Work Text:
Millie sat by the desk, flicking through paperwork, without reading any of it. Leila was late. It wasn’t like her to be late, except for a few recent occasions when she had arrived smoothing down a disheveled skirt, seeming quiet, somewhat spaced out. Millie had watched her plaster on that customer service smile for years, but it had never seemed like such a masquerade before as it did now. She figured, as a friend, she should speak to her. But she didn’t know what to say.
The rumors hadn’t avoided her notice. She reckoned that Leila must have realized she knew of them, too; in a town as small as this, secrets always escaped, some way or another. Leila may not have realized, however, how the rumors encumbered Millie’s life, too - or any woman’s life who stumbled into this purgatoric town. This had always been a mens' town, but recently, tempted by drunkenly whispered fantasies, the mens’ appetites had grown voracious. Even if nothing tangible happened, it was difficult not to feel hunted.
Millie didn’t blame Leila. There may have been a hint of disapproval in the way she had watched her, that time she caught her accepting extra cash from a customer. But not blame. In a town like this, there weren't many things she would blame a person for. People just did what they had to do. To survive. To keep their minds from stagnating, like the river. To keep from going the way the old woman down the road had, when she overdosed on painkilling pills and scotch on her front porch. Many spent every evening at the bar, drinking until they slurred, getting into petty shouting matches or the occasional fistfight. Many more whiled the hours away in front of the television: news broadcast, advertisement, quiz show, advertisement. There was one guy who stood by the river every couple of days, fishing line propped up. There wasn’t really anything to catch - and even if there was, you wouldn't want to eat it - the pollution made sure of that. (That was why there were so many bloodsuckers in the shallow parts. Nothing much left alive to hunt them.) But Millie thought he was lucky, regardless. Lucky to have those quiet moments, watching the current, under the sun. It was better than what everyone else did.
As the hours ticked by, Millie’s mind began to run through worst-case scenarios. It certainly wasn't like Leila to not show up at all. Eventually, she went to knock on the motel room doors, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t stumble across something crooked. There were only three guests that day. The first was out. The second was asleep. The third narrowed hungry eyes and looked her up and down as she opened the door, so she shut it quickly, stomach twisting, and continued her search elsewhere. Millie crossed the parking lot, her breath clouding in the crisp morning air, calling Leila’s name. Then she remembered how Leila tended to smoke, down by the river, so she stumbled down to the river bank - and there Leila was, at last.
***
Millie could have wept, seeing Leila standing in the water like that. It wasn't the ripped clothes, the tangled hair, or the blood that had trickled down her neck and soaked into her shirt, as much as all of that scared her. What scared her most was the look in her eyes, telling her that she had given up. It was the look of unmitigated despair. Millie knew that Leila was gone.
With a pounding heart, Millie called out to her again, but it made no difference, so she waded into the mud-clouded water to meet her. The water around her ankles was cold as she stepped in - bitterly cold, and biting - but not as biting as the fear. She waded deeper, and deeper, until the water rose above her waist, with the current threatening to pull her over. She waded until she reached Leila and, trembling now from the cold, she pulled her into her arms.
There was movement on the other side of the river - something, or some one , between the mess of bushes and the naked winter trees - and Leila murmured “Don’t look, Millie, there’s nothing over there,” and her voice was almost as empty as her eyes.
Millie could have wept, for not knowing what was happening, for not knowing what to do, for the desperation pooling in the water around them. But she didn’t look, and if there were tears, they were quiet - because she knew that her friend must have been through something unimaginably worse. She held her tightly and tried to share her warmth as she half-walked, half-carried Leila back to shore, saying “Come on, we’ve got to get you out of the water. We’ve got to get some help. Lean on me.”
Millie tried to be her anchor, her rock, as she led Leila up the riverbank, across the parking lot, through the door into the motel office. Inside, Leila didn't even sit down, or say anything, or even cry - she just stood there, still, silent, and empty. Millie grabbed a coat, wrapped it around her shoulders, swept the hair away from her face, and pulled her gently over into a seat. Leila hardly seemed to notice any of it. She just stared. Millie found a tissue box and began to wipe away the blood. Leila didn't even flinch.
Millie didn't know what to do. Perhaps she should have called the police; perhaps she should have taken Leila to a hospital. But what if Leila didn't want any of that? Perhaps what Leila needed more than anything, was to be held, to be given time, space, and care. Millie thought that maybe, maybe she could give that to her. So, for now, she rummaged around for the office first aid kit, and tended to Leila’s wounds herself. Gently, gently, she wiped away the rest of the blood, rinsed the raw skin, applied bandages where it was worst. And then they sat there, listening to the tick of the clock and the occasional car engine, Millie stroking Leila's hair, until long after their work shifts had ended. Gradually, gradually Leila's tension began to soften, as she leaned over to rest her head on Millie's shoulder.
At some point, someone walked into the office, so Millie just pointed towards the front desk and asked them to leave their keys there. At some point, Leila fell asleep, and Millie didn't want to wake her up, so she didn't move an inch. Her heart ached as she peered down at her friend, whose eyelids flickered, and whose expression contorted with worry as she dreamed. Her heart ached with the burden of knowing, now, how bad people could be. It was a dark cloud over her, as she knew it must have been over Leila for far longer.
Somehow, Millie fell asleep there too, and only awoke when a sliver of sunlight crept through the blinds to rest on their laps. Leila was awake already, curled inward as if trying to make herself as small as possible.
"I'm going to take you somewhere safe," Millie whispered, stroking her hair again. Tenderly, tenderly she placed a hand around Leila's waist and half-walked, half-carried Millie into her car.