Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marsh,

Katie,

Dear Kate,

It’s been a while since we’ve spoken, hasn’t it? I know that’s my fault… because I’ve been avoiding you. After everything that happened with the video, and then Nate and Jefferson getting arrested, I knew I didn’t have the right to speak to you until I apologized. And I know you’re probably reading this like “Yeah, bitch. How hard is it to say you’re sorry? It’s not like I didn’t give you plenty of opportunities.”

And… you’re right. It should have been easy enough to knock on your door and tell you “I’m sorry for posting that video. I’m sorry for ruining your life.” Hell, I even considered writing it down on a shitty postcard to slide under your door or whatever… but, the thing is, a half-assed apology is no apology at all. And there are things you don’t know about that week, things that I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Until now, I guess.

So, here it is. A full accounting of my sins.

I didn’t just post that video, Kate. I didn’t just harass you for it and say all those horrible things. As awful as it sounds, I wish that was all I did. Don’t get me wrong, I’d still never be able to forgive myself for it if even so… but the full truth is so much worse.

I didn’t just post a video of you being abused. I was also one of your abusers.

Maybe someone has told you this already, maybe they haven’t. But it didn't make it into the video so... whatever. You see, when me and the girls arrived at the beach house (fashionably late, ofc), we could hear a commotion coming from one of the rooms… and when we went to check it out, I saw you stumbling around, bumping into people. Trying to talk but slurring your words. Everyone, including me, thought this was just the funniest thing we’d ever seen… “here’s Miss Holier-than-thou, Kate Marsh, getting sloppy drunk just like the rest of us sinners.” But then… you stumbled into me.

You tried to say you were sorry. I was going to say… I don’t know what. Probably something bitchy about you stepping on my Louboutin’s. But you were looking at me funny so I asked you what the fuck your problem was instead… and then you kissed me.

At least, I think you kissed me. I don’t know for sure, since it happened so fast. But it was whatever, right? Not like it was the first time I made out with another girl at a party. It’s a great way to get attention, you know guys love that shit.

But it really doesn’t matter who kissed who, does it? Because I could see how fucked up you were. I didn’t know you’d been drugged, but that’s still no excuse… I was sober, and you were clearly not. I don’t even know why I let it happen as long as it did. Maybe it was the surprise, or maybe it was the mood. Or maybe just because I was feeling the kiss. I knew right then that this wasn’t right, it wasn’t you, and that maybe I should take you back to the dorms so you could sleep it off, or at least call one of your friends to come get you…

But suddenly I realized everyone was laughing and cracking jokes. Congratulating me on getting a "new girlfriend", saying we should get a room, fucking juvenile ass shit like that. It shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did. I don't know why it bothered me so much... but I panicked. And so instead of helping you I pushed you off of me, and right into Zack. And then he was kissing you and you were kissing him back, and I guess that’s when everyone’s phones started coming out. And that’s when everyone else started lining up to take a turn.

Yeah… you read that right. I had the opportunity to help you that night. I could have saved you from having your video taken. I could have saved you from the fucking bunker… but I didn’t. Because I was embarrassed. The only reason Jefferson was able to get his hands on you was because of me. Because instead of doing the right thing I pulled my phone out and went right along with all the others. And while I watched I just started getting so pissed off, but I couldn’t understand why. So, I started drinking, and the more I drank the more I convinced myself that it was because you were such a fucking hypocrite. That you were just getting what you deserved after looking down your nose at us all year.

And I call myself a fucking feminist… isn’t that the fucking joke of the year?

That wasn’t the only opportunity I had to do the right thing either. Because even though I was drunk by the time Nathan said he was taking you to the hospital, I wasn’t drunk enough to not realize that sounded shady as fuck. I mean when has he ever done something for a stranger out of the kindness of his heart? Sure, I didn’t think he was capable of doing what he did… but that’s not an excuse. So I let him take you and I posted that fucking video... And, well, you know the rest.

I didn’t realize how bad I fucked up until Nathan shot Chloe Price, and Jefferson getting arrested... and rumors started going around that they were drugging girls to take their sick pictures.

So, do you hate me yet, Kate? You should... I wouldn’t blame you at all if you do. I honestly never could understand why you didn’t seem to hate me just for the video by itself. Sure, for the first few days you looked like you’d rather push me in front of a bus than be stuck in the same room with me… not that I could blame you for that at all. It made sense, at least.

But after that, it was just… different. I would catch you looking at me, and I could tell that you were hurt. Angry, even. But instead of hating me, it looked more like I was a puzzle you were trying to figure out.

Was it because I went to Chloe’s funeral? That was the first time I saw you stare at me like that. If you thought that was a sign that I wasn’t such an evil fucking bitch after all, I’m sorry to say you’re wrong. That was nothing but social self-preservation. P.R. Hell I wouldn’t have even gone if my parents didn’t threaten to cut me off if I didn’t go… because I knew I didn’t deserve to be there. Nathan was my best friend and I never did anything to reign him in, never tried to get someone to try and help him despite all the goddamn giant red flags, and because of that you were violated, Chloe is dead, and Max had to watch her best friend bleed out on a fucking bathroom floor. I’m just surprised my craven ass didn’t burst into flames the minute the priest brought his bible out.

At least Max seems to have the right idea nowadays. It’s weird how you two are like total opposites in that regard. That week leading up to the funeral she didn’t even seem mad at me at all… I guess maybe she was in shock, or whatever. And then for a few days afterward she was almost nice to me. Trying to talk to me and all kinds of stuff like she thought we could be friends or something. Mostly she was trying to get me to talk to you. Saying stuff like “I know you have something you want to tell her.” And she was right, of course, but it wasn’t like I was going to let her think she knows me like that.

But then as time went on, she just… stopped trying. Like everything about you and me and Chloe and Nathan and that whole fucked up week finally started to sink in. Which is fine, I get it… I know she’s been in a really bad place for a while now. I know that a lot of the time you’re the only person who’s been able to help her keep it together.

Did you know that I almost accepted your invite for tea that one time? I thought to myself, this is it. She’s finally gotten fed up of waiting on me to be an actual decent human being and own up to what I did, so this is my “come to Jesus” meeting. You didn’t see me, but I saw you and Max sitting out there by the fountain waiting for me. I don’t blame you for inviting her too… I mean, if I was you I wouldn’t want to be alone with me either.

I guess you were expecting me to come out of the main building, but I was so fucking nervous that after swim class I skipped 4^th period and just took a long ass shower to try and calm down, so I ended up coming out of the pool building instead. I was actually kind of proud of myself, honestly, because despite how terrified I was to face you I almost made it right up behind the two of you… and then I heard Max say it. That I wasn’t coming. That it was a waste of time anyway, because even if I did come nothing I said would undo what happened to you, or bring Chloe back.

I just kind of froze up when I heard that… I was still planning to say something, or maybe just pretend like I didn’t hear it. But then you started talking about how important it was to your faith to be able to forgive those who wronged you.

So, I went back the way I came. Because Max was right… nothing I can do will make that video disappear. No matter how hard I’ve tried to get it removed wherever I find it, it keeps popping up again... I guess what they say is right that once you put something on the internet, it’s there forever. And nothing I can do will make your family or your church stop thinking you’re a sinful whore, or make it so you don’t have to take those anti-depressants anymore.

But mainly I left because I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you be bullied into forgiving me because of some Christian guilt or whatever. That’s just… too fucked up, Kate. I’d rather you hate me forever than forgive me because the bible tells you to. It would be no less than I deserve.

After that I thought it would be better if I just avoided you altogether. Not because I didn’t care, but because I thought that maybe since Nathan and Jefferson were gone, people needed a villain that they could actually see to put all their fear and anger onto. And that maybe you needed it too even if you didn’t know it. So, who better to play that part than the Bitch Queen of Blackwell, right? I mean I basically aided and abetted those psychos every goddamn step of the way even if I didn’t know that’s what I was doing, so fuck it right?

Besides… the more people painted me as “Jefferson and Prescott’s whore”, the less they were talking about whatever happened, or didn’t happen, to you.

I... know things about the bunker, Katie. Not everything, but… more than I should. I don’t know if anyone ever told you this, but… I had a binder too. I guess I was next on the list or whatever. Nathan admitted that he and Jefferson were going to take me after the End of the World party. And because of that my lawyers found out more about what happened with you than was released to the public, and they told my parents, who told me.

I’m not saying this to try to make you feel any sympathy for me. The only reason I’m bringing it up is because I know you don’t talk about what happened with people at school. And because I wanted to say: don’t you dare let anyone minimize what happened to you, okay? It doesn’t matter if those sick fucks never took your clothes off, you were violated in a way that most people will never be able to understand. They tried to take your memories from you, your bodily autonomy, and your sense of trust in other people.

And I’m not saying you’re a victim, not at all… because you’ve got to be the bravest fucking girl I know to have gone through all that but still pick yourself up and come to class every day. Doing your meals on wheels. Being kind to others. Doing everything you can to help Max keep herself together.

And Kate, on that note… I know Max really needs someone she can cling to right now. Someone she can be open about what she’s going through. And I know that you’re that person, because of course you are, but… just remember that you need to take care of yourself too, okay? If you feel like you need to take a day or a week to just lock yourself in your room and sleep, or study, or watch Netflix without having to shoulder someone else’s burdens, that doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you human. And no matter how much Max might need you just keep in mind that you can’t save a drowning person if you’re not able to keep your own head above water.

So yeah, anyway, I slipped right back into the spoiled rich bitch role. Fit like a glove, really. And even if I had to fake it most of the time, it was easy enough to do… a sneer here. An aloof eyebrow there. Acting like I didn’t care when people messed with my locker or keyed my car. Firing back with catty comments like I didn’t give a single fuck when people ganged up to throw all the shitty things I did to you right back in my face, even though it felt like they were fucking stabbing me in the guts every single time.

Even some of the people that were happy to laugh at and bully you right along with me jumped on the Chase-hate train. I guess at least I managed to do one good thing this year… I finally gave the jocks, and the geeks, and the cheerleaders, and the burn-outs something to unite behind. In a round-about way I actually managed to be the change I wanted to see… wouldn’t Gandhi be proud?

Whatever. It worked, didn’t it? Everyone bought it.

Everyone but you.

Was it because I was too much of a coward to be cold and flippant to your face? I couldn’t even if I wanted to, because just the thought of seeing that same hurt in your eyes again makes me want to step in front of a bus. So I did the only thing I could think to do, I ran and hid from you every chance I got.

I mean, Christ Katie… you don’t know how fucking exhausting it can be trying to duck you all the time. Having to plan my whole goddamn day around making sure I didn’t get cornered by you. Don’t you get how hard it is to see you heading my way with that look on your face like you care about me? How every time I think that you of all people might be worried about me, it makes me want to just fucking crawl in a hole and die? Don’t you understand how much it kills me every time I catch you erasing all the hateful shit people write on my board, knowing I was the one who used to write as bad or worse on yours every goddamn day?

Would it be so hard to drop the fucking martyr act for once in your life and just smack me in the face for what I did to you? Scream at me about how much of a fucking evil worthless bitch I am? Everyone else can do it til the cows come home, Katie, but it doesn’t help because the person I need to hear it from is you.

Taylor told me that you tried to talk to her and Courtney about me, to ask how I was doing… and she told me how upset you got when they said we weren’t friends anymore. But please don’t blame them, ok? It was my idea to put some distance between us. Sure, they did some shitty things to you and other people, but it was pretty much just following my lead. It was me who set the tone on campus this year, me and Nathan who took over a nominally anti-bullying club and remade it in our own image. It wasn’t fair for them to go down on the RMS Bitchtoria alongside their captain when there was a perfectly good life raft they could use. They didn’t even want to go along with it at first, but I guess when I made it clear that I’d cut them off regardless they realized there was no point in fighting it. It’s been a while since I’ve heard from Court, now, but T still texts me now and then to fill me in on things.

Like about how you tried to make her tell you why I moved off-campus, or where I’ve gone to. To be honest, you probably know more about the why than she does. It’s because of the nightmares, Katie.

Sometimes they’re about what you went through in the darkroom. Sometimes I’m the one in the dark room, alone and scared and begging for someone to help me while Jefferson gets his rocks off, right up until he sticks a needle in my neck and kills me like Nate killed Rachel. Sometimes I’m buried in the same hole as Rachel was but I’m still alive, trying to claw my way out but I can’t figure out which way is up so I just end up digging myself in deeper.

But most of the time I saw you die. I saw you standing in the rain on the ledge of the girls’ dorm rooftop, saw the hopelessness on your face while everyone begged you not to do it. And the sick part is I’m filming you on my camera and laughing at how dramatic you’re being… right up until you jump. And then I’m screaming just like everyone else, but it’s too late because you’re fucking gone.

I guess I woke myself up screaming one of those nights because the next thing I knew I hear you knocking on my door. Begging me to talk to you, to let you in. But I couldn’t do it, Kate, I couldn’t let you in knowing how you would try to comfort me. That I’d be emotionally manipulating you into lying about how everything was going to be ok, about forgiving me even when you know in your heart that what I did was unforgivable.

So I just pretended like I didn’t hear you banging away, didn’t hear Brooke and Max and everyone else coming out to tell you to give up, that I was a lost cause. Hearing you tell them with anger in your voice to mind their own business… anger that should have been directed at me, but because of me you were turning it on your friends.

I had to leave after that night Katie. Because despite all that I was so close to opening the door to let you in anyway. I was so fucking weak that I had my hand on the goddamn doorknob, praying that you would just listen to them. That you would give up. Knowing that I was only a knock or two away from caving when you finally did go back to your room.

I never went back to sleep that night, I just packed whatever shit I cared to take with me and drove it to the beach house my parents lease. Since it’s within Arcadia Bay city limits, I technically qualify as a local and thus can commute to school every day rather than living on-campus.

At least it was easier to avoid you after that. I didn’t have to fucking run after the last bell to lock myself in my room before you got back to the dorms anymore. I didn’t have to time my showers around your violin practice, or make Taylor check that the coast was clear every time I wanted to go to the fucking bathroom. Now I’ve only got 8 hours a day to worry about ducking you, and most of those we’re in different classrooms.

The only toughie was photography class, but I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that the reason I switched seats with Hayden was so I could be right next to the door to make my daily escape that much quicker. To convince him I had to tell him Taylor was into him but was too shy to say anything... which has got to be the lie of the fucking year lmao. But as always Sweet T took the bullet for me and played along. I’m just lucky you didn’t think to switch with Stella cause then I’d have really been screwed.

But now I’ve got sixteen hours a day allllll to myself. No stank eyes to deal with, or dry erase boards, or nosy neighbors, or voices that turn to whispers when I step into the hall, or violin music in the morning. Nope, nothing but blissful silence intermingled with the sounds of seabirds and waves rolling up on the shore. And my intrusive thoughts. And the music that I can crank as loud as I want to drown out those thoughts.

Plus, I can run around naked and pee whenever the hell I want too, or take a dump with the lights on and the bathroom door wide open. And I can sit in front of my laptop and read and reread this email and edit it and scrap the whole thing and rewrite it over and over again. And I can stand in the same doorway where you kissed me and remember the feel of your lips and the way you taste and torture myself and wonder why my chest hurts so much every time I think about it and wonder does that mean I’m gay? I mean if I was gay I’d have known about it before, right? And even if I am does it even fucking matter anymore?

And you’re a smart girl, so by now I’m sure you’ve guessed it… and you’re right, it is THAT beach house I’m referring to. Ain’t that just the cherry on top of the shit-sundae that is Victoria Fucking Chase? I own and am living in the very house where you were drugged. Where you were passed around like a fucking piece of meat, where you were shamed and degraded and filmed so that you would never be able to forget it. The place where you were kidnapped by a monster and even though half the fucking school was there NO ONE DID ANYTHING TO STOP IT, NO ONE EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT HELPING YOU BUT ME AND I DIDN’T DO SHIT.

So… yeah. If you’ve been wondering why I haven’t apologized yet, there’s your answer. Not something that’s easy to fit on a shitty postcard, and somehow “I’m sorry for everything” just doesn’t seem to cut it. And I don’t expect you to believe it but it’s true: I would do anything take to take it all back. Anything to see you smile again, the way you did before the party when there wasn’t pain and trauma in your eyes. That smile you would give to anyone, even the people who never deserved it. If I could go back in time and take your place in that bunker I would do it in a heartbeat, I swear to GOD I would.

I have no idea when I’ll send this to you. It’s already been days weeks almost two months now and no matter how many times I rewrite this it’s just not right, it’s not enough to convey how deeply I regret everything. Maybe I’ll send it on our next break, so you’ll have time to digest it before you have to face me again. Or maybe I’ll wait until after graduation, so you can read this and get some closure before you go off to college and start a new life. Or maybe I’ll never send it at all. Maybe I like the idea of never being anything more in your mind than the hateful bitch that made your senior year a living hell.

You know what? FUCK IT. I’m never sending this anyway, right? No because I’m way too much of a fucking coward for that. Victoria Maribeth Chase is way too fucking melodramatic to show a hint of remorse, isn’t she? So why don’t I give you the real FUCKING tea, yeah? Here goes!

I can’t be honest with you Katie. I can’t let you in. Because the minute I show the first sign of weakness it’s all going to come crashing down around me. Everything you see when you look at me is a lie. None of it’s real. It’s all an act I put on because I’m so desperate for attention, and I don’t care if it’s good or bad because I learned a long time ago that even negative attention means at least someone will fucking notice me. And the longer I did it the more I realized that almost everyone in this world wants something from me, whether its my money or my body or bragging rights or status or just giving them people to laugh at and ridicule so that they don’t feel so shitty about their own lives.

And the more I gave people what they want the more popular I got, but no matter how popular I get I’m just as fucking lonely as I was back when I was a snot-nosed brat with no friends and parents who didn’t care if they saw me more than once or twice every few months. And on top of all that now I get the bonus of hating myself and hating who I’ve become more than ever and I don’t know how to stop, how to live like a normal goddamn human being because no one ever taught me HOW. And maybe it comes naturally to everybody else maybe I’m just broken maybe I’m a monster just like Nathan and Jefferson.

And I think about the way you kissed me all the time because it was the first time in forever that I actually FELT something but it wasn’t real because you were high and you kissed everyone else just like you kissed me and maybe that’s why I got mad and posted the fucking video because it hurt so much but I didn’t want to admit that to myself until now when it’s too fucking late to do anything about it. And I feel like I’m in hell alone in this place day after day but I can’t do anything about it because I fucking deserve to be here.

And I dream about you all the time now and they don’t make any sense because in some of them nothing bad ever happens to you and in some of them you’re on that ledge and max talks you down or I talk you down, or I catch you when you try to jump and we go to the hospital together. And in some of them you make me cookies and we watch anime and work on photography projects together and in others I have superpowers and use them to save you. And sometimes your eyes are brown and sometimes they’re blue but they’re always so beautiful and sometimes you’re dead but those aren’t even the worst ones, because at least when they’re over I know you’re still here. But sometimes in my dreams we’re more than friends and those are the worst… because every time I wake up wanting to die because I know they can never be real.

So… I guess that’s all I have to say. I don’t expect you to acknowledge this in any way, you don’t owe me anything. Whatever you do with this information is up to you... delete it unread, take it to Wells and get me expelled. Hell, you could even get Juliet to print it in the school paper if you want. I just really, really hope that it helps you, even a little bit. Please let me know if you need anything.

Love,

Yours,

X.O.

I’m sorry,

Vic

P.S. Oh and btw don’t get any bright ideas about going up on that roof. First chance I could I dragged that new security guard’s useless ass right up the stairs to show him the roof-access door was unlocked. And God did I let him have it, too. Screamed at him about how it was his responsibility to keep us safe, told him my family was gonna sue, threatened to get him fired. He about shit himself the whole time he was chaining that door up nice and tight… I almost wish you could have seen it. I know Dana and some of the other girls are still pissed about not being able to go up there anymore but fuck em’, baby-mama can get off her lazy ass and walk to the smoking corner just like everyone else.

P.S.S. You should try letting your hair down sometimes. Something tells me it would look really good on you.

*****

Victoria chews on the inside of her cheek, her leg bouncing up and down in manic fashion while she undergoes round 397 of revision to the email that is all she’s been able to think about for weeks now. Her admission. Her apology. Her confession.

She had a lot more text to strike out this time around. She really ought to find away to keep herself from being able to access this shit while she’s drinking, because Jesus Christ if she didn’t prove how bad an idea that is.

Every single word is the honest truth, her truth, the kind of truth she’s owed Kate ever since Victoria made the worst mistake of her life by letting her down like that. But at the same time, there’s such a thing as too much truth, isn’t there? There’s truth Kate doesn’t need to hear, because it wouldn’t do her any good to hear it. There’s truth Victoria has absolutely no right to speak.

She’s just lucky she didn’t send that shit by accident.

Still… deleting said truth just doesn’t sit right with her. So, she’ll leave it stricken for now and sleep on it before taking another look tomorrow, to see if there’s anything that can be salvaged for revision 398. Assuming, that is, that she doesn’t go for another round or two or ten before she feels exhausted enough to pass out tonight.

But instead she moves on to the final phase of her little multiple times daily ritual of metaphorical self-flagellations and scrolls down to the bottom of the email page. There she finds three little buttons that, despite their unassuming appearance, each have the power to control the course of her life.

She could click SEND, to let her insane ramblings fly as is… thereby lighting the fuse to the bomb that will blow up her life, and let the pieces fall where they may.

She could hit DELETE, to step away for the final time and wash her hands of this Kate business at last, cementing her legacy once and for all as the unapologetic villain of Blackwell Academy Class of 2014.

Or she could select SAVE AS DRAFT. To prolong this entirely self-inflicted Sisyphean suffering for just a little while longer. For another day, or perhaps a week. A month, a year… hell, maybe she’ll just be stuck rolling this particular boulder up this particular hill until the stars die out and the last remnants of light and heat fade from a cold, dark universe.

The latter, of course, is the most likely. After all, that’s the one Victoria has picked the last 396 times.

SEND

DELETE

SAVE AS DRAFT

Her mouse pointer lingers over each option for several seconds before moving on to the next, her eyes watering and her pulse racing as she repeats the process over…

SEND

DELETE

SAVE AS DRAFT

… and over…

SEND

DELETE

SAVE AS DRAFT

… and over again. And as she sits alone in the second-floor office of her parent’s beach house, with nothing but the sounds of waves and seagulls to keep her company, Victoria wonders if she’ll ever find the strength to actually do something for once in her life. If she’ll ever be able to—

— A sudden, loud knock echoes through the house, once, twice, three times. The sound startling Victoria enough to literally jump in her seat as it rings out from the first-floor seaside entrance. She clutches tightly at her throat, willing her heart to climb its way back down into her chest as she stares wide-eyed through her office’s doorway and to the stairs beyond. Trying her best to stave off the panic that courses through her brain at the unexpected interruption.

Though her life these days has been spent mostly in seclusion, especially being that only one or two people at Blackwell even know where she even is, Victoria does receive uninvited visitors from time to time. Most likely a wrong address, or a Jehovah’s witness, or some tourist come-a-knockin’ because their slimy little crotch-spawn needs to tinkle and they can’ be fucked to walk to the public lavatories a hundred or so yards further down the beach.

Whatever their purpose, Victoria deals with interlopers the same way each time… by pretending she’s not here until they leave her the fuck alone.

Holding her breath, Victoria sits as still as a statue as she awaits the next inevitable series of knocks. Even at her luckiest they always seem to try at least a few times. On her worst days the knocking will just go on and on and on while she hides away, her back arched and non-existent tail bristling like a cat who finds herself cornered by a pack of wild dogs.

But, as the seconds stretch onto minutes and her breathing slowly comes back under control without any further raps of knuckles on wood, Victoria begins to wonder if maybe she lucked out this time.

Finally, convinced that whoever it was has given up and buggered off, Victoria heaves a sigh of relief as she turns back to the task at hand… and nearly chokes on her own tongue the moment her eyes hit the screen of her laptop.

It’s gone. The E-mail is GONE.

“No… no no no no…”

Victoria’s mind races. She’d been hovering over the SEND/DELETE/SAVE buttons like she always does when the knocks startled her, making her jump and… did her fingers spasm around the mouse? Did she click one of the buttons by accident?? And if so, WHICH FUCKING ONE?!?

Her blood turns to ice as she drags the cursor over to her Drafts folder.

“Please please please…” she begs the impassive LED screen in front of her.

0 Drafts currently in progress.

“Shit!” she cries. That would have been an absolute fucking miracle if true, so of course the universe wasn’t going to let her off that easy. That leaves two more options, BAD and SO MUCH WORSE. Praying to every God and Devil she can possibly think of, she checks the Trashcan icon next.

Empty.

“Oh, fuck my life!” Victoria wails, panicked tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Her hand shakes as she clicks the only option left to her: the Sent folder.

To: [email protected]

Subject: adfsdlkjfalskjdflk

Sent: 8 minutes ago.

Victoria claps her hands to her face, her fingers traveling up to curl around fistfuls of short blonde hair while her eyes try to bug right out of her skull. This is a disaster. Her life is fucking over. She will never be able to step foot on campus, never be able to face Kate again. Not that she was doing much facing of Kate before, but still…

Mind racing, Victoria desperately clings to hope as she tries to remember the steps to recall an email. If memory serves, as long as Kate hasn’t read it yet…

“Ok ok ok… open the message… file… resend or recall… oh please Fucking Jesus Goddamn Christ I will do anything you ask just please throw me a fucking bone here…”

Her inbox lights up with an unread message.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Recall Failed. Recipient has opened or…

“FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!” Victoria screeches, opening the sent mail window to click recall another twenty times in rapid succession, slamming her mouse into the desk as she does so. Despite knowing how futile it is. Despite knowing what the next couple dozen emails that steadily fill her inbox say without even looking at them.

From: [email protected] Subject: Recall Failed. Recipient has opened or… From: [email protected] Subject: Recall Failed. Recipient has opened or… From: [email protected] Subject: Recall Failed. Recipient has opened or… From: [email protected] Subject: Recall Failed. Recipient has opened or…

Slamming her forehead into her empty palms, Victoria sobs in despair as she kicks out at the wall behind the desk. WHY in God’s name couldn’t this have happened with any of the literal hundreds of revisions that didn’t make her sound like an ABSOLUTE FUCKING LUNATIC?! FUCK going back to school, she’s going to be lucky if Kate doesn’t send the men in white coats to come round her up and haul her off to the insane asylum!

Rising to her feet with enough force to send her chair rolling back along the hardwood floor to slam into the opposite wall, Victoria stalks out of the room, incoherently mumbling to herself the whole way down the stairs. She needs fresh air, or a cigarette, or to put bricks in her pockets before walking out into the sea, or… or…

Stepping out onto the back porch, Victoria scans the scenery before her while rifling through her pockets. She’d lost track of time, earlier, and was unaware that the golden hour was upon her… the glittering sunlight in all it’s soft, vibrant hues glittering off of the waves and whitecaps so marvelously that it actually manages to offer some degree of peace to her raging mind.

In fact, the sight is so captivating that she doesn’t even realize that she’s not alone on the porch until a high-pitched, pained little moan draws Victoria’s attention to the right… to the very spot where a tiny girl in a modest skirt and a prim white blouse sits on one of the deck chairs, one hand covering her mouth while her wet, shimmering eyes remain glued to the phone she’s holding in the other.

Victoria’s cigarettes and lighter fall from her suddenly useless hands to clatter down onto the wooden deck beneath her feet.

“Ka… Katie?!”

The sea-breeze tugs at the little wisps of honey-colored hair that have begun to come loose from the girl’s bun as she slowly, agonizingly slowly, pries her eyes from her phone screen to turn them on Victoria.

She wants to run. Wants to flee back into the house and barricade the door behind her, or jump in her Audi and drive away as far and as fast as she can. But those wide eyes render her immobile, eyes that swirl with a vast multitude of emotions. Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. Grief. Sorrow. But also kindness. Empathy. And something else, something Victoria dare not even begin to speculate on. And though her sudden-onset paralysis lasts only for a moment, it’s just enough time for Kate to leap to her feet and run to her, practically bowling Victoria over as she enwraps her in a warm, tight hug.

Her hands hanging limply at her sides, Victoria somehow manages to stammer out “Why… w-why are you here?”

“I was looking for you, dummy!” Kate seethes into the shoulder of Victoria’s silk pajama top.

She tries to wriggle out of Kate’s arms, but to no avail. The stubborn girl’s grip doesn’t give an inch. Victoria squeezes her eyes shut, trying hard to ignore the scent of lavender that wafts up from Kate’s hair.

“Let… let me go…”

Kate doesn’t look up, keeping her face firmly planted in Victoria’s shoulder as she shakes her head. “I won’t… not until you talk to me…”

“Katie, PLEASE!” Victoria wails. She has to get away right now, because the dam is about to fucking burst. And when it does, everything is going to come rushing out, every black, putrid, ugly little thing, and it wont stop, it won’t ever stop…

“I WON’T!!!” Kate shouts back, if anything squeezing Victoria even tighter.

It's fight or flight, now... but Victoria can't fight. She won't hurt Kate, she can't. And Kate sure as hell won't let her flee.

All that's left... is surrender.

“I’m… sorry.” Victoria’s chin quakes as a sob, the first of many, at last escapes her lips. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“I know…” Kate’s voice is a hoarse, throaty whisper.

"I’m SORRY! I’m SORRY! OH GOD, Katie I’m so, SO SORRY!!!” Victoria practically shouts, her hands shaking violently as she hesitantly raises them to clutch at Kate’s shoulder blades.

“It’s alright…” Kate cries, her back shaking to match Victoria’s hands. “I promise… everything will be alright…”

Burying her face in the girl’s dirty blonde hair, Victoria gives in to the mournful, keening cry that seems to bubble up from the very depths of her soul. One matched only by Kate’s own as she clings to Victoria like she’s the lone buoy in the middle of a roiling, stormy sea.

Finally, when the reddish-gold sun begins to dip below the horizon, and when Victoria’s sobs quiet to soft, hitching hiccups at long, long last… Kate relaxes her grip. Just enough to pull back, to look up into Victoria’s eyes once more. A strand of hair dampened by Victoria’s tears clinging to her left cheek, Kate’s red lips quiver while she asks “Are… are you finally going to let me in?”

Her face scrunching up with the effort to hold back another sob, Victoria nods. She reaches back to push the door open behind her.

“Yes… please, come in.”