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Trinity had been staying at Cassie's for a full week before the guilt outweighed the comfort of the older woman.
They had talked a lot. Late night conversations that only worsened the purple smears beneath their eyes, early morning whispers, smoke break confessions. Cassie had even taken Trinity to an open NA meeting, which was an odd experience, but strangely insightful. Hearing people talk about their fears and regrets and desperate desires to relapse before collecting 5-year chips gave her hope. If all those people were capable of living on the other side of their addictions then Trinity could too.
They had learned to co-exist quickly, but the first night was terrifying.
Cassie had driven Santos back to her apartment in silence, the only noise in the car being some sort of grunge playlist, and then she had ordered dinner. Pizza. Nothing special, one with meat and one without, and then she had put on the TV.
They fell asleep on the sofa, not speaking beyond 'you like pizza?' and 'what do you want to watch' once the entire evening - though Cassie did talk at the TV a lot. Trinity found it comforting. It helped her stop shaking.
Across the next few days, Cassie started asking questions, learning how to get Santos to open up bit by bit.
They had even developed a sort of code: if Trinity was too tempted by the thought of breaking through her own skin she would seek out Cassie and lean against her somehow - a touch of pinkies, a press of their thighs, even just kicking her shin gently in the middle of the ED - and the older resident would sit with her for a minute, or two, or five. Patient with her. Gentle, even.
But then it was Cassie's week to have Harrison, and despite her reassurance that Trinity could stay, that her son would love her, Santos couldn't bring herself to intrude like that. So she went home, to an empty apartment, and cleared the rotting food out of the fridge.
After about three hours, she slipped into her bedroom, content to sleep away the gap between shifts.
However, after a week away, Trinity had forgotten quite how she had left her room, and, as she stepped into the small space, her eyes landed on her bedside table. Lying there, uncomfortably unhidden, were a collection of scalpels, razors and wads of tissues - most clean, some not.
She jumped out of the room like she had been burnt, blood hot, breath coming in shallow gasps, a sickness settling deep in her gut.
'Fuck.'
Her hands were shaking.
Seeing it all there like that, honest in a way she couldn't be herself, flipped a switch in Trinity's brain. The thoughts had been there already, sure, but now they were dominating.
The apartment felt emptier, she felt colder, the air felt thinner, her skin itched in anticipation.
She should call Cassie.
She was gonna throw up.
Trying her best to force a full breath into her lungs, Trinity threw herself into the bathroom, grabbing the sink like an anchor. She didn't look in the mirror. She didn't even turn the light on.
She should call Cassie.
Cassie would want her to call.
Fuck.
There was some vodka left in the freezer.
~~~
She was a little drunk, sure, but not messy, mean, sloppy, drunk. Not even drunk enough to really be called drunk. Just unbalanced enough that the guilt started to drown in the liquor and Trinity could wrangle her brain into calling an Uber to Cassie's place.
She couldn't even make it through one night alone.
It sucked.
She felt like such a fucking freak. How could everyone else go through life day after day without even thinking about things Trinity had to fight tooth and nail against? What was so fucking wrong with her that damaging herself was the only way she could feel okay?
She needed Cassie.
She hated that too. The older woman was so patient, so understanding, that Trinity actually felt better after talking to her and it scared the shit out of her.
She was honestly kind of expecting Cassie to die, maybe kill herself, or even relapse. Not because she though that the redhead would actually do that, but because she didn't know how else it would end. There was no way - at least in Trinity's understanding of the world - that she could be understood like this and not be left alone again.
So, when Cassie opened the door, all bed-head and sleepy eyes, Trinity threw herself at her, wrapping her arms around the other woman in a tight hug, because she learned the hard way that people who stay can always leave.
To her credit, Cassie was only still for a second before she hugged Trinity right back, easily reacting like this was commonplace.
It was not. They had never hugged before.
'Mum?' Harrison's murmur broke the two women apart. 'Who's that?'
'Hey, honey, this is Trinity.' Cassie said, leading Santos into the apartment properly and closing the door behind them. 'Remember I told you about her?'
Harrison's face lit up.
'The one who visits when she's sad? Does she want me to get my spider-man movies? Or she can play video games in my room! I don't mind the noise and video games always cheer me up.'
Trinity barely had time to wallow in the shame of being 'the one who visits when she's sad' before she's shocked out of it by Harrison's offers. She couldn't imagine a world in which she would have felt safe to offer up her space like that at eleven, couldn't imagine a world in which a new adult wasn't a threat before anything else.
It made her feel sick. Sicker, rather.
Cassie must have caught on somehow, because she didn't let silence linger in the air for even a second.
'I think we're okay, kiddo, but that's a really sweet offer, and I'm sure Trin will play video games with you at some point. For now though, it's past your bedtime.'
'Kay,' Harrison rubbed his eyes, 'I'll leave the spider-man movies outside my room though. Jus' in case.'
Trinity heard his footsteps retreating as the first tear fell.
'You're a wonderful mother, Cassie.'
McKay smiled, half-sad in an all-too-familiar way, and rubbed Trinity's arm gently.
'How much have you had to drink, sweetheart?' She asked, not a single ounce of accusation in her tone.
Trinity felt her skin crawl anyway.
'Just enough to come here.' She had learned quickly that it was best to be honest with Cassie; the woman would suck the truth out of her eventually regardless.
'I couldn't do it, I'm so sorry.' She added, voice shaking, eyes burning, jaw tight.
She hated this part. The first light always burnt the most, her skin blistering in protest before adjusting to the warmth.
(Starting conversations was hard - having them was a relief.)
'You don't need to be sorry,' Cassie guided her to the couch, 'I know how hard this is, but I can't tell you how proud I am of you right now. And how happy I am to see you.'
Trinity scoffed, more reflex than anything else.
'I'm serious, it's been nice to have someone around.' Cassie paused. 'It's been nice to be able to talk about some of this stuff without the other person flinching away. It's nice to be understood again.'
Trinity felt tears fall at the redhead's sincerity, and somewhere deep in her brain, she began to picture Cassie, a faceless best-friend and a loss. She lent into the older woman, sighing as she felt arms settle around her shoulders.
Giving in to the comfort, vodka still blurring her sharper edges, Trinity rested her head, eyes dropping to Cassie's lap.
She was wearing boxer shorts, dark brown hair slightly obscuring the raised scars on her thighs.
The boxer shorts were cute, dark green and thin, riding up a little from how she was sitting.
Trinity pulled at them lightly, 'where'd ya get these, I've been lookin' for some nice box-'
The words died in her throat.
'You have scars?' Trinity jumped back, grabbing Cassie's shoulders to steady herself. 'You have my scars and you didn't say anything?'
Cassie just laughed. Head back, mouth open, eyes scrunched.
'I didn't think I had to!'
'What, because I'm a fukin' mind reader?'
'No, Trin, because,' she lifted up her left arm, 'I thought it was obvious.'
Trinity grabbed the older woman's arm, yanking it close to her face and studying it carefully. Sure enough, faded and mostly hidden under thin hairs or disguised by the pale tone of her skin, were scars.
'Oh.'
Cassie laughed again, leaning back against the sofa and switching on the TV.
'What do you want to fall asleep to today, blind-ass?'