hand in something awful happening to whatever kid he helped bring into this world. He glanced over at Vera, who just smiled warmly at him.


"Don't you want a baby with me?" she asked, and he nodded.


"Trust me," John said, "that isn't what'll bring you peace the way you think it will. Families fall apart all the time, sometimes without any help."


"Yeah but isn't it worthwhile to have a child?" Alexis asked, looking over at John, who shrugged. Alexis felt hurt. She scowled, then added, "I mean, isn't that why you're..."


She stopped, looked at everyone in the elevator, then sighed.


"...isn't that why you're adopting me?" she asked, taking everyone by surprise.


"It...it is, yes," John said, "I'm just saying that loving someone and having a baby isn't the happy ending we've been sold on. Every piece of media, it seems, is intent on making us believe that the delivery is the start of a happy family, the marriage the start of a happy romance, but more often than not they're signifiers of things falling apart, with or without our effort."


"So Hollywood lies to us, big surprise," Alexis snapped back, "it's still worth it to try, isn't it?!"


John didn't realize it before, but his statement had hurt Alexis, and he felt bad now. He'd just been struggling so much with Star lately, with debating whether or not to get a full apartment, take her out and bring her to live with him. He didn't know what to do and it'd been stressing him out. On one hand, at the hospital, she was guaranteed good help and security, but on the other, living with her father would make them both so very happy.


"I didn't...I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything negative by it," John said, "I just wanted to speak from experience."


"But your past experiences don't dictate your whole life, there's more to come," Alexis said, standing up, sniffling, "do you not want me as a daughter? Were you just doing that to placate my doubts about whether or not someone in this world actually wanted me? I thought you cared!"


"I do care!" John said, brushing past Helena and holding Alexis by the shoulders, "Alex, I do care, so much. I'm sorry. Of course I care. Of course I want you as part of my family. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, that all came out wrong. I love you very much, and I want to do this with you."


"It seems to me that you people have a problem with not talking about your problems," Greg said, everyone looking at him. He smiled weakly and scratched at his nose, adding, "after all, communication, whether it's romantic or platonic, is a necessity. You can't expect to build something with someone if you don't talk to them, openly. Trust me, I know."


Lilian looked at Greg with one eyebrow raised, confused as to what he meant by this. She opted not to pry, and just listen.


"Talking, honestly and willingly, is the key to making connections with others," Greg said, "you can't solve anything with silence. Silence just deepens the already growing trench. So Vera, Tyler, if you're looking to have a family, you need to have a lot of discussions about, no matter how uncomfortable. And John, Alexis, if you're looking to make a family together as surrogate father/daughter, then you too need to talk about it because there's more to being family than just being related, whether by blood or by paper. Helena," Greg said, catching her attention now as he said, "I think you're pushing too hard. I know you're trying to be the boss, but I think you're making everyone slightly unsure of themselves, and you need to maybe approach things with a sense of softness. I know it might not be how you're used to handling things, but this isn't your usual group of workers."


Helena nodded slowly in recognition. Greg checked his watch and sighed.


"I'm a bad father," he whispered, catching everyone off guard. Lilian put a hand on his shoulder.


"No, you're not, don't say that," Lilian said, and Greg smirked.


"I appreciate that, but I find simply expressing my thoughts in the moment, even if they're untrue, to be helpful in navigating them," Greg said, "but thank you, Lilian. I just promised I would be there and so far it's looking like I won't be. Again. This is the third time recently I've missed something of hers."


Alexis squeeze past everyone and balled up her hand into a fist and smashed the button panel, causing the elevator to start up again to everyone surprise, even her own. She shrugged as the elevator started heading further down. As it reached the bottom floow and everyone filed off - Tyler and Vera to their respective jobs, Helena back to her office and John and Alexis to the lawyer for the adoption papers - except for Greg and Lilian.


"Are you okay?" Lilian asked, sounding genuinely worried.


"At the moment? No. But that's the thing, it's a moment. I will be okay," Greg said, smiling before Lilian leaned in and hugged him.


"I'm here for you," Lilian whispered, and Greg patted her on the back, thanking her. Greg then went the opposite direction of her, got into his car and headed to the 'recital'. He pulled into the parking lot, he walked into the massive building, and he headed for the correct room. When he finally found his daughter and wife, his daughter was asleep in the charm, hooked up to various tubes. He'd promised he'd be here for this round of chemo, and he'd kept his promise. His wife looked up as he entered and stood up, approaching him.


"Elevator at work got jammed, I'm sorry," Greg said, "how is she?"


"She's doing fine," Kristen said, "she'll be happy to see you."


"That's what I'm here for," Greg said, smiling, "to help."

Published on
Casey Kochawski was 15 years old, and she was sitting on the hood of a strange mans car as it was parked on the side of very tall bridge. The man in question, whom she only knew by the name of Nick, was sitting beside her and staring out over the water that seemed to stretch endlessly before them. Anyone passing by might just assume this was a father/daughter outing, but this man wasn't her father, and just scant moments previous they'd been in the backseat of his car having sex. He was just one of the many man men her mother sold her to for afternoons and evenings, but by now, Casey had become so numb to it.

"...you shouldn't have to do this," Nick finally said, "this is wrong."

And yet you benefited from it, Casey thought to herself.

The absolute hypocrisy of some of these guys was astounding. Most of these men would have sex with her and then be on their way, but some of them would get morose, would start trying to distance themselves from the other men who did the same thing, as if there was a difference. There wasn't. They were still disgusting monsters. They just wanted to believe they weren't. Wanted to act as though they had some kind of moral high ground. And the sad thing was, because what he was saying was true, Casey did agree with him.

"I'm a bad person," Nick said, shaking his head, "and I recognize that. I recognize this...this is awful. This is unforgivable. I'm not asking for forgiveness, either, by the way, just stating a fact. I'm sorry."

That was the difference though, about Nick and the others, was he apologized. None of the others, even the ones who did seem to feel some twinge of guilt, ever apologized. Nick did. And she truly believed he meant it. Didn't excuse it, didn't justify it, but it was a nice little parting gift all the same. And a month later, when local authorities would pull Nick's car out of the water after he careened it off the side of the bridge and drowned himself and a little girl he'd stolen right out of her front yard to, presumably, do the same monstrous acts with that he'd done with Casey, Casey couldn't help but feel as though Nick had the right idea. If nobody is going to like you, if nobody wants you around, why not exit?

So now, standing here on the edge of a bridge herself, Casey couldn't believe she was somewhat sympathizing with such a degenerate. But hey, she had been a degenerate too. At least in the eyes of society. She'd been a drug addict. Casey sat down on the rail and sighed, wiping her face with her long flannel sleeve, trying not to cry. It wasn't fair. All she wanted when she was a little girl was a family who protected her, not sold her. And now, as an adult, she still couldn't find that solace in others. There was no protection, she realized, for certain people. Some people were just left to their own devices. And sometimes their own devices were a means to an end.

                                                                                                        ***

"Sometimes," Casey said, "when I am about to do something, I like to close my eyes and fantasize about a different outcome. Like, if I'm in a car with a guy, or in his apartment, or wherever we are, I'll close my eyes and I'll pretend someone comes in at the last minute to stop it from happening. So pathetic."

Casey was sitting in a diner, in a booth, across from an older man. This man, another one of her mothers "clients", was a man in his early fifties named Steven, but unlike the other men, Steven didn't want sex with her. Steven liked to take her out, get food, just talk. Casey figured he just enjoyed the company.

"I don't think that's so pathetic, we do lots of weird things to cope with unbearable situations," Steven said, "for example, when my wife left, and took my daughter, I'd lay in bed at night in total silence and darkness, and I'd shut my eyes and I'd think about them coming home suddenly, without warning, surprising me. I'd be so upset when I'd inevitably wake back up the next morning and they were still gone."

Casey actually liked Steven. He was the only one she genuinely enjoyed being around, because he just was a nice, normal guy. He didn't ask for anything from her but her company, her time, and he never made any kind of advances towards her. Casey thanked the waitress as she set down another glass of iced tea in front of Casey, and then Casey turned her eye back to Steven.

"I'm sorry they left," Casey said.

"Eh, I wasn't a great husband. I'm a great father, but not a very good husband," Steven said, "and you have to find a balance, it can't just be one or the other. One can't be neglected while the other is adored. That isn't fair."

"Wish my dad was a great father," Casey said, sipping on the straw in her drink, "he's just as gross as the men they make me go out with."

"Well Casey, one day, when you're older, you'll have escaped this life and you'll look back and realize how strong you actually were. You'll be thankful for having survived it. Not that you should've had to endure something so awful to begin with, but I like to think it's a silver lining of sorts. That's the kind of thinking that gets me through, anyway."

Casey smiled and nodded as the waitress returned with their respective lunches. After this, Steven would take her to a local arcade and they would play Skeeball and other games together, and then he would take her shopping for new clothes for school, and then back out to dinner before going to his apartment, where she slept in the spare bedroom. It was nice to have one small escape now and then, her own space, where nobody intruded or violated it. Her time at Steven's was lovely, and she appreciated every minute of it, perhaps a bit too much.

                                                                                                          ***

The very first time Casey's mother had turned her out was when she was 9, or at least that's the first time Casey could remember. Sitting on the bridge, Casey thought back to this moment. She often went back to it when she was feeling particularly hopeless. It was before there was a system, and any kind of setup. The man was someone her mother had met in a clinic, who had offered her hard drugs and money in order for her daughters "company". Casey had been in her bedroom when he entered, and she could remember feeling confused and scared, simply by the size of his shadow that was cast on the wall when he entered. Her mother could hear her crying, shouting, but she didn't stop it. If anything, she only encouraged the man to keep going for as long as he wanted. After it was done, her mother cleaned her up. Casey, sitting on the toilet lid while her mother wiped her down with a wet sponge, all Casey could think was how much she hated her mom, and how she couldn't believe she would let this happen.

"Everyone has a role to play in their family," her mother said, cigarette hanging, ashing, from her lips as she wiped her down gently, "and this is yours. We need the money."

Casey always heard this. That they 'needed the money', and yet she was confused because they always seemed to have enough for drugs, for alcohol, just not for the things she needed or wanted. Casey often wore free clothes left at the church donation box or bags left on the street. Her parents always gave her morning after pills on the occasions the men didn't wear protection. And when she was finally old enough to, she started using her parents drugs to grant herself even the smallest bit of serenity from the hellhole that was her life. It was the least she could be given. Casey thought about how her mother never really saw her as a person, but a tool, something she could use to further get what she wanted. There was one night in particular when Casey came home after a surprisingly rough session with a man her mother had sold her to for the evening, and Casey was bruised, battered, looked like hell and felt like shit. When she walked into the house, she found her mother passed out on the couch, and she stopped and stared.

It would be so easy, she thought.

All she would have to do would be to get a knife from the kitchen and stab her thirty, fourty times, and nobody would blame her and even if they did, even if she did face some kind of justice, well, being in juvenile hall or prison for life would be better than the everyday hell that she currently existed in. Casey walked into the kitchen and grabbed the sharpest, biggest knife she could from the butcher block and came back out, standing over her mother, staring down. She felt her knuckles tighten around the handle, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it, because, unlike her mother...she wasn't a monster. Casey finally sighed, let the feeling subside, and went to put the knife back before attending to her pain in the bathroom alone. Nights like this, with men like that, made Casey actually miss Nick. He had never been rough with her. He'd always been gentle. Still unwanted, but hey, she had to take her wins where she could get them she figured.

Casey, partway through cleaning herself up, glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror, her makeup completely ruined, her face red and stained with nail marks and hand prints, and she promised herself that one day...one day she would get away from this. And she did.

But distance, as it turns out, wasn't the answer. Running only solves so much.

                                                                                                       ***

"I can't even imagine," Justine said one afternoon at lunch, as Casey told her horror story after horror story about her adolescence, "that sounds just awful. How anyone could treat their own child like that, I am so fucking sorry you had to live through that."

"The worst part," Casey said, biting into her burger and chewing, "is that I miss it, for some warped reason. A therapist at rehab told me it was because it became so normalized to me that to not have it feels wrong, and I built a lot of my self worth around my attractiveness to the men who used me. Made me feel special, like I had a purpose."

"Yeah but that's just fulfilling their needs, not yours," Justine said, "your needs were a safe home with a loving family and you weren't given that. That isn't fair to you."

"It's just hard to build self worth around me because I don't know who I am, even, outside my drawings," Casey said, shrugging. She'd tried very hard for many years now to try and discover who she was, the things she liked or enjoyed, things she could be proud of, but she'd yet to discover any of them outside of her art, and even her art she had a hard time finding pride in because it had been created as a way to cope with being abused so it just felt like an extension of her grief, not an actual escape or rebirth. Just another reminder.

This lunch had taken place a few weeks ago, and now, Justine was waiting at a cafe she and Casey often had breakfast at, texting her, trying to see if she was going to show up. The night Casey had shown up on her porch, during her get together, Justine felt awful that she hadn't stuck around, hadn't just talked to her, and since last night she'd been trying to get a hold of her, but to no avail. Justine sighed and sipped her coffee, looking around. She knew Casey was sick, damaged, but she also knew she was extremely talented, and a good person, and she deserved the success she was seeing now. Not that Casey would ever agree on these points. Justine exhaled and set her phone down after sending yet another text, then tapped her perfectly manicured nails on the table top before picking up her muffin and biting into it.

"Justine?" a voice asked, and Justine turned her head to see Michelle and Eliza standing there in line.

"Hi!" Justine said, smiling, as she got up to hug Michelle.

"What are you doing here?" Michelle asked.

"Waiting for Casey, we're supposed to have breakfast but she hasn't texted or call me back," Justine said.

"She...she was not in a good headspace yesterday," Michelle replied, shaking her head, "I'm worried about her."

"I mean, I am too, but I also know how strong she is. Probably just needs some time to herself. I know she'll be okay," Justine said, smiling.

Justine would remember this conversation 24 hours later.

                                                                                                      ***

Casey pushed Steven's bedroom door opened just a small amount and crept inside. He sat up in bed, groggy, as she climbed in with him. Steven smiled as she curled up beside her and pulled his arms around her. Steven closed his eyes and exhaled.

"You have a bad dream?" he asked.

"I just wanted to be with you," Casey whispered.

On occasion, when she slept over, Casey would wind up in Steven's bed if she was scared or had a nightmare, and Steven was always nothing if not a complete gentleman. Always proper and polite, always had boundaries. He was more than happy to just serve as a safety net for her in these dark times. Steven nodded in response, and tried to go back to sleep as Casey wrapped one of her hands around his wrist and slowly dragged it down between her legs. Steven's eyes snapped open and he jerked away, confused.

"The hell," he said, confused, "Casey, what are you-"

"Please," she said. Steven climbed off the bed, wrapping the sheet around him as he did, backing away. Casey got on her hands and knees and crawled across the bed towards him; she sniffled and batted her eyes to get the tears out of them, "please. You're the only one who's good to me. Take me in. Don't send me home. I can...I can make you happy, make you feel good."

"I don't want that, you're a teenager," Steven said, "and my friend, Casey, not...I'm not..."

"But...but you're the only one who treats me like a person," Casey said, starting to cry, "how...you don't...what's so wrong with me that you don't want me but all those awful men do?"

"That's the difference," Steven said, "they're awful, they don't care how their actions affect others. I'm not like that. I'm just lonely. I miss my daughter, I miss my wife, I'm not looking to supplement either of those with a fucking teenager, Casey, this is wrong. You of all people should know that. I understand getting attached to the one person who treats you well, but I don't do it for sexual favors for god sakes. I do it because you deserve a brief respite from the awfulness that is your everyday life."

Casey couldn't believe she could be so stupid. She should've known he was better than them. Better than her. She had begun to equate herself to the men who used her, nothing more than a perverted weirdo. Casey curled up on the bed and pulled her legs to her chest, hugging them, crying. Steven approached the bed, sighing, and seated himself down beside her, reaching out and putting a hand on her back as she sobbed.

"Casey," Steven said, "you don't-"

"The only good one doesn't want me," she cried, and Steven's heart broke.

He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. Instead he just sat there and comforted her best he could. And to his credit, he didn't cut her off because of this, because he knew she was confused, making mistakes. She was a teenager. She was struggling with so much, she needed support, and he wasn't going to hold this against her, but he did define some boundaries afterwards. Things were never the same though, and after a bit she stopped taking his calls and seeing him. Steven hurt for her. They were two sides of the same coin, after all. He knew all she wanted was to be wanted, which was all he wanted too.

Just not from her.

                                                                                                           ***

Casey sighed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, finishing her cigarette and flicking it off into the water.

She exhaled, waving at the smoke in front of her face, before reaching out to the metal of the bridge and helping herself stand up. Her breath was shaky. She trembled a little in her fingers. This was for the best. This way she wouldn't disappoint anyone again, and nobody could hurt her anymore either. It wasn't fair that she didn't get the chance she deserved, but not everybody does, it wasn't personal against her. The universe didn't have a vendetta towards her. Some people just had shit luck, and she was one of them. Casey braced herself, steeled herself for the descent to the water, and shut her eyes. That's when she heard a car pull up and a door slam behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her back down.

"What the hell," Justine said, almost in tears, "I have to go to a meeting with a publisher, I just happen to be crossing this bridge, and here you are, ready to jump? Why didn't you answer?"

"I don't...I don't deserve to answer," Casey whimpered, "I don't deserve...to live."

"Bullshit," Justine said, "that's bullshit, utter bullshit, Casey. I was in a plane crash. I didn't have a choice when it came to almost dying, but you do. Please don't opt in. We can fix this. I will help you."

Casey smiled and nodded, hugging Justine, who patted her on the back.

"This is what you always wanted, isn't it?" Justine asked.

"I did want a friend," Casey whispered.

"No, not that," Justine said, "to be rescued at the last minute. You always wanted to be rescued at the last minute."

And Casey realized. She opened her eyes, feeling the wind around her as she plummeted down towards the water, staring back up at the bridge where she'd been standing. She started laughing, crying. This stupid fucking coping mechanism. Always hoping to be saved before something awful happened. That being said, she'd always heard that people always regretted it the second they jumped, but she didn't feel regret, she felt relief. For the first time in her entire life, she felt like she knew what peace actually was. Freedom. CHOICE. That was the thing. She'd never had choice, and now she did. She chose to do this, and she didn't regret it. But she also knew she was an unlikely statistic, and that most people wouldn't feel this way. Still, it was nice, she had to admit, to pretend she'd be saved at the last minute. But that didn't happen. Not in real life. There was no knight in shining armor, and some people are just eaten by the dragon.

Casey hit the water.
Published on

Lilian couldn't help but feel like a creep, even though she wasn't creeping. It's just that, with so many pretty girls in gorgeous gowns and swimsuits, she really became acutely aware of just how gay she actually was. Course, she wasn't here for the adult competition, that was just a side effect of these things being held on the same grounds. She was here to help judge and bolster support for the pageant for the little girls involved. Standing in the main foyer that connected the two show halls, tapping her pen on her clipboard as she watched yet another lithe, tall, perfectly maintained blonde bombshell in a one piece swimsuit stroll on by, Lilian chewed her lip until she felt a hand on her shoulder.


"So," Patricia Kearning asked, "how does it feel to be on the circuit now that you've undergone all the training?"


"Gotta admit, didn't know there was training for something where you simply judge others appearances," Lilian remarked.


"Well, it isn't just the looks, it's the whole package. How they hold themselves, are they charismatic, are they talented, are they well minded individuals. We call them beauty pageants but I think that makes the name a misnomer to the general public because they think it's about physical beauty. It's not. It's about beauty as a human being," Kearning said, making Lilian nod in slow understanding. Kearning wasn't wrong, this was, in fact, the very viewpoint that Lilian herself had adapted over the years. And, at first, perhaps that was just her way of coping with being unwillingly involved in something so seemingly sexist growing up, but at this point she did genuinely believe it. Lilian looked around at all the little grls filing into the room in their various dresses, and she couldn't help but smile. Kearning stood by her side, arms crossed, and watched along with her. After a moment, Lilian turned back to Kearning, who just grinned and pushed her glasses up her face.


"What if I don't do it correctly? Last thing I want is to shatter some already fragile little girls self esteem," Lilian said, "if anything, I wanted to help bolster it for all of them. Make them see that their looks aren't the end all be all that society would like them to believe it is."


"And I think that's noble," Kearning said, "it's why I wanted you here, because I could tell you cared more than the others, in ways that the others were incapable of doing. You're gonna do fine, Lilian. I promise."


Kearning patted her on the back, then continued on her way, leaving Lilian to her thoughts. Her mind turned back to when she was doing this originally herself. How, growing up, she'd put so much stock into her beauty, and how tightly entwined that belief was with her own self worth. She bit her lip as her eyes scanned the room...all these young girls, all with so many hardships ahead of them, and how would they handle it? Her heart went out to them for things they didn't even know they would face yet. That's when her sight landed on one girl sitting alone on a bench, crossed legged, watching everyone else with a look of longing on her face. Lilian started to approach her when Kearning came back.


"Alright," she said, "let's get in there and get this show on the road!"


                                                                           ***


Alexis was surprised Ellen would opt to leave the house, but she did.


They'd scheduled a meet up in a small, local park, one that they'd gone to a lot when they were kids. It was an unusual park because it was circus themed, which gave Alexis the creeps as a child and those same creeps now as an adult. As she stood in front of a water fountain shaped like a clown, smoking a cigarette - Rick's still in her shirt pocket - she heard Ellen walked up beside her and stop. The sisters glanced at one another, and then back towards the water fountain as Alexis exhaled smoke.


"It's both such a great concept and a horrifying thing to witness; they make the water fountain look like a clown, but the water comes out of the flower on his lapel. It makes total sense, and yet no sense at all," Alexis said, "no kid wants to put their face that close to a clown."


"I'm sure some weirdo kid does," Ellen said.


Alexis and Ellen turned and headed into the park proper, with its circus tent playground and other various circus themed or circus adjacent equipment. As they walked, Ellen stuffed her hands into her coat pockets while Alexis lit up another cigarette and took a long drag before offering it to her sister, who politely declined. Alexis smirked.


"You never were one for vice," she said.


"I'm plenty for vice," Ellen replied, "it's just that the kind of vice I prefer isn't life threatening."


"Sexual?" Alexis asked, raising an eyebrow, making Ellen smirk.


"Please, as if I'd ever allow someone close enough to me to give them the chance," Ellen said, making Alexis laugh. Alexis knew a few things about her little sister by way of Geena; she knew Ellen liked easy to read chapter books because finishing that many in such a short span of time gave her a sense of accomplishment, she knew Ellen liked to eat white cheese and crackers for most of her snacks and she knew Ellen loved fashion so much, even if she didn't currently show it by her own example. Alexis took another long drag and exhaled. But the one thing she really knew was how disinterested in relationships and romance and sex Ellen was. Ellen was, apparently, completely asexual, and Alexis was a bit jealous, to be honest. She hated how much emphasis she placed on that kind of intimacy.


"So," Alexis said, "things at home don't seem great. I mean, dad seems to be kind of getting it together, but mom still seems really strung out, and you don't seem okay at all."


"Gee, thanks," Ellen replied, making Alexis chuckle.


"You know what I mean," Alexis said, "are you okay?"


"I can't leave them," Ellen managed to say, sounding so scared to admit it, "...they can't...they're our parents, they need help. I can't just leave like you and Geena did. Someone has to care about them, right? Besides themselves, I mean. I know people will be like 'no no, you owe your parents nothing!' but I simply can't accept that. I have to stay and help them."


Alexis wanted to tell Ellen to run. That, yes, those people were actually correct, and she didn't owe them anything. But she also knew Ellen wasn't going to listen to that. Alexis stopped and leaned against a wacky colored plastic slide, puffing on her cigarette as Ellen stopped and hugged herself self consciously.


"When I was in rehab," Alexis said, "I met this guy, and he was amazing. His name was Rick. Anyway, we wanted to be together, but he wasn't ready to be clean. Much as I would've loved to have been with him, I also told him he should get clean for himself, not just to be with me. Romantic of him, certainly, to be willing to do so, but it wasn't the right reason. But I wanted him to do it for himself because, like you and mom and dad, he doesn't owe his sobriety to me or anyone else but himself. You owe nothing to anyone but yourself. That's the thing I've had the hardest time coming to terms with."


Ellen looked down at the wood chips underneath their feet and scooted them around absent mindedly with her foot.


"He has this sister, he even tried to get clean for her and it wouldn't take. So when I tell you that you owe family nothing, I genuinely mean that, and his sister, unlike mom and dad for us, actually cares about him. I'm gonna help you if you want help, Ellen, but first you gotta wanna stop helping those who only hurt us."


Ellen nodded, then bit her lip.


"So..." she asked, finally looking up, her eyes catching her sisters, "...you never talked to his sister?"


                                                                               ***


Brian wanted everything to be perfect.


He'd cleaned up best he could, and he made some snacks, even bought a few different beers in case John wanted something. But more than that, he just wanted everything to be perfect for Maddie. It'd been a while since they'd had a visit, and he was so happy to see his daughter again. He stood in his living room, looking around and thinking about how much both their lives had changed in the last year or two. It was crazy to think that there used to be a family, a seemingly average suburban family living in this space, and now...now it was mostly him. He kept getting letters from his now ex-wife, but he wasn't opening them or acknowledging her. He didn't return them either, he just tucked them away in a shoebox and hid it in the closet. A knock on the door and Brian grinned, hobbling along on his cane to go answer it. As he tugged the door open, his eyes immediately landed on John, before noticing Maddie was still sitting in the car parked in the driveway, and his smile softened.


"Is she...is she not coming in?" Brian asked, as John made his way past, pulling his coat off and tossing it over the back of the couch.


"I think it's difficult for her," John replied, "this was her home her whole life, you know? She isn't our age, where we've had our parents home, our first apartment, maybe crashed with a few friends before finally settling down. A childs home is their home. So I guess I get the hesitancy. Still, I'm sure she'll come in in a bit."


"I...I bought beer in case you-"


"I appreciate that but I don't drink anymore," John said, realizing he'd had enough during his recent argument with Helena and not wanting to go back to drinking, before adding, "but maybe coffee?"


"I have excellent coffee," Brian said, shutting the door and heading past John to the kitchen. John seated himself at the table while Brian started making coffee, his head occasionally lifting up to look out the window over the sink at Johns car in the driveway, watching Maddie sitting in the front passenger seat, looking so defeated and sad. Brians heart couldn't help but ache for her.


"It isn't personal, I hope you know that," John said, "it's just hard for her to come back here, considering."


"No, I...I do get that," Brian said, "...I just wish I could've stopped any of this from happening in the first place."


"It wasn't your fault, that's the thing to keep in mind, none of what happened was your fault, your wife was a psycho, and I don't like using that terminology, but in your case, I think it's pretty warranted," John said, "I get it though, I do get it. I also had a sick wife who tried to hurt my family, so I understand wanting to have been able to stop it."


Brian turned and looked at John, who sighed.


"You and I ain't much different, man," John said.


                                                                             ***


It was a lunch break, and Lilian was starving. Miranda had packed her a lunch to take with her, and she was currently heading to the little cafeteria to eat it. As she walked in, she noticed groups of judges sitting together, and one of them caught her eye. Michael, disgusting Michael. There he was, sitting and laughing with the others, as if he'd never tried to molest her, or other girls. It was enough to make her stomach turn. That's when Lilian noticed the youngish woman sitting beside him staring at her, and for a moment, Lilian couldn't break eye contact. She felt as thought this woman was staring her down for a reason. But her stomach wasn't just turning because of this, it was also turning because she was hungry as hell, and that was more than enough to pull her out of this daydream. She finally found a spot where the little girl she'd seen that morning was sitting, and seated herself across from her.


"I love your dress," Lilian said happily, "very classic. You've been doing well so far in the competition and-"


"I don't think judges are supposed to talk to contestants," the little girl said.


"I know, but you seemed like you needed someone," Lilian said, "...are you feeling okay? You don't seem all that happy to be here."


The little girl shrugged and kept eating her carrot sticks, dipping them into a little container of ranch. Lilian sighed and looked around the room.


"I don't want to be here," the girl finally said, "I wanted to go to an after school program about science, but my dad me that this was important, would help make me feel better about myself. But I feel better about myself when I feel smart, and this doesn't make me feel smart. Doing science would make me feel smart. Not that girls can't be pretty AND smart, but..."


"I understand, my mom made me do it when I was little and I hated it," Lilian said, "but you're absolutely right, a girl can have more than one interest, can be more than one thing. It's good you recognize that and aren't allowing someon to put you in a box. Just skip the pageant stuff sometimes and go to the science program."


The girl looked up, confused.


"I can do that? I can just...not come here and go there instead?" she asked.


"Who says you can't?" Lilian replied, smiling, making the girl smile back. This was exactly what Lilian had come here for. Not to help judge little girls, but to help them judge themselves. To recognize that their value was more in their own hands than at the behest of others. Lilian couldn't help but feel as though she were already making a difference. Just then, Michael and that woman - presumably his assistant, as Lilian had recalled seeing her a few times before - walked past them and again they locked eyes. Once they were gone, the little girl scoffed.


"That guy creeps me out," she said, "he keeps asking if I need help with my dress or stockings."


"WHAT?" Lilian asked, pulling her attention back to the girl, "he WHAT?"


"Yeah, and I always make sure to lock the door when I'm changing," she added, "I don't trust him."


"Nor should you," Lilain said through her teeth, seething, "nor should you."


That was all she needed. Michael had to be stopped.


                                                                                ***


"Ran the car right into a wall," John said, as he and Brian headed down the hall towards a bedroom, "killed herself, was hoping to take our daughter with her, but thankfully she failed at that part. But now she's mentally crippled and unable to live by herself, or do much of anything for herself. I worry sometimes about what's going to happen once I'm gone, and she's finally alone."


Brian reached out and grabbed the doorknob, turning it and opening the door. Together, the men entered the room...Maddie's old bedroom.


"That's really awful," Brian said.


"I think a lot of people expect men to always be the villain, but sometimes that just isn't the truth," John said as they walked inside, smiling at the cute decor, "sometimes the men are the victims. It's hard to acknowledge, but it's true. Still. You did the best you could, and hey, you got your daughter to save you, that's not something a lot of parents get. You could've died."


"Just...can't believe that the woman I fathered a child with could be so heartless," Brian said as he followed John inside, looking at the photos Maddie had hung up on her wall of herself and her dad, and he smiled, "...but I was always Maddie's favorite, and I don't know, maybe Jessie felt some sort of resentment there. Either way, I just hope Maddie understands that this is still her home if she wants it to be, and just because it was bad once doesn't mean it can't be good now."


"I understand," Maddie said. The men turned to see her standing in the doorway, looking at them; she entered cautiously, and the men didn't make any sudden movements, almost as if watching a timid deer quietly so as not to spook it. She walked over to the dresser and picked up a doll, touching its hair, on the verge of tears as she said, "...I just wanted what every other kid seems to get. It isn't fair."


Brian approached his daughter and knelt in front of her, hands on her shoulders. She looked from the doll to her father, tears in both their eyes.


"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so sorry. You're right. Every child should be given that and it isn't fair you didn't. But we can try again. If you want to come home, you can. I feel pretty good at this point, I'm capable of taking care of myself mostly, and I'd like to have you come home, but only if you want to."


Maddie looked past her father at John, who just smiled warmly at her. She then looked back at her dad.


"...I can't," she said quietly, surprising him, "...I can't leave my life. I already left it once."


Brian was hurt, but he understood. She was a child. She needed stability. For the time being, the people she was with were giving that to her and she seemed to be flourishing under it, and for that he was grateful. She was taken care of, well loved, and he couldn't be happier. He hugged Maddie, and Maddie hugged him back, and for a split second, she felt like the little girl she used to be, back before all of this started. John, sitting on the bed, watched, his heart aching. He'd tried to be a good dad, and he was still trying. He and Alexis had recently gone over the adoption papers, and he was all set to turn them in, and yet he felt as though he would be betraying Star. He wanted to ask how she felt first. But sitting here, watching this display, he realized that sometimes, even if it takes a while, life cuts you a break.


And fuck did they need that now more than ever.


                                                                            ***


The bell over the door rang, as Gabby was undoing her apron and cleaning up stuff behind the counter. She didn't even look up as she tossed her hair back, hearing someone walk in.


"Sorry, we're about to close," Gabby said, "Unless you're here to rob me, then just take whatever you want. Just don't kill me. My life isn't valuable enough to trade for muffins."


She finally looked up and noticed it was a woman standing in front of the counter. Gabby stopped and walked over to the counter, looking confused. This woman was dressed as a pirate.


"Uh..." Gabby said, half laughing nervously.


"I have to get to work after this," Alexis said.


"Where do you work, Long John Silvers?" Gabby asked, making Alexis laugh.


"I'm Alexis," Alex said, "and uh...and I'm here to talk to you about your brother."


"Oh god, what did he do now?" Gabby asked, and Alexis chuckled, shaking her head.


"No, no, it's not like that, I met him in rehab a while back," Alexis said, "and he told me he had a sister. Told me about how he used to work here with you, how much he loved you. Just wanted to drop by and meet you cause...cause I guess I needed to be as close to him as possible without being able to be around him."


Gabby stopped and looked back at Alex, who was clearly struggling not to cry.


"...do you want some pie?" Gabby asked, "we could just talk, and-"


"Please," Alexis said, "please, I need to talk."


Meanwhile, Lilian, who was preparing to leave the building, stopped off first in the ladies bathroom. All in all it had been a successful day, and now she would get go home and ssee Miranda and have a lovely relaxing night together. Sure, seeing Michael made her skin crawl, but...but she figured she'd have to let that go, much as she didn't want to. She had her own experiences, heard things from others, but had no real proof of anything to hold him accountable for his actions towards the little girls he judged in the pageants, so why stir the pot? The stall door behind her unlatched as she was washing her hands and a woman stepped out.


"You know him don't you?" Anna asked, "my boss."


Lilian looked up at her in the mirror, turned the faucet off and turned to face her, confused.


"...he did something to you, didn't he?" Anna asked, continuing, "I could sense it, the way you kept looking at him. The few times you've spoken. You guys have history. Bad history. I'm tired of him letting little girls grow up to have bad history, and I'm tired of hiding things for him. So I'm giving this to you."


Anna pushed a folder into Lilian's hands, breathing so fast, clearly terrified.


"What...what is this?" Lilian asked.


"It's all the things he made me hide. Interactions with the girls he judged. Photos he took of them, alone and together. Everything. Transcripts of phone calls, whatever. You need to have this because you need to get this in the hands of someone who can stop him. I can't do this anymore. I can't let him keep hurting little girls."


Lilain couldn't believe her luck. Out of the clear blue sky, a literal angel had appeared and given her everything she'd needed to stop this disgusting predator. She'd often dreamt about the day she'd finally face Michael down in court and he would be held accountable for his crimes, but she never really thought that that day would actually come. Lilian put her arms around Anna and hugged her tightly, both women crying together. The ironic thing, she thought, was how these pageants were supposed to give men power over the women they judge, and yet women were bonding together to take them down.


She just hoped he would appreciate the irony when he was arrested.

Published on
Beatrice and Michelle were standing in front of a small window, peering out at the room of women preparing to perform for them. Beatrice sipped her tea as Michelle ate a cinnamon roll, neither one saying a word. Bea lowered the mug from her lips and clasped it between both hands, sighing heavily. Michelle glanced over at her and raised an eyebrow. Bea felt like she'd been here before, but for a different reason. Back when she and Liam had made the deal with the pizza place, she had to watch other women don shoddy Beatrice costumes that they could use in store for birthdays, meet and greets and more. And now, here she was again, doing it once more. Ya know, she thought to herself, for all that Liam tells me it's different, it really isn't all that different. She turned to Michelle.

"Last night," Beatrice said, "when we were laying in bed, and I was talking Leslie's ear off about doing this today, I realized that all I ever do is complain."

"God, I know, you're exhausting," Michelle replied, the both of them giggling.

"I want to like what I do enough, trust enough in the process, to not have to complain about it all the time. I'm trying to let her go. I'm trying to let others have her. But it's hard. These women...I'm sure they're all talented, wonderful people, but they don't know who Beatrice was. Is. They can't carry themselves the way I do, speak with the same cadence. It isn't the same dog."

Michelle nodded, listening. Beatrice raised her mug back to her lips and sipped again, then smacked her lips and sighed.

"I guess," she continued, "all I can do is continue trying. I was lucky enough to make it in the entertainment industry. People try and tell you it's about talent but it's only maybe 30% talent, and it's 70% luck. You can be the most talented person on the planet and still not catch a break. So many people go unrecognized, unappreciated. Why do you think paintings triple in value once the artist is dead? Because nobody knew or liked them when they were alive. So I got lucky. Now is the time to raise up others, give them the chances I was given. You're not meant to act as a barrier once you've achieved your goals, you know? You're meant to act as a ladder, to help others achieve them to, or reach even greater heights. Art is...is about boosting others, not tearing them down."

Michelle smiled big. She loved how Bea spoke about art, almost as if it were a religion, and to Beatrice it was. She loved art almost more than anything else in the world, and it made the most sense to her of all the subjects. When she was a little girl, she used to ride her bike down to the library, with Bea by her side, and they would get so many books on art out and take them home where she would spend hours reading up on them. Mediums she wasn't even really interested in, she would read about. Paintings, sewing, glass blowing. Anything she could find. Because to bring something of beauty into a world that wasn't beautiful, to grant it that serenity even only momentarily...that was something Beatrice could understand.

"Well," Michelle said, "Better not keep 'em waiting."

Bea nodded, as she and Michelle headed through the door, clipboards in hand.

                                                                                                       ***

Liam opened his front door to find Eliza standing on his porch. Surprised, certainly, but more surprised by her forcing her way into his home. He shut the door after she'd barged in, and watched her walk in circles, clearly exasperated. Eliza looked like a mess. Her hair was disheveled, her clothing was wrinkled, she looked like she'd barely been sleeping. Finally she stopped pacing and turned to face him.

"Why did you have to tell me that!?" she shouted.

"I'm sorry," Liam said, knowing immediately what she meant, "I had to tell someone, and I couldn't tell Bea, not just yet. Eliza, it's a sign of trust, you know? It's...you go so far back with us, I can't help but feel safe telling you."

"Yeah but what am I supposed to do with that?!" Eliza shouted, "I mean...you...you know what loss does to me! You know how it affects me! Don't act like this is somehow the noble thing to do, cause now all I do is worry and freak out and...and I can't sleep and I've just been crying nonstop and-"

Liam approached Eliza and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in for a tight hug. Eliza fought it for a moment before giving in and sighing. She shut her eyes and hugged him back.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Don't be, perfectly natural reaction," Liam said, "I'm the one who should be sorry, having to die, dropping it on you."

"You can't help dying, everyone dies," Eliza replied.

Eliza stayed there in his arms for a bit and thought back to when she'd first been hired. She thought back to when she first met Liam and Bea and had been brought on to make the puppets and other props. How she felt like, in them, she'd found a mother and father figure who would love her no matter her limited mental capacities and her other countless issues, issues that, to people who truly loved and appreciated her, wouldn't seem like issues. Would seem miniscule or nonexistent in scope.

"I was baking some brownies, do you want a brownie?" Liam asked, and Eliza nodded, squeezing tighter; Liam smirked and patted her on the back, "that's my girl. Let's have a tea party."

                                                                                                          ***

"You have an impressive resume," Bea said, "multiple theme park character experience, theatre work, honestly, I won't lie, you seem ideal."

The woman in front of them smiled politely and crossed her legs. Michelle rolled her eyes and looked away. They'd been doing this all day and she'd seen so many actresses now that she knew when they were acting even when they insisted they weren't. The thing about acting, she'd come to realize, is how fake a person can be outside of the job. Never fully trustworthy, everything about their personality coming down to a perfectly curated performance. Michelle stood up and excused herself, heading out of the room and down the hall to get a drink from a vending machine. Standing there, she pulled her wallet from her back pocket and removed a dollar bill, smoothing it out on her leg and then pushing it into the machine.

"Where is everyone?" Casey asked, scaring Michelle. Michelle grabbed her drink once it dropped and turned to face her.

"You look like shit," Michelle said, "are you okay?"

"Where's Bea?" Casey asked as Michelle unscrewed the lid to her drink and had some before offering it to Casey, who shook her head; Casey continued, "Liam isn't in his office, Eliza isn't in The Hole, where is everyone?"

"Calm down, I don't know where Liam is, and as for Eliza I assume she's at home. I'm her girlfriend, not her ankle monitor. Bea's in the room down the hall, we're interviewing people. Are you okay?"

Casey looked towards the door and glared.

"Interviewing people for what?" she asked.

"Well," Michelle started as they began heading down the hall back towards the room, "we need people for public performances. Meet and greets, stuff like that, so we brought in a lot of actresses to see how well they'd do. I was just in there with her a minute ago, we can-"

Casey walked faster, pushing her way into the room. The woman Bea had been speaking to had since left, leaving just Bea alone now in the room. Bea turned and looked at them as they entered, smiling, happy to see them.

"Hello!" Bea said.

"Why are you interviewing people?" Casey asked sternly, "You already know me! What about me?!"

Bea looked past her at Michelle, who had now entered the room behind her, both confused. Bea thought about what Casey meant by this, but couldn't place it. She shook her head, and Casey, clearly exasperated, started pacing back and forth, grabbing at her hair. She looked like she hadn't slept, she looked like she hadn't showered, she looked messy and as if she'd been up doing drugs all night. She stammered, tripped a little, then turned back to facing Bea.

"When we met, this is exactly what I was doing!" Casey said, "remember? At the pizza place?! I was playing you! But now when it comes to finding people you go outside, you source new people, you don't even consider me?! Why am I never fucking good enough for anyone?!"

"Casey, calm down," Bea said, approaching her, "what...what is..."

"You're just like the rest of them," Casey said, thinking back to her parents, back to the interaction she'd had the other day with her former babysitter, "you pretend like you care but you don't, you just want to find people to do things for you without ever giving them anything back in return, you're a fucking liar, and then people have the audacity to call ME a user!"

Michelle finally walked past her, standing between the two and facing Casey.

"You're gonna have to stop right now," Michelle said coldly, "I will not let you stand here and speak to her this way, this is not acceptable, nor appropriate workplace behavior. If you won't control yourself, I will have to have you removed until you can be calmed down."

"Fuck you!" Casey screamed, then looking past her at Bea added, "fuck both of you! Fuck everyone! I'm perfect for this! This is what I did! You don't care! You never fucking cared! Nobody ever did!"

"Casey, calm down, okay?" Bea said softly, "we can find something for you if you'd like to do this too, it didn't even occur to me that you might, I figured you'd be too uncomfortable with public-"

"It never does occur to anyone does it!?" Casey screamed, crying hard, "I don't want to be an afterthought, I should've been the first choice, but I'm never anyones first choice! I'm always the leftover! Just once, just one goddamned time, I want people to think of me! I'll make everyone think of me!"

Casey turned and ran out of the room,leaving a bewildered Bea and a stunned Michelle in her wake. Bea plopped herself back down onto the chair as Michelle sat down slowly in the chair beside her. Bea stared at the floor as Michelle ran a hand through her hair and sighed. She didn't know what the hell just happened. She could chase her. But she figured Casey was irrational right now, that she needed space. Michelle glanced at Bea, whose wide eyes said all that needed to be said.

"You're not like that you know," Michelle said, "what she said about you, I mean. You don't just use people."

"...she hates me," Bea whispered, and Michelle didn't know to respond to that. She just reached out, instead, and held her hand.

                                                                                                        ***

"I remember back during original production," Liam said, the two of them now sitting in the kitchen as he had served them brownies and tea, "you were almost never insecure of your talents, and for someone your age back then that was refreshing. We had to do so much work with other people on the show, trying to get them to believe in themselves, but you just...did."

"I have always known what I'm capable of, even if others have doubts about my intellectual capacity," Eliza said, sipping her tea and then picking up the remainder of her brownie, biting into and chewing as she spoke, "besides, I had support, I had my parents. They may not have really understood it, but they told me how talented I was, so."

Liam smiled and looked around his kitchen, his eyes landing on his cane as he sighed.

"You know what I'm gonna miss most?" he asked, Eliza shaking her head as he continued, "so many people say they'll miss their friends, their families, their lovers, all valid things to be fair. Others try and be more intellectual about it, say they'll miss the small, easily ignorable things like the sunshine or the birdsong. But me? I'm gonna miss me. I know it sounds selfish, self absorbed, but I spent so many years cultivating who I am as a person, and I'm gonna miss that person. A lot of time and effort went into making me who I am, and it hurts to know that I'll be gone, and I won't get to learn about new things I would enjoy or have new experiences I can remember fondly."

"I don't think that's selfish at all, in fact...I think that's very down to earth," Eliza said, "I think more people should think that way but, well...a lot of people hate themselves."

Liam chuckled, making Eliza smile weakly. She stared at his face, as if trying to burn it into her memory. This man. This man she'd known for over twenty years. He was going to be gone. How could she go on with that being the case? And what about the show? Liam had played such a pivotal role for so long - both behind the scenes, creatively and business wise as well as literally being a starring voice - that for them to lose him was almost...almost inconceivable to her. How would they go on?

"I'm not sure what to tell Bea, to be perfectly frank with you," Liam said.

"Well I think she's gonna find out sooner or later, once you die," Eliza replied, making Liam laugh.

"I just mean," he added, wiping his mouth on a napkin before setting it back down on the table, "it's going to be very hard on her. We've had a somewhat tumultous relationship, but we've been best friends for almost thirty years. I don't know how she's going to handle this. Hell, I don't know if she's going to handle this. She's already suffered so much loss..."

While Eliza continued to eat her brownie, Liam thought back to all the things Bea had lost. Her dog. Her mother. Claire. Goddamn Claire. Now he would be added to the list, nothing but a fond memory of something she loved with her whole heart that also had the gall to leave her behind, albeit unintentionally. He hoped, however, that she understood none of these were her fault, even Claire. They did what they had to do. Liam bit his lip and shook his head.

"When do we tell her?" Eliza asked, breaking his concentration, causing him to glance back in her direction.

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure the opportunity will present itself soon enough," he replied, shrugging.

Oh how right he would be.

                                                                                                     ***

Justine was standing in her home, laughing and talking with a small group of friends. She had a weekly meetup with a group of women, all of whom were childrens book authors or illustrators, and it was the one thing she looked forward to the most every week. Standing there in her white pencil skirt and her dark blue long sleeved blouse, her hair up, her makeup just right, she kept picking at the snacks she and others had laid out on the table for the get together as she listened to her friends stories and anecdotes and opinions on the industry and their lives in general. A knock at the door caught her attention though, and she went to answer it, only to find Casey standing on the porch, looking disheveled, her eyes darting everywhere.

"Hi," Justine said, as she glanced over her shoulder, then exited to the porch, closing the door behind her, "are you okay?"

"I just need someone to be nice to me for like five minutes, okay?" Casey asked. Justine nodded, and the two went to the porch swing, seating themselves side by side. Casey rubbed her blood red eyes and sniffled.

"What's going on?" Justine asked.

"I'm so tired," Casey mumbled, "I'm so tired."

"Get some sleep, go home and try to rest, cause you don't seem-"

"Not actually tired," Casey said, "tired of everything. Tired of existence. Being lied to, being used, being taken advantage of. Never being good enough."

"Who said you weren't good enough?" Justine asked, sounding upset.

"A lot of times there's no words, and it's the actions that prove it," Casey said, "never actually being a part of something, even when asked to be. Never being fully included or involved the way others are. I'm not even good enough to be working with you, let's be honest. My skill level compared to yours is garbage."

Justine reached out and put a hand on Casey's arm, then looked back at the door to her home, where her friends were still having fun together. Justine thought about asking Casey to join them, she was an artist after all, but she was unsure if this was the right decision; after all, she was the only one actually familiar with Casey and her work, her abilities. It might be awkward for everyone involved. Justine sighed and looked back at Casey.

"Can we maybe meet tomorrow?" Justine asked, "I'm currently doing something, and I do really want to talk to you, help if I can, but I'm literally right in the middle of this and-"

Casey lost it. She got up and she ran down the porch, stumbling as she slipped on the  grass, then getting back up and heading across the street as a car nearly hit her. She screamed at them, kicked the grille of their car and then got back into her car and took off. Justine stayed on the porch, watching in shock. She felt awful. She shook her head and invited her in, or talked more to her, but she needed this meeting today for her own sanity. It's one of the few times she gets to feel okay about herself and her own life. Justine walked back to the door, opened it and stepped back inside, back to the serenity of her joy.

Meanwhile, as Michelle and Bea were heading to the parking lot, to their respective cars to head home, Bea couldn't shake the incident from earlier.

"You know," Bea said as they walked down the hall, sharing a small bag of chips, "I feel terrible. I feel like I should do something for Casey, make her feel more welcome and needed."

"I hate to say this, especially given all you've done for me, but...not everyone is your responsibility," Michelle said, chewing, stuffing chips in her mouth, "you can't save everyone, Bea, nor is it your duty to do so. I understand that you see yourself in me, in Eliza, in Casey, in Keagan...we're all artists and stuff. But, ya know, some people can't be saved or helped, especially if they won't let themselves be. I tried to get Casey into a drug program, but it didn't really take, and I tried to include her more in what I did, but she still felt like an outsider. She's a nice person but she's this...this self defeating, self fulfilling prophecy, and until she learns she can break free of it, nothing anyone does will ever really help her. She needs to WANT to be helped first. I know that's so tropey to say, but fuck it."

Bea nodded, listening. Bea thought about Claire. She thought about telling Michelle about Claire. It would help her understand so much more, but...but it also might complicate things. Raise more questions than provide context. Best to leave the past in the past, she figured. They exited and hit the parking lot, the evening starting to set in. Michelle and Bea had parked side by side, as they always had, and each reached out, opening their respective car doors before stopping and facing eachother once more.

"You know," Bea said, "I always put others ahead of myself, and maybe it's...maybe it's okay to do the opposite for once. Maybe you're right. Thank you, Michelle."

"Of course," Michelle replied, as they hugged one another, got into their cars and headed their opposite ways towards home. When Bea arrived, she found Leslie in the kitchen, already preparing dinner. Bea walked in and hugged her from behind, and felt such a sense of peace come over her, all her fears and doubts and anxieties melted away right then and there, that it was hard not to admit that nobody but herself was her responsibility and Michelle had been right after all. And Michelle, when she got home, she found Eliza sitting cross legged on the couch reading, and when she walked in, Eliza quickly scrambled off the couch and threw her arms around Michelle, surprising her as she kissed her face everywhere. Michelle giggled and returned the affection happily, before the two of them sat back down and talked about their day.

Casey, though, Casey pulled up and parked alongside the rail. She reached up, turned the little overhead light on and then retrieved a pen and paper from the glovebox of her car, uncapping the pen and scribbling something on it. She then stuck it into the windshield of her car from the inside and climbed out. Casey headed across the road from where she'd parked, to the opposite side, and looked over the edge. She was on an enormous bridge, the wind blowing her hair into her face, and she took a deep sigh.

It would be so easy. It would all be so easy. And what would she really be missing, after all? She just needed to be brave enough to do it.

But people often misunderstood the definition of bravery.
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About

So Happy Together is a dramedy about couple Aubrey & Brent. After Aubrey plays an April Fools joke on Brent that she's pregnant, Brent confesses out of panic that he actually has a secret daughter with an ex wife, and everything changes overnight.

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