She Kissed Me Barefoot (girlxgirl)

Chapter Eleven- Adrienne

Chapter Eleven- Adrienne

TRIGGER WARNING for: suicide, blood+wounds (nothing gory), slurs

 “And how exactly did she end up falling off the counter again?” Brix asked as she came down the last two steps into the basement, hurrying across the room. She set the first-aid kit on the bed next to Case and I and cracked it open. Her head in my lap, I lifted up the tissue I had been holding to the wound to get a look at it again. Most of the bleeding had ceased, but the scratch was nearly two inches long, and not exactly shallow. I winced and bit my lip, pressing the tissue back down. Slowly, Case fluttered her eyes open. She smiled up at me, so I smiled hesitantly down at her.

“You’re cute,” she mumbled, reaching up and poking me on the cheek. I didn’t know how to react, because, truth is, I don’t get poked on the cheek very often. Brix, on the other hand, rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath while tearing open the packet of a cleansing wipe.

“What didjyou just say 'bout me?” Casey asked in mock offense, trying to turn to look at Brix. I held her head in place firmly.

“I said, ‘Cassandra, you hopeless lesbian,’ dumbass. Now sit still, or you’ll lose more blood, and god knows what we’ll do then.” I bit my lip to keep from laughing as Brix moved my hand away to dab at the scratch. Case flinched violently at the touch of the wipe, gripping my wrist. Her first-aid practitioner, unwavering, continued to swab around what seemed more and more like an actual gash and the short-haired girl’s jaw unclenched a bit.

“Wait,” I paused, my brow furrowing. “Cassandra?” Casey’s eyes went wide and she shook her head, earning herself a disapproving glare from Brix.

“For shit’s sake, stop moving.” The redhead wiped up the last traces of blood and turned away for a bandage.

“I’ll have you know,” declared Casey officially, relaxing her grip on me, “my name is not Cassandra.”

“Yeah,” replied Brix, ripping open the paper wrapper. “And you’re also straight as hell.”

“Yes, actually,” Casey responded, obviously ad-libbing. It was kinda cute. “I’m the most heterosexual girl to walk this earth.”

“Mhm.” Brix rolled her eyes as she peeled off the protective wax things. “Right, and I’m the queen of England.”

“Aren’t you Scottish?” I asked without thinking.

“Exactly,” the redhead replied, grinning at me. “I’m as likely to be English monarchy as Casey is to date a dude.”

“I’ll have you know,” Case us as the bandaid went on, “I’m extremely straight.”

“Really,” I said. “Are you really?”

“Absolutely. It’s obvious,” she continued, sitting up and propping herself up on her elbows. “I mean, I have a default order at Starbucks and it’s a lowfat soy vanilla latte, I’ve never touched a cat or power drill in my life, the sight of plaid makes me nauseous, and I willingly wear peplum skirts.” Brix snapped the first aid kit shut, clicking the latch loudly.

“Right.” She leaned back over the side of the bed and pulled up one of Casey’s favorite shirts off the ground. She had a habit of wearing it on a routine basis every Friday, because her mother wouldn’t let her wear it any more often for the sake of hygiene. Bright crimson lumberjack plaid flannel. “Right.”

“Shhhh. That doesn’t prove anything.”

I twisted around to her nightstand and plucked off a pin-on button from among the clutter. SHHH! Nobody knows I’m a LESBIAN! it read in big, rainbow letters- she must’ve bought it at Pride last year. “You’re as straight as the Westboro Baptist Church.”

Casey rolled her eyes. “And that doesn’t really mean anything.” She took it from my hands and pinned it onto my shirt— or, well, her shirt.

“Wow, Addy, that’s totally your style,” deadpanned Brix. “Something you’ve been meaning to tell us?” I stared down at the button mutely. It was kind of garish, now that I looked at it up close. Too close. Right there on my shirt. It was way too garish, way too bright, way too, well, gay.

Did I really want to be that? Did I really want to choose to be so weird, such an outsider? Okay, so it meant kissing pretty girls, but it also meant telling everyone I knew that I wanted to kiss said girls, and it meant feeling alone and getting stared at and cussed out and it meant never having the future that I always wanted, where I was Barbie married to my Ken and maybe we had kids and we lived in a nice house and went to country clubs and shit like that and it meant being okay with it and

and

and

I panicked.

 

“Hah, very funny,” I laughed nervously, heart pounding out of my chest as I fumbled to pull the button off. “But I’m not a fucking dyke.” I regretted the words the instant they flew out of my mouth, but it’s not like I was about to show that. “Thank god.” As I pushed myself off the bed and grabbed my dress and purse from the floor, I could see Brix’s jaw drop in my peripheral vision.

“And don’t you wish you were?” jeered Casey from the bed, sitting all the way upright.

“Not for a second,” I responded tersely as I got my makeup wipes from the bathroom. “I’d choose to be straight, anyway.”

“It’s not a choice,” Casey yelled back, voice cracking. “It’s not a choice and you know it!”

“I don’t care!” Still facing into the bathroom, I froze in the doorway. My voice bounced around the walls, off the tiles and the shower stall. “I would choose anyway. I mean, Matt was a fucking fag, and look where he ended up.”

“You don’t talk about Matthew like that!” Brix burst out, approaching from the bed. “I don’t give a fuck if he was your brother, you weren’t the only one it hurt! Now shut your bitch mouth before I have to do it for you.”

I turned around to leave. “What? It’s true, he was a fucking faggot, that’s why he hung himsel--”

Smack.

Brix slapped me so hard that I crumpled down onto the stairs, face numb. “Get. Out,” she whispered. “Your bike is in the side yard. Get the fuck away from me. Get the fuck away from Casey.” I couldn’t move as the burning set into my face. I wasn’t sure if I should stay glued to the stairs or run for my life: to be honest, I don’t think I was thinking. “Go.”

I pulled myself onto  my feet using the banister, picking up my stuff. “You’re going to regret this.”

“I already regret you,” she seethed.

“So does everyone else.”