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Three weeks, post rescue, Van begged Tai to come with her to visit Lottie. Pleading, gripping at Tai’s shirt collar, trying to coax her with sweet kisses.
Tai had not been cold, necessarily. Its just—she couldn’t handle the stares and prying eyes of her parents. In Tai’s parlor room her parents eyeing the way Van clung too tightly to her side. Watching intimate movements with dismay. “Jesus, Van. Give me some space.” Placing van’s hands onto her own person for the first time since they had gotten back. Once she glanced at the betrayal on Van’s features she had sighed, put her head in her hands and apologized at least three times.
But it didn’t matter. Van glanced at tai’s parents with their constant surveillance, and they gave her a weak smile that didn’t reach their eyes.
Scourge. That’s what she was. A thorn in a side. In Taissa’s side.
The next day she received a call. “I can’t, Van. I can’t do it,” came the whisper on the other end. Van’s knees had given out on her then, sitting down hard beside her passed out mother. Fingers immediately pacifying her mouth, biting into flesh, and drawing blood.
“Van?” Tai pressed, voice shaky. Van let the tears fall then, watching her mother’s breathing, then glancing at the silent television. She couldn’t let Tai hear her cry, so she said nothing. Neither moved to click off the phone for a while. Only when Van’s mom stirred did she hang up the phone.
Van left the house after that and had walked into the late hours of the night, til her feet ached, and her calves screamed. She walked and imagined Tai were sleepwalking, and she wished she would need her like that again.
It was awful to be there for others. Even more awful to have no one to be there for anymore. She walked aimlessly until dawn, her breath rising with the dropped temperature.
Van was there as soon as the sun breached the horizon. Seated next to Lottie, chewing bubble gum to keep herself awake. She had turned down the bed light to let Lottie sleep, even though the ativan they had given her would keep her under. She watched the girl’s features, now softened with adequate rest. She almost looked angelic laying there. No more blood and flesh stuck to lips; dirt matted into hair.
“You’re still here?” A nurse addressed van. She was surprised anyone could see her, feeling less than nothing today. She nodded. The nurse pointed at Lottie behind the curtain, “She asleep?” she mouthed. Van nodded and the nurse let out a sigh. Van observed the nurse get close to Lottie and pull out her needle and vial.
Suddenly Van was there, hand on the woman’s arm. The nurse jumped back and held a hand over her heart. Van couldn't hold back her glare, used to warn in the wilderness. “I’m sorry about what happened,” The nurse offered after a moment, surprising Van. She stepped back then and remembered they were in a fucking hospital room. She rubbed her eyes blearily then, exhausted.
“I’ll come back. But she has to want to get better too. You know that” The nurse admonished and left. Of course, van fucking knew that. She settled into her chair and tried to find a channel that wasn't garbage.
She didn’t know when she fell asleep but when she awoke the sun was beginning to set. She rubbed her eyes and sat up. Her neck and body ached, muscles screaming. Lottie was dazed and staring at her. The stare made Van break into a clammy sweat. Neither said anything—not that Lottie had been speaking these days.
“They’re going to take your blood again,” Van warned.
Lottie shook her head, her arms wrapping around herself. Van eyed the bruises from previous needles. She walked to the bed and placed a hand just above the bruises.
“You’re scared of needles?” She said in disbelief, restraining a laugh. Lottie queen of the wilderness, petrified of needles.
The nurse came back in, and Lottie gripped van’s wrist in a vice. Van would’ve gasped in pain had it not felt like what she deserved.
“I won’t be long.” The nurse came close, and that’s when Lottie started whimpering—actually whimpering and shaking her head. She resisted and pulled away, holding on desperately to Van. That’s when Van offered her wrist to Lottie, encouraging her to squeeze as hard as she could.
“Deep breaths, remember, Lot?” she coaxed, softly. Lottie finally let the nurse administer the needle. Her eyes widened and she attempted to glance at the source of pain but Van held her face in her hands and they practiced breathing together.
“All done,” The nurse informed and left the room.
“Brave girl,” Van praised. Part of her felt like she was half joking, and the other believed what she was saying. Lottie tried for a smile but only managed a twitch of her lips, succumbing to the ativan again. Van rubbed Lottie’s arm for a moment and went to sit down.
Her mother holding her hand tight enough to hurt. Doctors stick her with needles and take and take from the woman until she is nothing.
She recovers. But needs her pills even long after the injury and wounds have all healed. Van watches, as her mother ceases to care about anything else.
She wakes in a cold sweat, pushing away memories of her only blood relative. Instead, she is greeted by the new hell that is Lottie Matthews. She is finally more alert today, but the nurses are trying to get her to eat her food or drink anything. They see that Van is awake and look relieved.
“Get her to do this for us. She’s not exactly cooperative,” a nurse says more than irritated. The other nurse looks apologetic and leaves too.
Van and Lottie stare at each other wearily.
“You’re not gonna make this easy for me, huh?” Van jokes, weakly. Lottie looks at her food with disdain and pushes the tray away.
“Don’t worry about that right now. How bout we go for a walk? You need sun,” Van offers instead. Knows how uncomfortable and patronizing it is to be forced to take care of your body. Thinks distraction will help.
It does. After Van runs home to grab a backpack with as many clothes and necessities as necessary she busses back. The afternoon sun will do Lottie wonders, she thinks. She gives Lottie a pair of her most feminine clothes and sees her fill with something resembling normalcy. Lottie doesn’t even mention the backpack or how Van looks like shit. If she could talk.
They stroll through the hospital and venture outside. Lottie holds onto van’s arm the entire time, eyes skittering from stranger to stranger. It doesn’t help that they are the town’s most infamous graduates. Van just glares at them and asks a few to take a picture instead. She can’t help but wonder how they appear to others.
Van runs out of clothes too quickly. She packs up her bag and stands to leave. She thinks Lottie is sleeping but at the door she hears a pathetic whimpering. She turns and goes immediately to her side, petting her soft hair, “I need fresh clothes. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Lottie almost doesn’t let her go but finally releases her hand.
Van nearly runs home. She has an idea and smiles broadly to herself. Packing up her new VHS system and throwing a couple quintessential movies into her bag, she heads back out, not even taking a second glance at her mom. Lottie had told her long ago that she never saw lion king.
Once back, Van tries hard to figure out the hospital television setup. She swears and curses under her breath and Van swears she hears Lottie let out a small laugh. Finally, the video plays and Van sighs with relief. She closes their curtain and goes to sit in the chair. After squirming uncomfortably for a while, Lottie taps her shoulder and pats the bed next to her. Van nearly weeps at the small kindness.
Lottie doesn’t talk throughout the movie, and this makes her Van’s favourite movie buddy of all time. She doesn’t even complain when Van offers useless movie fact after fact.
Its not all smooth sailing obviously. Understatement. Lottie is getting weaker, her strength leaving her. Van notices it a few nights into their arrangement. After their nightly walk, when Lottie loses her footing. Van’s heart is in her stomach as they have to stop their walks. Overhears the doctors murmur about a feeding tube. She also hears her cry full body sobs in the night and Van has to climb into bed to hold her.
So, Van does what she knows. Smooths Lottie’s hair out of her face, caresses the once-god’s cheek. Lottie leans into the touch, closing her eyes. Lottie reminds Van of a hurt animal.
Van isn’t entirely primal anymore; still wakes growling when others touch her, unable to form words for the first few minutes after consciousness—but she has adjusted enough to social taboos and norms again. She frowns, then, at Lottie who carries a literal scar and reminder of their time in purgatory, who shoulders that dark spirit. Subconsciously, her fingers lift to the white bundle of scar tissue. Lottie blinks, dazed at her and recoils from the touch. Van tries again and Lottie lets her but only for a minute or two.
At night, the wilderness is unrelenting, cold seeping into the cabin and into the ground of their new home. Darkness is eternal in here, fire snuffs out. the girls become one together for survival, limbs stuck to limbs. Every few weeks their food supply dwindles, and there is one less body for warmth.
Van burrows into Lottie’s side every night, spear at the ready, protecting against any usurpers or traitors.
Toward the end, Lottie had worn the crown. She had been an eldritch horror, an otherworldly terror beyond their comprehension. Now she was at the mercy of mortal doctors, shrinks, psychiatrists and heavy sedatives.
“You have to eat what they give you, Lot,” Van advises. Lottie stares off despondent again.
“If you don’t, they’ll put a tube down your throat. It's not fun.” Van’s voice more forceful this time.
Still nothing.
Lottie pushes Van’s hand off her. Van takes the rejection well, storming off. The curses she wants to string together are too vile and cruel for the girl, eldritch horror aside.
Once in the hall, she stops at the payphone and picks it up, dialing the number with practiced ease. She is just about to slip a quarter in, when she remembers its Tai, she is calling. She slams the phone onto the receiver and receives a glare from the patrons and secretary. A few people connect the dots and feel sorry for her. Pity.
Van huffs and her feet carry her outside. She walks for three blocks until her venom turns into horrible aching loneliness.
Missing her mother of all fucking people. Pathetic.
Her mother had hugged and kissed her, actually fucking held her, had paid so much attention to her in those first day’s, post rescue. Her mother showing so much suppressed love, submerging her, and drowning her. Pulling her down under.
Was it horrible she missed when she didn’t care at all? The first settlement payment her mother had spent it all at the casino, or booze, the new car and yes, her fucking pills. Their house now littered with filth and unfamiliar men.
Van hated when her mom was never there. Had hated when her mom was there. But it just fucking hurt now that she knew what her mother could give. That at her core she was nurturing.
She turned into a store and bought cigarettes, a tall can of beer and a porn magazine. The teller didn’t bat an eye as Van claimed, “I’m a dyke.” She threw the magazine out and tried to light a cigarette, the lighter burning her hand. She winced and swore. Finally, it caught.
Van was not a regular smoker—but it did wonders for her nerves. She opened the beer and chugged it, throat spilling down the cold dough water.
“Hey asshole—” the passerby stopped once they recognized her and kept walking double taking.
Finishing the first cigarette she started another. Her beer now finished, dropping the can. She thought about buying another, but alcohol would only make her angrier. She walked until the second cigarette was done.
She stopped and considered her options. Tai couldn’t fucking stomach being with her. She tried not to break down at this simple fact, was relieved it was mutual enough. Might as well have no mother. The other survivors lost in their own worlds, trying to keep afloat in their old town again. She had no one. No one in the world but nothing’s ruler herself.
She ached and retreated back to the hospital, at least calmer.
Once back she settles into the hospital chair, still more than a little pissed with her life and Lottie’s fucking aggravating condition. She picks at skin on her hands as a movie plays in the background. When was the last time she had gotten a proper night’s rest? She rubs her eyes.
“You should go,” came a rough whisper next to her. Van snaps her attention to the girl, wide awake next to her.
“Your first words are so inspiring,” Van replies wryly, “Good joke, Lot.” Van tries a strained smile. Lottie just lays her head back and looks away. Van grips the knees of her worn out pants and clenches her jaw.
“My movies that bad, Lot?” She tries again for levity.
Silence.
The movie seems stupid now.
“You’re not serious, right?” disbelief and hurt evident in her voice, sorrow jumping into her throat, choking her. Emotions betraying her body.
Lottie hands her the letter, in perfect script. Malcolm Matthews. Lottie's dad. She opens it, reads the words, 'Dearest daughter, and no visible improvement and Specialist care in Switzerland. Van crumples the letter and stands.
"Fuck him. He hasn't been here! You—You can fight this. Fight them, Charlotte. Come on. Don’t let them end your reign like this,” pleading now. Lottie looks small and tired. Looks how van feels. Not eating, not sleeping, roaming around with her at night.
Has she done a single goddamn thing right?
“Let me take care of you,” Van chokes out, “Please…. If not for you—for me.”
The movie continues in the background and Lottie distracts herself, mouth wavering from neutral. Her forehead betrays her too, knitting together with worry.
Van does what she knows. She kneels. Head bowed. Lottie gazes hard at the girl, eyes wide. Lottie places a hand on the top of van’s head, fingers interlocking with red tangles of hair. Van lifts her head to stare up at the girl. Lottie gestures a cutting motion on her hand and rubs her fingers against van’s forehead, down her check, and Van leans into the touch, gazing up reverently at the wounded prophet. The hospital almost casts a halo of light against her hair.
Then the fucking spell is broken, and van breaks down first burying her face into the bed sheets.
When did it get this bad? The both of them?
“I can’t lose you too,” Van breathes hotly, fists in her hospital gown now. Lottie makes a noise now. Deep in her throat. Van doesn’t need to look to know the sound is crying.
Lottie squeezes Van’s hands and then pulls her up into the bed. Van follows—always follows—and burrows into Lottie’s side, arms wrapped fully almost painfully around the girl’s ribs. Van tucks herself under Lottie’s chin and lets sobs wrack her body. Lottie laces her fingers in her hair and strokes the red pieces as the two of them come undone.
They’re going to send her away. Going to send Lottie Matthews away. Sweet and precious Lottie Matthews. Severe and punishing ruler Lottie Matthews. She can’t even help her. Can’t help her mother. Can’t keep Lottie, or her mother or Tai.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs over and over into Lottie’s chest. Lottie stops her ministrations and lifts Van’s chin to face her. Lottie Matthews places a sweet kiss upon Van’s forehead, over her own scar. She holds her face in her hands and they hold eye contact until Van blinks. She stops her crying then.
They stay like that, tucked into each other for hours. There’s nothing to be done. Nothing left to save.
Van turns on the television and they fall asleep to Practical Magic.
Its useless to recount how Van has to be physical separated from Lottie. How she has to be restrained by three or four different security guards. Useless to recall how she watches them take away her only meaning.
Nothing can be done.
It doesn’t hurt any less.
The guards let Van go after a brief talk with the cops. After seeing the plane crash survivor, they only seem apologetic. The police give disgusted looks to security when they examine the bruising on Van. She thinks she hears one of them say, “hasn’t she been through enough?”
The police offer Van a ride home, buy her a meal which she can’t stomach. Shower her in privilege she can’t fucking stand. Finally, she accepts their phone call.
Tai is there in under 15 minutes crushing Van in a huge hug. Van is too numb to feel relief. Can’t even hug her back.
“Baby, I’m so sorry. I should have been here,”
She pulls back and her eyes widen at the new injuries. Taissa’s parents are there then and they’re suddenly warmer than before. They demand to speak to someone and threaten a lawsuit. Going to make whoever did this pay. Van supposes this must be their love.
When they’re out of earshot of Tai’s parents, Tai asks, “Since when do you smoke?”
Tai’s turn to be impossibly close and clingy. Van doesn’t mind. Supposes this is her new baseline.
Tai forces her parents to move Van in, nothing stopping her ambition and persistence. Van lets her.
Tai holds her that night, shirts off but all the love from earlier cooled down.
She stares out Tai’s perfect window and into the unrelenting moon.
She wonders if Lottie is rising as she is setting.