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Everything was too much. She had lost her match today, adrenaline from the ring still tingling in her veins. It wasn't for the belt, but the voice of Izzy still lingered in Tatum’s head, calling her a failure. She ran back to gorilla, hoping her friends would be there, but no one was. Not even Shiloh. They hadn't said that they would be watching, but Tatum always made sure to watch their matches. It stung to not see anyone. Her mind quickly seemed to fill up with syrup. Frustration and anger turning into fuel for the sticky-slow feeling currently making its way over her mind and body. Tatum knew the protocol. Whenever her feelings got too big, she was supposed to text or call Lyra. Her wife always helping her navigate the turbulence of her own mind. The people around her suddenly felt too close, too loud, all already working on the next match. Tatum slinked off to find a quiet spot to sit, clutching her championship belt like a lifeline. Eventually she found a space where she could disappear. A side hallway that no one seemed to know was there. Her hand itched. She knew she needed to call Lyra. But that needling voice was getting louder. Why were her friends not there? The whole world just watched her lose and she couldn't even trust her friends? How does she know she can trust anyone? She can't.
In times like these, times of emotional crisis, Tatum’s brain had a sort of safety override. It wasn't something she did on purpose, in fact she usually hated it. Whenever she couldn't manage her emotions, Tatum Paxley’s brain reverted back to that of a child. She remembered, 20 years old, sitting in a psychologist’s office. Tatum could still smell that office, the fear in her bones cementing the place in her memory. She was convinced that she truly was crazy. Her whole life, she occasionally just became a child, and it was completely out of her control. Her psychologist, a middle aged man with the start of grey hair, spent the next hour explaining that she was not, in fact, crazy. It was called Involuntarily Age Regression. It was inconvenient, but harmless. Actually it was pretty good for her. He said it took her brain back to a time when it felt safe, so she could process her emotions. This made sense to her. And Tatum usually took solace in the fact that, while weird, her brain was really looking out for her. But not right now. Now, Tatum found herself feeling like an overwhelmed little girl, who couldn't figure out how to tell her safe person that she needed to go home. The keyboard on her phone taunted her. Dared her to try and fail to send a text. When big, she understood that even if it was just a keysmash, Lyra was watching the match from home, and would probably understand what was happening. Tatum wasn't allowed to drive like this. She struggled to read and write, the regressed woman probably shouldn't be behind the wheel. Unfortunately, that means Tatum is stuck here until she can figure out how to communicate. She pulled her knees up to her chin. Lyra always told her to “look for the helpers.” But this was different, it had to be! She couldn't let anyone here know about this, what if they used it against her like The Culling did. She never got those dolls back….
Tatum ran down her list of friends. Hank and Tank were big and nice. Tatum giggled as she thought of them, feet starting to wiggle. The little girl could never sit still. But Tatum didn't know them well enough to feel comfortable talking about personal life. There was Shiloh’s friend EK. He was ok, but could be too serious, and the last thing Tatum wanted right now was a long serious talk. Those always made her feel like she was in trouble. How about Wren? Tatum liked Wren, she was nice, and would be understanding. Wren might be ok. Tatum knew she had to find someone to help, but the fear of someone knowing her secret sat in her stomach like a rock. Would Wren talk behind her back? That only left- Tatum was pulled mid-thought towards what sounded like a person approaching. Shiloh! He looked worried, Tatum couldn't remember why he would look worried. But she felt her body spring up and go barreling towards her friend. “Shi!!” Tatum squealed before making contact in a half tackle half hug. Shiloh took it in stride, catching the kiddo and swinging her around.
“Hey! Sorry I missed you in Gorilla, I had to run to Hank's car because he realized he left his lucky kneepads in there and he was on next. But I saw your match! You were amazing!”
Oh. So they didn't betray her or decide they hated her. It was just an accident. Tatum suddenly felt silly, she wiggled to get out of Shiloh’s grasp.
“Put m’ down, Shi.”
Shiloh furrowed his brow, but obliged.
“Hey did you hit your head? You're kinda slurring your words.”
Tatum danced from foot to foot, nervous and trying to avoid this conversation as much as possible.
“I need your help.” Tatum held up her phone, open to Lyra’s contact page, and pushed it towards Shiloh. Shiloh, ever the friend, took the phone. Still looking like a confused puppy.
“Do you need …. Do you need Lyra?”
Tatum nodded furiously, pigtails flapping in her face. She pointed at her phone, then poked Shiloh in the chest, looking up at her friend expectantly.
“After I call your wife will you tell me what's going on?” Shiloh lifted an eyebrow in Tatum's direction, getting ready to press call. Another nod, this one accompanied with the silent wish that Lyra will understand, and do the explaining for her.
Shiloh pressed call on Tatum's phone, and Tatum heard Lyra pick up because Shiloh went “This is Shiloh Hill! Not Tatum, I just am borrowing her phone.” Tatum started playing with her outfit, letting her fingers explore the different textures. That worked for a while to keep her occupied. But when she heard Lyra's muffled voice say the words “age regression” that pit of fear came back to her stomach. She couldn't undo this moment. All she could do is wait and see how her best friend reacts. She'd seen too many people react with disgust to hope for anything better. Even in her protective haze, Tatum still slunk off, dread gnawing at her core. Her hands wandered away from her gear, nimble fingers pressing at her mouth. She swore she could hear Lyra somewhere, telling her that it was unsanitary to put her fingers in her mouth, but Tatum was running out of options to self-soothe. She put her knuckle in her mouth and bit down. Not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to have teeth meet the density of bone. Tatum chewed gently, closing her lips as much as she could. Falling into the soothing rhythm of bite and release.
The young champion had enough time to grow bored and switch to the other hand before Shiloh returned with her phone. He was still on it, but had a hand over the receiver, angling his head towards Tatum.
“Lyra wants to know if you're ok with me driving you home tonight, kiddo?”
The question shocked the little girl, Shiloh's earnestness and acceptance shaking her to her core. She was too shocked to speak much, having convinced herself all hope was lost on the future of their friendship, electing for a simple nod. Shiloh spoke back into the phone, brightly.
“That's the nod of approval! We'll get changed up and see you in a minute.” The smile in his voice evident and he and Lyra said their goodbyes and Tatum got her phone back. Shiloh smiled softly at his friend, puppy look returning as he cocked his head, but now free of concern. “Lyra explained what's going on, do you want to go get changed so you can get home, kid?” Tatum felt tears bite at her eyes, tenderness not being an emotion she usually experienced outside of her wife. She nodded once more, reaching out for Shiloh's hand. Quickly, she felt his ring-worn hand in hers. Maybe, she thought to herself, if she looked for the helpers, people like Shiloh would be there. Maybe, she thought, that wouldn't be so bad.