pen pal - trixya

chapter 4

TW: mention of light sexual assault

August 28th, 2015. Friday, 10:20 a.m.

Trixie is in the middle of History class when she feels it coming.

Her teacher has been going on about the suffragist movement for way too long and when her phone vibrates in her pocket. Her heart races in anticipation of the notification she longs for all day, every day. Even though every single brain cell in her head is yelling at her to just take it and open her email to see what Jodie has to say, she puts off checking it for a minute or two, afraid her teacher will catch her with her phone in hands, but once she looks to the side and realizes that ninety percent of her classmates are scrolling and thumbing and texting, she lets her shoulders loosen a little. Mrs. Dujour probably knows they're all on their phones and might just not care. Public school life. In any other moment, it would have made her heart twinge with guilt, but not right now, because right now the only thing going through her head is Jodie, Jodie, Jodie. She feels the fabric of the pockets on her skirt, which her mom had made her two years ago and now it struggles to fit her newfound curves, fingers trailing along the hem, too shy to reach in and find her phone, cheeks redder than the peppers that make her spit pure fire after eating Mexican food. When the metal of her phone meets the tips of her fingers she bites back a smile.

Jodie has become her favorite part of the day as quickly as she came into her life. She finally has something, someone to look forward to. It's been a fun couple of weeks, to say the least. Trixie hasn't realized yet, but it's become a habit for her to automatically start narrating anything that she does in her head as if it were some sort of practice for when Jodie hears about it. She had forgotten what having a new friendship felt like, not to disrespect Shangela, but it's not the same. Shangie reaches half of her brain when they talk, Jodie somehow reaches the deepest, darkest parts of her being. Dela will only ever reach as deep as Trixie allows her to, while Jodie doesn't ask for permission before diving right into her.

With sweaty, shaky hands, Trixie unlocks her phone straight into the new email. Dear Dolly, it says at the top. Dear Dolly. Although seemingly impossible, she blushes harder. She feels endeared enough.

Her eyes cascade down her screen, soaking in every single word, and if she feels she didn't pay enough attention she goes back and reads it again. Her blush only lasts until about the first sentence of the last paragraph, which is when her face blanches severely enough for it to look like she's going to be ill. Oh, no , she thinks. Oh, no, no, no. That's when she feels it. Trixie's shoulders stiffen one more time and her heartbeat, which was already furiously fast is now co-starring in Fast and Furious with Vin Diesel. She watches her hands start to shake, really shake and not only internal shake, her throat closes and she gasps for air loudly, making many heads turn in her direction. Dela immediately stands up from her desk right behind hers and kneels beside Trixie without touching her.

"Are you going to have a panic attack?" She asks. Trixie barely manages to nod before Dela plunks her stuff into her pink-ish stained bag and helps her up. "Come, let's see Nurse Asia."

They walk straight past the teacher, leaving all of Dela's stuff behind as she carries her friend out of the classroom, but the door hasn't even shut when Trixie tries to support herself on a locker and falls to the ground because of her spaghetti legs. "Can't walk," she mutters between heavy, difficult breaths. She doesn't even acknowledge the fact that her classmates are hearing everything, every part of it, but that will surely haunt her mind tonight before she tries to sleep.

Dela sits beside her through it, helping her breathe, but Trixie takes little to no notice of her friend's presence since her vision is fading in and out and all she hears are the echoes in her mind telling her that Jodie will figure it out soon enough, that she'll hate her, that she'll out her and nobody is going to love her again because she's nothing but a useless dyke. The ringing in her ears makes her want to move her arms and cover them, but the sudden sting in her chest doesn't allow her and worsens her already decrepit breath. "I'm going to die," she tells Dela. She nods at her own words, tears wetting her face. "I'm going to die."