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Collie Parker was nervous.
Honestly, she was always nervous about something — not a loud nervous, but there was always a tremble to her fingers and hesitance when she spoke. This time, however, seemed different than all of those. Didn’t feel like one of her normal shivers or worries.
She was in Grace Barkovitch’s home, in her room, still in an old, tattered sweater that had yet to fall apart at the seams — surrounded by things and trinkets that cost more than her grandfather's funeral had. She held her year-long-used sketchbook in clammy, sweaty hands. The book itself was one of her favorite things she owned — it had stickers both stolen and given from the rest of the group, as well as her full name in her grandmother’s gorgeous, curly handwriting.
Grace sat beside her, arm thrown lazily over her shoulder and head tilted. How she had even gotten here, she still didn’t quite know.
It was a Thursday, or maybe a Friday, when Grace had suggested she come over sometime to hang out — just the two of them, unlike the usual seven or eight packed into one of their houses. She loved her friends, well, most of them — Hank could get on her nerves sometimes — but sometimes it was annoying to try and explain to her grandma why she was asking to invite over six other people. So, with that in mind, the invitation for two was a breath of fresh air.
However, when she had said ‘hang out’, Collie had not assumed that meant giving her a free tour of all her drawings. Sure, she showed them occasionally to Art — who, out of all of the group, had the most care of the arts — or Harkness; she mostly kept them to herself. The sketches were hers and hers only. No one else's, and that would never change. But, Grace had begged for an hour to see the drawings — and after a promise to never tell anyone else; Collie allowed it.
It was only as she drove there she realized Grace had never invited them over to her house before.
Entering Grace’s house was like stepping into a new world. Every wall was a sight to behold around her, and the decorations were the very first thing she had noticed when entering the house. They had — put simply — huge narcissistic energy. Gold danced off every wall and ceiling, with the occasional white and silver being used — mostly for the bathroom. (Yes, her family had some pristine, pure white, fucking shined toilet in their restroom.) Collie had known Grace’s family to be rich, but she never quite considered just how rich.
And yet, the moment that Collie was busy obsessing over some artist’s painting hanging off of Grace’s wall and the girl in question stood beside her, leaning over her shoulder with that blonde hair scratching at her neck, all thoughts of the house — actually, just all thoughts — went straight out the window.
Now they rested on her couch, Collie holding up the drawings of girls and boys in their day clothes and bathing suits and — well, often nothing. Occasionally, Grace would hum and nod and make vague gestures and compliments, that could honestly be used to describe anything from drawings to a car.
At one point, Grace had wrapped an arm around Collie’s shoulder and stared at a drawing of a blonde man lying seductively on his back with his body on full display. Collie remembered drawing him — how she directed the posing, and afterwards he had approached and asked for her cell. She had to, respectfully, decline. And then winced when he said he would, in fact, not be returning for another drawing, and that she could keep her work.
After a beat of silence, grey-blue eyes gazing over the pencil marks, she muttered, “Could you draw me?”
Collie looked up, at first thinking she heard her wrong, and being met with the sight of Grace’s dark eyes perked in actual interest for the first time that evening. She had said before that she did not find much enjoyment in her childhood home.
Collie hummed quietly, turning back to the page and nodding subtly. She flipped the page again, hoping the action would smooth out her jittering fingers.
“Wearin’ this,” she adds on, dangling a beautiful golden necklace with the purest of whites in a jewel on the end, encased in a spine of 24k-something-bullshit, that looked like it belonged in a museum.
Collie gently took the jewel in a cupped hand, muttering a quiet, “Holy shit,” to herself, and looking back up at Grace, “What is this? Family heirloom? Stolen from the Louvre?”
Grace shook her head, a smile playing on her lips, “It was my meemaw's — she left it to me, because my mom lost everythin’ the moment she got it. Not that it was really her fault — she didn’t mean to get memory problems — but meemaw just didn’t trust her.”
“Uh-huh,” Collie hummed, turning it over in her palm. The thing was gorgeous, in all honesty. It smelled like money and turned-up noses, but the necklace itself was a divine item to own. “I can make that work.” As Collie was starting to think about posing and how many damn kneaded erasers she would need, she startled when she looked up to see Grace pulling off her top. “What the hell are you doing?” She asked, sitting up straight now.
The blonde girl barely looked over, pausing in her movements after tossing her shirt onto another couch — how many couches did one family need? — to hold up the necklace like an answer.
“I said “wearing this”, Coll,” Grace raised her eyebrow, as if Collie was the one acting strange! She had some nerve after starting to undress in front of her, “Not something else.”
Collie sat with that for a minute, mouth hanging open until she thought to close it as Grace stepped forward — kneeling in front of her.
“Collie, if you don’t—“ she hesitated, and Collie grabbed her hand after seeing her nail start to make a crescent-shaped indent in her palm, “If you don’t wanna do that, that’s fine. That’s okay. I was just—just jokin’ around, y’know? I didn’t wanna, like, make you uncomfortable or somethin’—”
“Hey,” Collie muttered, trying her best to be gentle as she held both of Grace’s hands, “I’m fine with that. Just didn’t expect it. Don’t panic, it’s fine.”
She could hear the girl’s breathing stutter, eyes darting between Collie and the wall behind her, and then back again. “Do you mean that, or are you just sayin’ it so I don’t freak out?”
“I mean it,” she said; final and quick — quick to calm. She knew how Grace could get when like this; hitting and scratching herself, and not stopping until someone — usually herself, Ray, or Stebbins — pulled her hands away. “I swear.” Collie, reluctantly, released her wrists as Grace went to stand up, hands reaching for her belt. In the meantime, Collie busied herself with preparing.
An empty page, multiple pencils in case one breaks, and at least four kneaded erasers.
The moment she started, she knew the paper wasn’t what she was gonna be focused on.
Grace Barkovitch was a beauty, in Collie’s honest opinion. She had scars and scratches and white, jagged lines up and down her arms, sides, and thighs- and Collie could tell which one came before or after another.
Her skin was gorgeous, with visible color difference on her legs and torso from the sun beating down each day. Short-cut hair rested just above her shoulders, some strands chopped quick and some looked straight from a salon. It was, like everything with Grace, unpredictable.
She laid on her side, one arm resting just above her hip and then the other near her head – as she had directed her to do. Her eyes were stuck solely on Collie, blue never leaving brown. “Is this good?” Grace asked, voice seeming loud, even though she barely spoke, in an otherwise silent room.
Collie nodded – short, simple, something that gave her an excuse to pull her eyes away from Grace’s chest and begin to draw.
Late that night, Collie laid in Grace’s bed with her hair in a braid, blanket tossed aside and loose strands scratching at the back of her neck. The girl was in the bathroom — the only room with the lights still turned on, which allowed Grace to be the only thing Collie could clearly see.
When she eventually stepped out, climbing into bed beside her, she looked eased. With a moment of hesitance, she settled next to Collie with a hand tossed over her and head resting near her shoulder. Grace let out a quiet, soft breath as Collie let their fingers intertwine over her chest. After a few minutes of silence, the two just breathing in each other's existence, Grace finally spoke up, “I liked today.” She glanced up, tired eyes meeting hers.
“Maybe we should do it again sometime,” Collie said, a murmur to the words as she fought to stay awake. With her free hand, she wrapped her arm around Grace’s waist, pulling the girl closer. Grace hummed, gave a small nod, and — curled into Collie’s body, wrapped around each other in every way two people could be — let herself rest.
It was quite easy to sleep, as everything was with her girl.