Bora Bora Bora

1: Toilet paper curlers

Nicky's POV

"Rise and shine, kid!" I say as I march inside Lorna' s cube. It's 6 am, and the dorms are still quiet. Dim rays of sunlight have begun to sneak in, tiny dots of dust dance over the beds and I can distinguish the shape of her tiny body under the sheets.

"Rise, rise, rise!" I throw myself her bed, where she lays facing the wall and put my arm around her.

"Nicky?" her cute little face emerges from behind the blankets, "what time is it? Is it time for my van duty already?"

"Nooo, but I was hoping I could report to some duty of my own", I run my hand up her tight. "Wanna head down to the chapel?"

She turns around to face me, all sleepy eyes and toilet paper curlers.

"Aw, baby, you know I'd love to," she lifts one hand to touch my cheek, "but I've got an early shift today. Gotta drive Ms. Rosa to the hospital, remember?"

"Yeah, but we still got like, a half hour," I pressed my face against her hand.

"Yes, but I don't want a CO to have to wake her up...they're so cold an insensitive."

I scoff, "Cancer chicks. No match against them."

"Come on now. You'd do the same for  me."

I'd do anything.
The words form a knot inside of me,pushing against my throat, tickling my toungue, dangerously rounding my lips. I imagine them coming out, the knot untangling, all that the air finally being able to make its way through. I can almost hear myself say them. But I don't.

I pout. "Pleaseeeeee."

"Oh no, don't look at me like that. You know I can't stand it when you look at me like that," she frowns, caressing my cheek with her thumb.

"Whatever," I sit up in the bed, facing away from her. "You're too good for this  place."

"Could you pass me my mirror thingie?" She asks.

"Sure," I stand up and walk over to the desk/chest of drawers where she keeps her few possesions. Her make up is neatly lined up against the wall, mascara, blue eye shadow, several tubes of cherry red lipstick. There are some paperback romantic novels, but what takes up the most space are all the cut-outs from magazines. The places she wants to see, the dresses she wants to wear. It never ceases to amaze me how enthusiastic she still is about life.
I wish I were a little more like that.

There are no photographs stuck in the walls, just the "Just Married" poster I made for her last Christmas, as a joke. My heart flutters a little bit every time I see it hanging there. I wonder if she ever wonders how much of a joke it reall was.

"Here" I hand her her compact.

"Thanks, hon."

"Oh, god," she exclaims, "I've got to do something about the way I look! Nicky, you know I don't like to see people before I doll up a bit."

You look beautiful. You always do.

"Come on, babe it's just me," I say, pretending I don't love the fact that she worries about looking pretty for me.

"Well, I better fix myself up" she jumps out of bed, grabs her make up essentials and starts  heading for the bathrooms. She stops at the non-door frame and turns to me with a smile.
"Catch you later?"

"Yeah. See ya later, kid."

I watch her walk away, watch the grayish light of morning pouring over her brunette hair and pale skin, and wonder if it's possible for the sun to shine brighter over certain people.

Two years earlier
I sat on the cafeteria with my back against the wall and my face hidden between my knees. Voices swirled around me, but I had lost the ability to make out their meaning. There no words, just noise. All the sounds in the universe were growing louder. I could feel them in my bones. Every buzz, every footsteps, every humming, every tray being set on the table, every knife scraping the plastic. I could hear the blood flowing through my veins and my heart pounding against my ribcage. And I wanted it to stop. I wanted everything to stop, and fade away. The universe, the buzzing, the humming, the walking, the chewing, the talking, the scrapping, the breathing, the flowing. The beating of my heart,too.

I concentrated on bouncing back and forth, back forth, as if the bouncing could make me forget the ache. The need. The emptiness.

I think someone pushed a tray towards me, but I didn't even bother to look up. I didn't want food. I wanted drugs.

Somewhere outside myself, I distinguished a familiar voice. The voice of someone I loved. I made an effort to understand.

"...this is Yoga Jones" Red was saying, "never tried one of her classes, but you should. She's Sister Ingalls, our badass nun, and that one's Alex Vause...She's alright."

"Jesus, Red, you'll make me cry one of this days."
That was Vause.

Then I heard a new voice, like I'd never heard before. She had a funny  New York accent, but it wasn't that. It sounded as though she was smiling, or somewhere in between singing and talking.

"Hello..it's nice to meet you all."

"Well, then, I'll leave you to them. Gotta head back to the kitchen."

Someone walked away, and someone sat down. The voices became muffled, until the singy one reappeared.

"Who's her?"

"Nicky Nichols," someone answered. I'd lost the energy to figure out whom.

"Nicky", she repeated, and somewhere between all the bouncing and the aching and the needing, I realized I liked the way my name sound in her accent.

I never looked up. I clenched my teeth, and I could feel myself drifting away from the outside again. But I guess someone, probably Alex, must have said something funny, because the new one with the cute accent laughed.
She laughed, and just for a second, I stopped wishing that my heart would stop beating.

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A/N: Thanks for reading!! I haven't written in a while so I' a bit rusty but I promise it will get better as I move on with the story 😊
I have a lot of interesting stuff planned so stick with me! Don't forget to vote and comment ❤️