The Rose & The Hat [Rose The Hat/Female Reader Oc] [Doctor Sleep]

Fly High

Age 19. July 16th.

It had been a while since you last drank vodka. So you decided to buy yourself a bottle once you arrived at your destination. You had a high alcohol tolerance, so you were glad you didn't need to get drunk to be able to turn off your gifts. You didn't like the taste; each time you encountered something paranormal it left you with a horrible aftertaste. You preferred the taste of sweet liquor and hard kissing, so you often drank while being accompanied by pretty people.

You had tried your best to quit being abnormal long ago. The decision came after you noticed that your abilities attracted bad things of all sorts—ghouls, ghosts, witches, whatever dark and supernatural—(just like the thing in that abandoned house you visited when you were seven years old). Back then, you didn't know how to turn it off, but you tried your best to find a way to stop it. Eventually, you realized that alcohol helped you shut the voices up and pull up a curtain that hid the horrid things. The high spirited drinks gave you, numbed you enough to make life easier.

It had been a few years since then, and it had been even more time since her... Since that gorgeous woman with her pretty hat had come to see you. You remembered little about the things you said to her, but you remember her eyes, her smile, and the way her voice caressed your skin and made you feel safe, yet, her presence also scared you. It had been a strange mix of good and bad.

She had left an impression on you, one that sometimes nagged at you in the middle of the night, making you jump out of fright and burn out of pleasure. Your entire being felt confused—good or bad? Fear or desire? Maybe you had become insane; maybe she wasn't even real to begin with, just a figment of your imagination, one you had built to make sense of the world, a creation to make sense of your frightening abilities and the paranormal perspective. Maybe...

You couldn't avoid being nervous since it was going to be your first time flying. Your tummy hummed with excitement, but it also sank with uneasiness. You, your mother, some cousins, and some uncles were supposed to go visit relatives that had settled down over in the U.S.A., and, if things went well, you were supposed to stay there for quite a while (years).

"Mija, you better find yourself a good, rich American man to provide for us; that way we will finally live a decent life."

Your mother still ignored the part in which you were gay.

"If I ever find a rich, pretty woman, she won't be providing a dime for you."

Your mother slapped you, and the sting was far more bearable than when you were little. Developed pain endurance? Most likely.

Anyway, your mother started yapping about respect and blah blah blah. You knew her speeches like the back of your hand.

You got along more or less well with some of your cousins, but they all deemed you weird and scary, and you understood exactly why. You would be scared of someone like you, probably—if you weren't as fucked up in the head as you were. You admired dark things. Nevertheless, you also loved the things of the light. You were a mix of soft and sharp; gentle and violent. You didn't speak of it, but sometimes you were scared of losing the grip on reality—the grip on yourself.

The need to have someone take you away still lingered, but you started to feel like running away was the better choice.

The area that you had been raised in didn't allow much space for LGBTQ+ people to be themselves, to date, or even socialize. The times you had sneaked around to kiss girls had been few and risky. People threw stones at gayness back then. Times did change, though; people could be gayer, but gossip and ill intent still thrived against people like you back where you lived.