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"It's not my fuckin' fault!"
Shouting. Normally, the people passing around the small, abandoned place Zanka and Jabber hung out in were used to noises, most of the time from physical pain rather than.. Whatever seemed to be collecting in there.
"Except it fucking is!" Zanka screams back, throwing her hands in the air as she walks around, pacing. "I told you- no, I fucking said it, again, and- I think I couldda said it a billion times fucking over, and- I begged you! To not! Do you know how hard it was? I told you what bothered me, asked you, all that communication bullshit- that were are supposed to be fucking doing! And you ignored it!"
Jabber scoffs and leans against a counter, rolling her eyes. "You fuckin' wanted it, don't go pretending I did some bad shit, how was I meant to know!"
"By how I was sobbing and begging you to stop it?" Zanka shoots back incredulously.
"Like that hasn't been the case before, and you- in the past you acted all sweet with me when I did that shit, what's changed now! Nothing!"
A hand goes to Zanka's chest as she looks over at her, "I changed! I thought we changed, but apparently you still haven't l-"
A loud scoff sounds as Jabber walks closer to her, a hand on her hip.
“Don’t act like anything's different! You’re still the same pathetic woman you were in the beginning, and I'm still- me! You fucking chose me! You put yourself here, what, you’re going to leave? You're going to pussy out on this just as you do with everything!?”
Zanka moves back slightly at the woman's jabbing statements, and her eyes narrow, a slight burn and constricting feeling in her throat making her worry about how much longer she can fight. “I never said I was going to leave! I never fucking said that. I chose you because I love you, and I thought that you loved me! Which, I can see, is- was a stupid thing for me to think. I thought you were more of a person than the one I met. I thought you wanted me! You never fucking did!”
She walks closer to the woman, the anger in her eyes flashing a look of pleading. “I wanted you,” She starts a sentence she isn't sure she knows how to end.
“Oh, don't try to play sad, don't try to play this game with me,”
Jabber's face still shows anger, Zanka pulls back her attempt at some form of intimacy, some form of calm in the midst of whatever they've started.
“What game! I tried,” Zanka's cut off by a hand on the collar of her shirt, shoving her against a counter with an iron grip.
“Tried? You- you're not fucking leaving.” Jabber’s eyes have something in them that makes Zanka's breath catch in her chest as she notices the woman about to move her.
One thing lands in Zanka's mind. I’m about to die. In this shitty kitchen, with its rotting floor, with that smell that makes my head feel like it wants to explode, with a woman that never loved me. Emotion drains from her, her vision dulls.
Without her permission, her body moves. A fist finds the woman's face, and she doubles back.
Zanka’s hand finds Jabber's hair. Using her bodyweight, she throws the woman off of her, and once the woman falls onto the ground, a loud crack sounds throughout the room. She finds herself on top of the woman. First after fist, punch after punch is thrown at the woman, until there's blood on her hands, until it starts to leak from the woman's face and onto the ground beneath her. There's a point when there's a clear indicator that it isn't just self-defence. No one believes when people say they just.. Couldn't stop.
“Hah,” Jabber laughs once the onslaught ends, heavy breaths drawing out of both of them, Zanka's chest heaving as her vision fades in and out. “You’re just like me.”
A hand moves to the woman's throat, Zanka's eyes widen as she feels the heart beat, and she thinks about squeezing it. Squeezing the woman's life out of her throat, until she starts coughing, and sobbing, and screaming, and begging, just as Zanka did when she wanted Jabber to get off of her, just as she did when she was dreaming of something close to healthy with them and fucking dreamed of something deeper than this.
“No one would take you, other than me. Good girls that have good husbands don't beat their partners.”
Zanka looks up, looks at pink eyes, face emotionless. The face that stares back at her has a manic smile.
“No one can love you like how I do.” Thunder booms.
Previously soft patterns of rainfall begin to rush down.
She stands. Without fanfare, without any applause or reaction.
She walks home. People gape and whisper.
Jabber grabs a drink. Jabber feels the energy drain from her into the floor. She grabs the bottle. She thinks that it was about time.
The door of the cleaners opens. There's nothing different as she walks through the halls, the chatter, and the sound of people laughing. Nothing's changed, not really; people are the same, Jabber's the same, the scent of her room remains that dull, average incense. She lies on her bed. Looks over at Assistaff. Why did it feel safe to leave her home, to not take her out when she knew Jabber would be there?
They’d been dating for four months, been talking, and in a situationship for almost a year! She thought that since Jabber has literally beaten people to a pulp for looking at her wrong, she would protect her.
Thought that all the times they were together..
The thought dribbles out of her grasp as she lies on her back, a faint ache from the counter. She dreads the looks from people if they see it, people thinking she got lucky, or tripped with a trashbeast.
It’s not like she could tell anyone. Yeah, the cleaners know that she's dating Jabber, they've thought that they've been dating for a while, and Zanka's tried- is trying, so hard to make sure they like her. Which is dumb, she supposes. She tosses her shoes off.
She hates how clean it is here. The floors are spotless, everything neat, no scents that aren't meant to be there, no sounds she didn't meticulously choose out.
Is it really her? Certainly doesn't feel like it right now.
She doesn't know why, but Jabber's place felt comfortable. Sure, she had to walk in certain patterns to not fall, but it felt like a home. You could hear people talking at night, and you could hear their laughs. It seems so perfect.
The heat. She raises her hand, looking at her perfectly manicured nails, at how the fabric shows none of what's underneath.
Eugh. The fabric sticks to her skin.
She’s been out since the night previous, and based on how the sun's dipping down, and the grumbling in her stomach from the fact that she hasn't eaten since she left in the first place. (Jabber didn’t have much of anything, let alone decent food.)
Shower, then eat.
Most of the time, she is able to take down a trashbeast without sweating, but even standing from her position feels like a lot. Sliding the rings off of her fingers and pulling the fabric up her arms, she walks over to her dresser, made out of a nice wood, clothes inside sorted nicely.
It's just so.. Different from her partner. She isn't meant to be different.
A few of Jabber's t-shirts catch her eye, normally she wore those to sl- nothing's stopping her. She grabs one of the shirts, a dark colored band t-shirt that Jabber talked about, and grabs a pair of pajama pants.
Her showers slow. The water, although turned to the highest setting, and turning her pale skin a pink-like hue, doesn't feel warm enough. The scents of her soap are too strong, the washcloth she uses rubs her skin like sandpaper, and she just wants to sleep. Maybe she is being dramatic.
She steps out, not bothering to dry herself before getting into her clothes and walking back to her room.
All Jabber did was what she normally does, and she's right! Jabber couldn't have known that in this instance, she was being for real.
She shouldn't blame her. Even if she should, she doesn't think she could.
The hamper opens with a quiet creak, and she drops her clothes into it.
It's fine.
She walks to the kitchen. Dinner was hours ago. It's quiet in there; the sound of people in the dining room is quiet from there. She doesn't need much; she doesn't feel like she needs (deserves) to eat at all, so she grabs a granola bar, one of the shitty ones Enjin packs on missions because they have protein, and looks in the fridge. Dozens of prepacked meals, none of them appealing.
Grabbing a bottle of water, she leaves.
Assistaff hums in the corner as she eats, and Zanka almost feels herself cry. Putting the package down, she picks up the stick. Her stick. Her life. Everything feels so fickle.
When Zanka puts her hands on something, when she wants something, not because she wants to improve, but when she wants something for herself, for selfish reasons, it slips away.
No.
She takes a breath and lies down. Assitaff lies next to her, and Zanka rolls onto her side.
Her hand feels the grooves of Assistaff and crawls to her collar.
"I'm sorry."
She says to the open line. Silence is her reward.
"I shouldn't have screamed or hit you like that. Need to be more clear. I need to.. I don't know. Really, I'm sorry, Jabber."
No one responds. She feels her heart sink in her chest.
She needs Jabber. Needs her so badly.
Minutes pass.
She stays on her bed. Staring at Assistaff and thinking.
How did it get like this? She loves Jabber, my, she loves Jabber so much. Loves the early mornings at her house. The ones where Jabber makes them food. She loves the late night, where they giggle, where she feels safe. Jabber's right.
Her parents couldn't handle her. They all hated her. Thought she was a disappointment. The cleaners find her annoying. They never want to be around her.
Jabber's right. No one besides her could put up with her, much less..
Her eyes widened slightly, in that dreamy way.
Jabber loves her.
No one's really done that before. She screams. She shouts. Tells Jabber nasty things. Tells Jabber she hates her.
But Jabber still stays.
Sometimes she does think she hates Jabber, wishes she could leave. Wishes she could leave and not feel the pit in her chest.
"Mm"
A sound comes from the collar, and Zanka's hands clutch around it like it's her lifeline.
"Jabber, I'm sorry."
"Leave me be, Zanka."
Her heart drops at the voice of the woman on the other line.
Her hand falls onto the bed, and she stares at it. Allows it to fall limp as the silence of her room becomes suffocating. If she hadn't left Jabber's house, they would be back to laughing by now. It crumples, her fingers tense like a spider dying.
She smiles, a weary thing as she thinks about how Jabber always wanted them to stay alive, kills all the other bugs, she'd say, plus the venomous ones always made for a good time. Zanka never appreciated it then.
Why is she mourning something that hasn't left her?
She might. With how Zanka has been acting.
For a moment, she thinks she wouldn't even blame Jabber if she did leave her.
Her legs move without her permission, and she finds herself outside a familiar door. Normally, the man would be out, doing stupid shit, but they have a mission, and with how Semiu chewed him out last time, he does what he is meant to.
“Enjin?” She knocks on the door, her voice small.
Clearing her throat, Enjin opens the door, leaning against it and looking at her with a smirk.
“What's up?”
“When you like a girl, and she's angry, like.. You really messed things up. What would you do to fix it?”
Enjin's eyebrows raise for a moment, and a chuckle leaves him as he opens the door, motioning for Zanka to enter while he sits on his bed.
“Well,” A laugh, “What I would do and what you should do are highly different.”
Zanka nods her head and stands there before Enjin motions for her to sit. She follows and stares up at him.
“I.. would- wait, okay, there's” He makes a motion with his hands that Zanka isn't sure she knows is supposed to mean, “Variables here. If it were a kinda, she saw me kissing her sister, or that one time her brother- anyways, story for a different time, then it would probably be a kind of getting her flowers and begging her to take me back thing. I know, the Enjin, begging? Women love it when you make them think they have power, even if you know it's nothing. If it was, what I'm assuming is going on with you, and it’s a you told a crazy bitch to not be crazy, bottle of some good alcohol, and smack her shit up some.”
“What if she doesn't want to talk?”
Enjin raises a brow.
“Then make her? Like- hold on, don’t take this as a meet some sweet girl and make her do anything, absolutely not, things are great with consent, buuuuuuuuuuut..” He chuckles, “I’ve known a girl or.. Waay too many to be a sane number that are that type, putting the word whore in the word horrifying, masochistic, man-hater, bark and bite bitches! They want to think you like ‘em. All they want is for you to be BATSHIT over ‘em, that's part of why they're so obsessed with marks, they wanna know you won't leave. So. Don't leave. She’ll fight ya some, yeah, but she's just playing hard to get! Go to her place, bottle of somethin’, have a good time,”
“What's the longest time you've had a girlfriend?”
He deadpans.
“Did you want my advice or not? Also,” He puts a hand to his chest, in fake pain, “Ow?”
Enjin’s always so.. Perfect. Even though it's clear from his clothes that he was about to settle down for the night, his hair still looks perfect, and the smile he gives her seems to be contagious as she does as well. Things get rough, but he is always their anchor. Whether it be with missions or late-night mental breakdowns, he’s there. His advice might be shit, but.. He makes everything feel better, even if it's just for a little bit.
“Alright, thanks. But if she hates me even more, I'm blaming you.” She says as she places her hands on her knees and stands, and Enjin holds up a hand for her to pause and starts rifling through his drawers for a moment.
Tossing her a bottle of some amber, see-through liquid, he grins. “This’ll be sure to work, she's old.”
Enjin, although being known for his.. Prolocivities isn't the one that normally should be trusted. The man lives woman to woman, and subconsciously has a need for them to prove that they're conscious before he views them as more than an object.
Regardless, Zanka is walking through the rain, which is falling over her softly, holding this bottle. The walk to Jabber's is far, which makes her more shocked at all the times Jabber's randomly spawned in her room. Zanka pretty much entirely zoned out while walking away earlier, so she has a good amount of time to think. Which is both a good and bad thing.
It's calm. Most people, most sane people at least, have gone to sleep, which leaves the streets consumed in darkness, the scent of the rain prevalent over the usual stink of the area, and provides something comforting. She needs that right now. Zanka doesn't really know what she's looking for.
All of Zanka's life, she's had a plan; she's loved her schedules and training times and expectations and regularity. That isn't something she gets from Jabber. That's what drew her to the woman, after the beginning. Because her whole life she's fought to be worthy, of love, of time, approval, and.. Life.. She supposes. But Jabber doesn't do that. She has no family wanting her to do things, and she has no expectations except for the ones she sets for herself. So, yeah, Ms Zanka, the perfect woman, was jealous.
Was, being the keyword there. She doesn't think she's jealous of her anymore, but she wants.
Wants to be in Jabber's life, to be hers.
An intake of breath rushes through her as she remembers the scars over her back, shoulder blade to shoulder blade of Jabber's name.
She arrives at the house. It takes her a while, and her heart beats in her chest, the sound traveling to her ears as she knocks.
There's no response, so she waits a moment and opens the door.
The stench hits her first. Of course it does.
"Jabber!" Zanka calls out, looking around for her.
Jabber is a strong woman; her mother died before she hit the double digits. She was homeless for years, joined the raiders, made a name for herself, used her mother's rings, her poisons to make sure she would never end up like her. She remembers how it all ended. That argument between her parents. She remembers hiding and sobbing. Quietly, of course, she wouldn't want her father to hear.
She was fighting with Zanka earlier, and in her mind, as Zanka left, all she could think was, 'I've turned into both of them.'
He would always hit first, his mother would cry and scream, but it was all fake. That night, when it all ended, she never thought she would miss her mother's crying.
Jabber's positioned like how she, Jabber's mama, had once been, except the only poison in her system currently was the alcohol. Blood had run down her arms in thick rivulets, now wrapped in white- red stained bandages concealed under an oversized shirt, a pounding in her head that makes her think.
She wouldn’t die. Not like her mother did, at least.
Zanka wasn't her father. Sha came back.
Her back is to the island, eyes crusted and body screaming as she stands, turning and looking back at Zanka.
She's sure that if she hadn't taken care of the wounds herself, Zanka would have. Would've helped her.
In her lowest moments, she thinks of Zanka as somewhat of a savior. The days she's there, she makes sure Jabber’s safe; she has saved her from herself more times than she can count.
“You’re back.”
Zanka’s eyes are wet as she walks forward, placing the bottle onto the table with a soft clink.
“I should’ve never left.” Her hands find Jabber's face, looking over it for wounds, love, looking at her like she's the only thing that matters, as if the moment she looks away, Jabber will slip through her fingers.
Hands trace down and fall onto the woman's hips, her face tucking into the space between her shoulder and her head, Zanka’s cheek pressed against the other woman, a sheen of sweat on tawny skin causing a texture that would normally be disgusting, but just feels human. Feels real.
Jabber hates it. Jabber loves it more than anything. She's scared. And Happy.
She’s never known how to love, she thinks. Zanka's arms tighten around her, silent.
The only relationships she's had have been transactional, with her trading something, her skills, occasionally her body, for something in return, something of convenience. She hasn't cared. Hasn't cared about anyone other than what they can give to her since.. very long ago. But that changed, with Zanka. With her stupid laugh, when she's really tickled, something that sounds like a rusty door hinge, when amused, just adorable giggles that make her forget everything bad for a moment, her hair that she once let Jabber use gel on and make ridiculous, the sharp quips, the way that no matter who, she wants to help. Even if she acts like a bitch beforehand. Jabber never notices the small things, only cares about adrenaline, and only wants the bright moments. Zanka made her want the quiet moments. The gentle touches when she gets hurt, the murmurs of love she's never slowed down enough to hear before. And it's terrifying. It feels wrong, makes her want to crawl out of her skin, and want to be so close to Zanka she's crawling into hers instead.
“Why the fuck’d you bring me booze?” Jabber says after a moment, looking at the counter.
Laughing nervously, Zanka backs up slightly. “Enjin told me that would, uh, make you not angry with me anymore.” A hand leaves Jabber and scratches her neck. Jabber misses the closeness, but won't say anything.
She smiles and backs away from the woman.
“And you listened to him?” Jabber puts a hand on her hip, face fond.
“I didn't know what to do,”
The, I was scared I was going to lose you, is conveniently left out. But Jabber still hears it.
Narrowing her eyes for a moment, she walks (using the counter for support, praying Zanka doesn't notice that) over and picks up the bottle, looking it over before looking at Zanka open-mouthed.
“Why did he give you the good shit?? How panicked were you??”
“We really ain't gotta talk about it.”
Jabber should be done drinking today; she should've been done about half of her own bottle of shitty jack ago, but regardless, she moves to open it, a movement that is interrupted by Zanka putting her hand on it.
“Maybe water instead?” She tilts her head, and Jabber feels something swell in her chest before she sighs.
“You're no fun, Zanki!” She groans and walks over to the couch, cracking a bottle open after grabbing it.
Zanka takes a breath out. Smiles.
“Sit down,” Jabber says as she takes a seat on the couch.
Zanka complies and walks over, hip brushing against Jabber’s with the closeness. She looks over at the woman as she takes a drink, looking over the exposed skin of her neck for a moment.
She wordlessly offers the bottle to Zanka, of which she takes. Instead of taking a sip like the woman had, she simply places it onto the ground next to them. Jabber motions for her to lie, and in complying, her head rests against the armrest. Jabber slithers up and lies on her chest, appreciating the layer of fat- however small, that may act as her pillow here.
“That was kinda hot,” Jabber says after a moment.
Zanka almost chokes as she looks at Jabber, absolutely sure that she doesn't look good from what angle she's being looked at from.
“I mean like, I thought you were gonna kill me for a second there!”
She grumbles something, looking off to the side, over at where it had happened. She thought quite similarly during those moments.
“You're such a fucking freak.”
Jabber wraps her arms around Zanka, and with a smile and a nuzzle into her chest, she says, in a tone a lot more wholesome than it should be for the context, “Your freak.”
Turning to look at the roof, she takes an arm from under the woman and gestures outward.
“Until the day that you die, that we both die.”
Zanka swallows. She knows that she's telling the truth.
There was no Zanka without her Jabber. No Jabber without her Zanka. All intrinsically written. In the bonds they've made to each other. The lack thereof with the rest of the world. Because at the end of the day, what's God's word to your wife? Who matters when the one person who understands you is gone?
There's no love outside of Jabber.
No love, or chance of life outside of this dingy house.
Because there is one truth about them, about a love like theirs.
They are conjoined. No one can survive a separation like that.