Work Text:
There is a light on in the kitchen when Laura Lee gets home. There is a light on, but no car in the driveway and no one sitting at the counter. There is a light on, but she is alone.
She tries to think of lighthouses and finding a port in the storm, instead she thinks of what it means to drown. She thinks of baptisms, of the dead returning. She sets her bag on the kitchen counter, pours herself a glass of juice, and smiles. For every drowning there is a rebirth. The juice plays along her tongue, sweet and biting. It settles in her, cool against her throat, chilled against the acid of her stomach.
Placing the emptied cup in the sink, she roots around her bag, hand bumping against shorts and cleats. Digging further, her fingers wrap around a thin chain. Raising it, she reveals a small, golden cross. She can't remember taking it off, can't remember dropping it into her soccer bag. Doesn't quite understand how she knew to look for it.
She clasps it around her neck, wiping away the slight frown that had formed on her face, and peers through the blinds for any sign of headlights. Her parents should be home soon. Unless... Did they have an event to attend that she forgot? Something for church or work or fun?
Her first tightens around the cross at her chest. The edges bite into her palm, but she knows it hasn't cut deep enough to bleed. There is no blood on her cross. There is no sign of light.
Turning back to the kitchen, she gets into routine. Laundry, dinner, homework. But she only gets as far as one load of laundry and a peanut butter sandwich before a knock on the door rattles her.
Silence follows her as she makes her way to the door. Another knock, urgent.
She swings the door open. She expects... she doesn't know who she expects, but it isn't who she sees.
An angel.
Then the porch light flickers on, an old beast pulling in a labored breath, and illuminates the person standing in front of her. Laura Lee blinks at the dim light and the familiar face. "Lottie?"
"Hey," Lottie's voice is soft, her smile tentative, "can i come in?"
Shifting with the door, Laura Lee moves out of her way. It's only after Lottie is inside that she asks, "What are you doing here?"
"We were gonna study," Lottie says, like it's the most obvious answer. She holds up a textbook. "I need help with French, remember?"
And suddenly it is the most obvious answer. So obvious that Laura Lee feels silly for even asking. The corners of her mouth curve down as she smiles a bit self-consciously. "Oh, right. Well," she takes a step further into her house, leading Lottie to the light, "we can set up in the kitchen. I just have to grab my things first."
"Sounds good." Lottie puts her textbook on the counter, opening it to a seemingly random page. A picture of a girl smiles up at them, her features delicate, eyes round and sweet. Laura Lee frowns back at the image, but her distaste for it is painted over by Lottie's voice, Lottie's grin, as she remarks, "Oh, and, thanks... for helping with this. I really can't afford to flunk out of this class."
"I'm always happy to help!" Laura Lee's words trail over her shoulder as she makes her way down the hall to her room. Something like nerves settle under skin, buzzing in anticipation. She casts a quick glance around her, as if something is watching her, waiting in the wings for its reprisal, but there's nothing. Her hand drifts back to the cross at her throat and she thinks of the girl in the textbook. There is something wrong. She thinks of Lottie. Of her hair and her voice and her big, brown eyes. Her laugh and her smile and the way her fingers feel when they graze Laura Lee's skin. She shakes her head. There is something wrong.
Closing her bedroom door behind her, Laura Lee sucks in one shaky breath, then another. How can she go back out there with these thoughts in her head? How can she look at Lottie and pretend she doesn't see the heavens above? How can she survive if she can't be who she thought she was? Her eyes flutter closed, her hands grip the cross. The warming metal consumes her sins, swallows them whole, and leaves her with more doubt, more worry. Because her desire remains.
With shaking hands, she crosses to her bed, pulling her French textbook from her backpack. The cover is old and browning, worn down from years of students shoving it haphazardly in their bags or leaving it in the sun for too long. The faded picture on the front, shows a group of grinning girls, dressed for some event. Laura Lee's fingers trace one of the girls to the left. If she squints, the girl kind of looks like Lottie. Her fingers pause over the girl's face and she pulls her hand away, letting the book hang at her side.
Back outside her room, the hallway accordions out, stretching further than before. From somewhere in the distance, Lottie asks, "Is it okay if I get some water? Where do you keep your cups?"
The hallway constricts and the kitchen is inches away from Laura Lee, so close she could stretch out her arm and her hand would be inside the bounds. She replies, hoping and praying her voice sounds normal, "Yeah, that's fine. Cups are in the cabinet to the right of the microwave."
Silence follows, then, "Found them!" The hallway is once again miles long, twisting and shaking, sending Laura Lee off balance. She slumps against one wall, narrowly avoiding hitting a framed photo of her in her Yellowjackets uniform with her shoulder, as Lottie continues, "You know, I don't think I've ever been inside your house before. It's nice..." When she speaks again, her voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere deep inside her, thoughtful and delicate, "Feels homey, like a real family lives here."
Laura Lee breaches the kitchen, eyes catching on the sad smile painted across Lottie's lips, and she can't help but wonder what was so terrifying before. It's just Lottie. And maybe there's nothing wrong with that.
"What do you mean?" Laura Lee sits on the other stool at the kitchen counter, her textbook lying closed beside the flat pages of Lottie's.
"I mean, this feels like the kind of house where people have family dinners and talk about their days. Where a family says 'I love you' to each other." She looks at Laura Lee and her sad smile deepens. "I bet you do that, don't you? Tell your parents you love them and know that they'll say it back." Laura Lee nods, warmth burning in her cheeks. There isn't anything to say, all her words feel hollow. Lottie looks down at her textbook and simply says, "That's nice."
And without thinking, without wanting, Laura Lee finds words. She isn't sure they're the right ones, but she says them before she can talk herself out of it, "I love you, Lottie."
There's nothing. No movement, no sound, no existence. Time freezes and Laura Lee is burning.
"I love you too."
Everything comes back all at once and there are tears on Lottie's face. They shimmer like pearls and, hesitantly, Laura Lee reaches up to wipe them away. Lottie doesn't pull away at the touch, only watches Laura Lee. Slowly, she lowers her hand and clears her throat. "We should study."
"Study..." Lottie repeats, like the word has lost all meaning. But then her eyes come into focus and she nods. "Right, yeah, we should study."
French words pass between them as time marches on and though Laura Lee is helping her with classwork it feels something like teaching her a secret language for just the two of them. Still, it's only French.
At a quarter to eleven, Lottie closes her textbook and stands. At a quarter to eleven, Laura Lee's eyelids begin to droop. At a quarter to eleven, they both smell smoke.
Laura Lee is wide awake in an instant, looking frantically around the kitchen. Nothing is cooking, nothing is burning. She looks to Lottie with panic. Lottie looks back, calm as ever. Her hand finds Laura Lee's and she leads her to the front door. The girls on the textbooks watch them as they leave.
Outside on the lawn, Laura Lee stares at her house. There is a light on in the kitchen. No...
There is a fire in the kitchen. She pulls in a gasp, the acrid smell of smoke permeating the open air. Her house. Her house is burning. Her free hand flies to her cross, holding it hard enough to puncture the soft skin of her palm. Small droplets of blood coat the smooth metal before Lottie pulls her hand free of it.
"Laura Lee," Lottie says, soft and gentle. Her presence commands every one of Laura Lee's senses. She tears her eyes away from her house and looks instead at the girl in front of her. Lottie's face glows in the firelight, their hands clasped between them.
Slowly, as if Laura Lee might startle like a deer, Lottie measures her movements, slipping one hand free and placing it on Laura Lee's cheek. Her thumb strokes her skin and Laura Lee blinks up at her, afraid to pinch herself in case she's dreaming.
Something wet rests between Lottie's hand and Laura Lee's cheek and at first she thinks she might be crying. But it's stickier than it is slick and understanding hits her when she remembers her bloody cross. There will be a handprint of blood on her face and a house made of ashes when they're done. She can't make herself care. not as Lottie leans in, brown eyes devout before they close, and her lips find Laura Lee's in the spiral of fire and smoke.
And as the flames consume her house and swallow her whole, Laura Lee dies kissing Lottie Matthews.