Chapter Text
She always hated when he got like this.
“I didn’t ask for your pity,” Adam snarled.
He was lounging in the armchair, his eyes masked behind his hand. Even if Blake hadn’t caught sight of the cigarette pinched between his fingers, the suffocating smell of smoke in the apartment would have given away how long he’d been wallowing in this state of melancholy.
“You know I hate it when you do that. It makes me feel pathetic.”
Blake said nothing. She bit back the tremble in her bottom lip and gripped even tighter onto the bag of groceries in her arms. A flurry of words swam in her mind but each felt caught in her throat. She knew she had to say something. It was always worse if she didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry,” Blake mumbled. She didn’t risk looking over to Adam, in case those piercing eyes of his were bearing into her. “I was just worr—”
“Maybe you should worry about yourself first.” Adam always cut her off. He preferred to rule the household like he had an iron fist. “You can barely hold down a job and we’re behind on bills because of it. You think we can afford you being that selfish?”
Blake swallowed down the retorts that clawed away at the cage of her lungs, pleading for freedom. Adam was the one who didn’t have a job. Adam was the one who relied on her. It was his fault any semblance of security was eroding with each passing day. There was a brief flash of pain—she hadn’t noticed how hard she was pressing her nails into the kitchen counter.
She just needed to endure it a little longer. The second account she’d opened almost had enough money inside to keep her going. It had taken Blake months to save up for her new life, one free from Adam, paid for only with the dregs at the bottom of her paycheck that he wouldn’t notice go missing.
There’s a place for anyone in Patch. I can promise you that.
Blake held those words tight to her chest and found a spot to perch them close to her heart. She closed her eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of golden locks in that black void. A promise so fickle and yet she reached for it with both hands.
Blake was glad that Yang lived alone. It was nice to have a place to retreat to, at that moment.
She didn’t mean to run like she did. She hoped Yang wouldn’t worry. Blake hated it—the way Yang’s face contorted with concern so often, how she seemed to see right through her mask of normalcy. That wasn’t what she was looking for here. Was it reckless to come here?
She tried to find a point to focus her eyes on. She needed an anchor in this haze, this blinding rush of fear pressing tight against her diaphragm. Blake dug her fingers deeper into the fabric of the couch and finally felt a solitary shaky breath come free from her throat. Yang’s living room was a soothing atrium—so lived in and so well loved. Memories colored all of it. It felt wrong to pervert it with the spearhead of her fears, but Blake’s legs were too weighed down by gravity.
All it had taken was the sound of an approaching car to drag her back below the surface, staring up at sunlight as it was filtered through black waves. There was no reason to think it was him but…
The sound of her racing heart rattled around in her skull. It drowned out everything else. It forced Blake down, down, deeper into that crushing pressure. She couldn’t go back. He couldn’t know she was here.
She felt herself fall onto her side. The couch cushions were soft against her cheek.
She tried again to find a focus point. There was a photo framed on the wall ahead of her that she made her target, one depicting Yang and an older man with scraggly blonde hair out on the lake together. They both had such proud smiles underneath the water that drenched their faces, the large fish held between them no doubt the source of that bright joy.
Blake wanted to smile too, even if just for a second, to absorb some of that warmth.
When she tried, only tears fell.
Could Adam have tracked her here? She was certain she hadn’t left behind a paper trail of any kind. Blake had nobody out in this direction that he could have known of. The prospect of it all, of having to see him again, took her hamstrung attempts at breathing and shuttered them down into a staccato rhythm.
She was so stupid to have tried.
A part of her subconscious was screaming, its voice warped by the depths Blake had sunken into. It told her what she already knew. It couldn’t be Adam. Yang was there. She would understand, even if it was him.
She promised, Blake thought. She promised I was safe here.
Was it selfish of her? To put so much trust in a stranger? The question reopened old wounds, still laced with their poison. Those little lies spoken directly into her ear on bitter breath, each one so difficult to deconstruct and so easy to believe. It had been impossible for her to recognise the parasite of abuse that it was until the seeds had already bloomed into black fields of rotted flora in her mind.
“Blake…? Blake!”
Another voice had joined the chorus in her head. Blake wasn’t sure when it had. Her vision was still blurred by tears but she took notice of how the light in the room had dimmed. There was someone blocking it, casting shadows over her shriveled form. A wet noise was all she managed to force out of her throat in response, much to her frustration. She didn’t want them to worry about her. She didn’t want anybody to worry about her.
A hand touched her arm and there was nothing Blake could do to stop the instinctual flinch her whole body gave in response. Her face flushed in embarrassment when she felt the hand immediately retreat again.
That’s how she knew it was Yang. Yang was so careful around her.
Blake really did hate how it made her feel like a broken thing.
“I’m here, Blake. You can just focus on me, alright?” Yang was speaking so softly. Blake could only groan in response, but she did try to find Yang in the haze. She caught the golden halo of her hair and heard Yang release a shaky exhale. “Hey. What happened?”
At least her breathing was starting to level out. Yang was safe, if nothing else, and she clutched onto that fact to pull her back onto solid ground. Once she found the strength to wipe her eyes, everything started to come back into focus. Yang was knelt down in front of her, her arms stuck to her sides and her fingers twitching as if it was taking every ounce of her strength not to reach out toward Blake. Blake was glad to learn such little things could still get a smile out of her.
“Sorry for worrying you,” she replied. Her voice was still cracked through the lens of her dry throat.
A response from Yang didn’t come right away. Blake noticed how she averted her lilac eyes, determined to look anywhere other than right at Blake. She knew what was coming next before the words had even formed in Yang’s throat.
“Do you… want to talk about it?” Yang sounded almost afraid to say it. Maybe Blake wasn’t the only one afraid of overstepping.
Blake knew what her answer was already. She didn’t want to talk about anything, not really. Distance always felt easier, especially after learning that she was the only one who remembered that night. Yet the cracks were showing—jagged rifts in the mirror self she tried to reflect that revealed the visage aflame beneath it. She took a deep breath and sat up on the couch. Yang followed her every move, such genuine empathy and worry flickering in her eyes that Blake didn’t know what to do with it all.
“Who was it? The car that pulled up?” Blake asked. Yang furrowed her brow at the sudden shift, but recovered with a small smile.
“Oh! That was just my dad,” Yang said. She took a seat cross-legged on the carpet. “Since he missed me when he came by earlier, he decided to try checking in again.”
Blake’s rigid limbs finally started to loosen up again at that. She could have laughed at the conclusions she had first drawn. Paranoia was never a reasonable ally. Instead, a bittersweet smile landed on her lips instead and she sank her gaze into the pile of her packed belongings.
“Figures that would be it,” Blake replied. She ran her fingers through her hair and sighed. She grimaced when her fingers came back glistening with sweat, her body ran ragged by her earlier outburst. “Sorry for running off like that.” The apology tasted like ash in her mouth.
Yang looked entirely unphased, her head cocked to the side with a brash and broad smile on her face. “Ah, no worries,” she said. She leaned back, resting on her palms. “Things got a little too much, I get it.”
How could she just brush it off so easily? Ironic as it was, Blake wanted to see Yang get angry. She’d been conditioned to be in the crosshairs of frustration at the most minor of inconvenience. Yet, here she was—baggage—and still Yang carried her without breaking a sweat. She resented the way it bothered her.
“N-Not really.” Blake’s words moved before her brain caught up. Her eyes widened at the realization and when her head snapped up to look at Yang, the girl had already shifted, eager to listen. She felt her throat dry up. “It’s just…”
“Wait!” Yang suddenly exclaimed and it made Blake jump. The girl took note of Blake’s reaction and her expression shifted into something more sheepish. “Can you give me your palm?”
The request perplexed Blake. She didn’t like people touching her, but there was no expectation of even acquiescence on Yang’s face. The girl played coy with the why, but nothing about the question—asked so innocently—was ringing alarm bells in Blake’s head. Her curiosity was sparked. She wiped the sweat from her hand on her jeans and presented it to Yang.
“Mom used to do this for me when she could tell I was going through something,” Yang explained, the fondness palpable on her tongue. There was a smaller, more honest smile on her lips.
Yang wrapped her thumb and index finger around Blake’s wrist, placing a gentle pressure onto her pulse point. Blake felt a breath stutter in her lungs. With her other hand, Yang began to draw a small spiraling pattern into Blake’s palm. She started from the center and gradually let her finger trace outwards, dancing over the lines in her skin with such a feather touch that it was almost ticklish.
“Gives you something else to focus on, right?” Yang spoke up again and Blake was suddenly aware of how long she’d been sitting in silence staring at her hand. “You can picture the shapes in your head. Without you even realizing, you’re thinking about that instead of something else.”
“Y-Yeah…” It felt difficult to speak at all. The touch was so soft, so utterly reverential in its caress, she could only feel her heart race for an entirely different reason. Blake had to find some kind of distraction from these pent up feelings bubbling back up again. “Your um, mom used to do this? You said?”
Yang made a noise of affirmation. Her smile faltered a bit, even as she continued to paint pictures against Blake’s skin.
Don’t let it haunt you.
Blake’s own words from that night came tumbling back to her. Yang had bared her grief out then, in an ugly tirade of tears that she had probably been holding back for years. There was a lot about that fateful meeting that Blake still didn’t quite understand, this sudden connection between strangers that had sparked a vulnerability in them both they otherwise kept locked away. Yang’s inability to remember it at all only added to that.
Was what they shared that night really special? Did Yang only see her as another shoulder to cry on, a vessel to shed her grief onto that she could discard the morning after? It was so easy to worry with a leap of faith—faith was brittle and fleeting. Blake hadn’t even considered herself strong enough to believe in faith anymore, but the promise of freedom outweighed the risks such faith held at the time.
She focused back on the spirals Yang was drawing. She felt her breath steady.
Yang wasn’t like him.
“You don’t have to come help with the car if you’re not feeling up for it by the way,” Yang said. “It’s important to rest if you need it.”
“I’ll be fine. The sooner I can leave, the better,” Blake lied.
Yang froze in place and choked out a nervous laugh. She leaned back again and the sunlight filtering through the windows made her blonde hair radiant as she scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah, um, about that…”
Blake’s blood ran cold.
“Dad mentioned it when he came by,” Yang explained. Her eyes were darting between the floor and the walls, finding anything to look at other than Blake. “I thought we’d recently got a shipment in, but it got damaged in transit and we’re waiting on the replacements. Even then, I don’t know if what we’re ordering is what the Lotus would need. You’ve got a fancy ride, y’know? We aren’t stocking for race cars.”
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Blake knew that. She closed her eyes and found her house of cards there, its roof already shed in a gamble’s breeze and its foundations teetering on the edge of collapse. Something stronger lay beyond it, some better life she was searching for, but it had to bear this one final storm.
“I see.” Blake forced the words out, but she could already see in Yang’s widened eyes that she hadn’t kept her frustrations masked.
“I’m sorry. I know you want to get out of dodge as soon as you can.” Yang’s apology stung like a knife chafing her ribs. How could she be the one apologizing? When Blake was the one crafting such impossible demands?
You’re always this selfish. You always demand at the expense of everyone else.
Blake shook her head free of the parasitic brood of thoughts trying to creep back in again. She could feel the pressure of a headache start to press down on her skull. “It’s fine, really. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d have parts like that on hand.”
“Are you going to be good staying at the motel a little longer?” Yang had her eyes back on Blake as she spoke. Blake took note of how she was fidgeting back and forth where she knelt down on the carpet. “It sounded like it was rough last night.”
“I’m used to it,” Blake retorted back in an instant, on the defensive. She could already imagine the bags she must have under her eyes, courtesy of the many sleepless nights she’d endured as of late. “I’ve dealt with worse than a bit of restlessness.”
Yang didn’t seem convinced and shot a raised eyebrow in her direction. Blake wasn’t sure she would have been convinced either. The reality was that isolation felt crippling. In that small motel room with only the whir of a fan to keep her company, the walls were claustrophobic. Any foot traffic down the veranda outside her door sent sirens ringing in her head. Rationality drowned in the violent tide of visions. It was far too easy for Blake to imagine him opening that door, twisting a temporary sanctuary into an island fated to be swallowed by the sea.
“You know, uh—” Yang spoke up again, snapping Blake out of her thoughts. She’d gingerly interlaced her fingers, pressing her thumbs together. “The offer is still open if you want it. To crash here, I mean. Setting up a guest room wouldn’t be any trouble, really.”
Blake had been hoping Yang wouldn’t have asked again. It would have been easier if it had been an offer extended out of courtesy, not out of a tangible ability to offer it genuinely. Yet sincerity was all there was here, in the nervous energy conveyed through Yang’s awkward smile and her closed posture. She knew she’d cave when push came to shove. She hated being alone.
Words failed her this time, so Blake only gave a nod in response. She really did feel pathetic.
“Alright then,” Yang said softly. She stood back up again and stretched herself out with a satisfied groan. When her eyes met Blake’s again, there was a gentle warmth flickering beneath the lilac surface. “I know you don’t like to talk much. I get that. But… I’m still here if you ever want to. There’s only so much I can do to help without a clear idea of what exactly you’ve got away from, y’know?”
It was a fair request to make, even if a part of Blake still selfishly wished she could keep those ugly truths trapped away. She looked down into her lap and clutched tightly onto her knees. “I’ll think about it.” Still she struggled to make promises. “I’ll… think about it,” she repeated again, quieter now.
“All I needed to hear,” Yang said. Blake grit her teeth at the bottomless understanding she was granted. Yang stepped out toward the foyer but paused in the doorway, turning back with a smile. “If you’re dead set on coming back to the shop floor, feel free, but please don’t push yourself. You’ve been through a lot.”
Once Yang had left, Blake allowed herself to breathe out a long exhale. Her body was exhausted. For one fleeting moment, the events of the past few days were finally able to catch up to her and burn through the final few fumes of energy she was operating off of.
When she sank back into the embrace of the couch cushions, her eyes were inexorably pulled down toward her hand. The phantom sensation of Yang’s finger on her palm still lingered, even in this limbo. It dawned on Blake that she didn’t even thank Yang for coming to find her. She’d sat with her and helped her relax, offered her a place to stay, all without expectation beyond an implicit wish to earn Blake’s trust.
Something bloomed in Blake’s chest. She smiled.
Maybe her gamble would pay off after all.