a cactus and a lily find a common pot to grow - trixya

Chapter 7: Part 3 - lonely if onlys

When Trixie wakes up the next day and struggles to open her eyes, she recognizes three signs that she's had a bad night and is bound to have an even worse day.

One, she doesn't know what day or what time it is because her alarm didn't go off, which means she doesn't have her phone anywhere around her. That's already two different problems: she's probably late to something, which is bad because she is lost in time and space and also that she either lost her phone or someone stole it. No better way to go here.

Two, her head is about to explode. Which means that she has been drinking and Trixie is not a heavy drinker unless she's frustrated, upset or it's Friday night. How many more times will she empty bottles of wine in one sitting even though she knows that the morning afters are always chaos? That's always a bad choice, but apparently she refuses to learn her goddamn lesson.

Three, she doesn't recognize the room she's in and she's naked, save for her panties.

She never knew there was a fourth sign, but she learns it right then and there when she realizes there is a blonde woman sleeping next to her, and when I say next, I mean close enough that her arm is swung over Trixie's stomach and her legs intertwined with her own.

And that woman is Katya.

Oh, no. Nopety nope. This can't have happened. Trixie is a straight woman who is about to get married, how could she do this? Oh Lord no. She's a cheater. She cheated on Ian with Katya , and she has no idea how it happened. She's starting to panic and hyperventilate as her eyes water. She sits up, holding the blanket to cover her chest with one hand and placing the other one in front of her mouth so she doesn't wake Katya up.

She doesn't want to cry because she's a cheater or because she slept with a woman in spite of her obvious straightness. She wants to cry because for the first time in so, so long she has let herself go and lost control of a situation. And she can deal with morality issues and sexual discoveries, but she can't deal with not being in control a hundred percent of the time. See, this is what happens when she doesn't have full control of a situation: cheating, sins, and regret. How could she do this? What the hell happened to her?

Katya moves a little closer to her and hugs her hip. This is bad. She needs to get out right now before her coworker wakes up. How could she let this happen? How... No, there is no time for questions and self-pity, she needs to get out of here right now before she goes insane.

Slowly, very carefully, she takes Katya's arm and places it by her side. The Russian seems not to like it and snuggles closer, moving her legs a little. Well, who would ever say that the most annoying, outspoken and unapologetic badass bitch that Trixie knows actually loves cuddling? How adorable. How... unhelpful. Okay, breathe in, breathe out. With the smoothest movements she never thought she could do while hungover, she manages to get up and tiptoe around the room until she finds... I don't know, something .

She never finds her phone, which makes her worry a little more about what might've happened to it, but she does find clothes that belong to her. A nightgown and a robe - not ideal, but certainly useful. She sighs as she tries to architect a plan on how the hell can she go home wearing those, and the thought of how the hell did she even get here in those terrorizes her enough that she looks down in embarrassment and sees a sweatshirt on the floor. She has an idea.

...

The sweatshirt fits, but only barely - her breasts are so big it almost looks like a crop top. The sweatpants that she found to pair with it were a two minute struggle to get on and she can't move very fast or abruptly or else they'll rip at her butt and it's not gonna be cute. How pathetic. Trixie Mattel, the princess of Alverton herself, walking around the streets with her legs straight so she won't rip her pants, carrying last night's clothes on her arms and hungover enough to pass out again. Not what she'd expect for a Sunday morning.