hard habit to break

I wrote this short story at the outset of 2019. I was deep into my struggles with alcoholism then, and very fixated on a girl I knew on Twitter. I projected a lot of my insecurities, fears, doubts, and hopes onto this story, which centers on a drunken binge and hyper-fixation on ‘80s adult contemporary. There is a silver living here — I haven’t drank regularly since January of this year, and that girl and I have been together for almost five years now. Hold tight — a lot of bad can and will happen. But as long as you can survive it, a few things will work out better than you hoped.

(Or not — then you can write about it. Cheers.)

Jessica didn’t know why she loved Chicago so much. She grew up listening to music that was, objectively speaking, way better. The standards, the classics – stuff like Bob Dylan, Marvin Gaye, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix. Her parents had both laughed at her when she’d blared a copy of Love Songs she’d borrowed from the library when she was eleven or twelve, and her teachers in high school made fun of her whenever they noticed the chorus of “You’re The Inspiration” or “If You Leave Me Now” or “I Don’t Wanna Live Without Your Love” leaking through her ten-dollar headphones. She never understood, growing up, why people gave her shit for what she listened to.  

Didn’t they hear the lyrics?  

Appreciate the compositions? 

Think Pete Cetera had a nice voice?

No? Just her?  

Of course, in her mid-twenties, Jessica got it a little more now. Chicago was kind of awful. They’d started out with this beautiful, fresh creative spark, and gradually turned into a saccharine mess of maudlin sentiments that wouldn’t be out of place on a Hallmark card. Their use of soft synthesizers and recycling of lyrics were the cheesiest shit south of post-Departure Journey. It was dated. Sappy. Cloying. Any pejorative that applied to 80’s adult contemporary, really.  

But several Screwdrivers and a Watermelon-A-Rita deep, laying on the hardwood floor of her studio apartment, she’d be lying if she said “Stay The Night” on her worn vinyl of Chicago 17 wasn’t hitting her hard tonight. It was a little past 2 AM on a mid-Autumn Saturday, and she was alone – alone as usual. As she looked up at the drab concrete ceiling, and mouthed words along with the music, Jessica couldn’t help but to tear up at her current predicament. She was alone in the trendy city she’d given up everything to move to. Alone, drunk, laying on the floor, listening to the worst fucking album of a fucking awful band. Above and below her, she could hear the other tenants of her apartments having the kind of Saturday nights she should’ve been. Laughing, cheering, blaring music.  

She resented them. 

She wanted to call the cops on them, even if she fucking hated cops. 

For noise violations. For having fun without her. For something. Just to ruin their night. 

Fucking inconsiderate cunts. Fuck them all.  

She hoped they’d drop dead. All at once. 

She ground her teeth through Dawayne Bailey’s guitar solo. Things didn’t need to suck this bad, she knew. There were outlets for her to live the life she wanted to. Resources to stop her from abusing alcohol like this. Friends who cared about her, or at least, were invested in her enough to prevent her from living like a miserable recluse. People who pitied her enough to try and help her out. Outlets for her to channel the grimy shit that stewed inside the septic tank of her emotions, each and every day of her useless existence.  

But why bother? The last several times she tried to do any of those things, it ended in nothing but abject misery for her and everyone around her. 

Hurt feelings.  

Burnt bridges.  

Wasted emotional labor.  

Jessica remembered the time, a little over a year ago, that she felt hopeful about her future. She’d moved to Seattle with the love of her life, a guy she’d met in junior year of college, who supported her every pursuit and treated her with the kind of unconditional kindness only a lover can. Plus, he was hot as hell, hung like a horse, and cooked for her every single night. Sure, he wasn’t great at it, but she never had the heart to tell him, and really, it was the thought that counted.  

He was the perfect package, the kind of guy that romcoms and romance novels were sold on the fantasy of.  

Ryan St. Claire. 

Good ol’ Ryan St. Claire.  

How she hated him. 

The break-up had happened before she knew what hit her. One morning, she woke up and every mistake she’d ever made was thrown back in her face. All the emotional breakdowns she’d had, every accidentally hurtful thing she’d said, any insecurity she’d had during her transition… basically anything Ryan could put his silky soft, grubby little hands on and pry out of her. She’d partially moved here for him, and one day, she was left to fend for herself in a city where she only knew two other people. She was left alone, scalded by the heat of her own mistakes and insecurities, left to heal her burns with almost nobody in her corner.  

Sure, there were people who reached out – out of courtesy. Betsy, Jessica’s honorary trans big sister, who gave her guidance during the early days of her transition, checked in on her during those first few weeks. Made sure she hadn’t killed herself or anything. Sent the obligatory, “ugh, I’m so sorry, babe, men are trash, you deserve better” texts.  

She was sweet.  

She was kind.  

She meant well.  

But, Christ, she made Jessica feel so insecure.  

Blonde and perky and popular on the internet – 10,492 followers on Twitter and around half that on Instagram. A well-paying job and a banging girlfriend. Completely and totally in love with being trans, and seemingly not ever preoccupied by all the shitty side-effects of it. Oh, and her tits. Those fucking giant implants that somehow, somehow, didn’t look unnatural on her. She was perfect, and anytime Jessica talked to her, she was reminded of how imperfect she was by comparison. 

Then there was the other person who’d reached out.  

The person who was the current source of Jessica’s misery. Because she was a petty bitch who couldn’t let go of pointless feelings.  

Clara.  

Clara Luna Lambert. 

What a fucking perfect name. Three “L’s,” three “ah’s.” It just rolled off the tongue, even when she was just thinking it. The first time Jessica heard her name, she’d felt an immediate tinge of envy that she hadn’t picked a sexier, more exotic name during her transition. “Jessica.” What kind of name was Jessica? She’d only chosen it because her parents had planned to name a daughter that, if they’d had one. Her dad had loved the name, and if her mom wasn’t infertile, they would’ve almost certainly picked it had they had a girl. And after ALS had completely snuffed out her dad’s existence within half a year, she’d chosen the name in his honor. Now she… 

No. No, she didn’t hate it. Not really. 

She’d loved her father. And even on his death bed, he’d supported her.  

The name was a way of keeping a little part of him alive. 

But Clara. Clara was someone Jessica had known in high school, then reconnected with on Facebook. Back in high school, neither of them had talked to each other much, and hung out in totally different circles. But when Jessica began her transition, Clara reached out and told her that she’d begun her own transition a year prior. Said to reach out if she needed anything.  

So they started exchanging private messages, sharing their experiences, reminiscing on the old days. Then they started texting. Then having late-night Skype calls about anything at all and nothing in particular. Then playing Fiesta Online and Mabinogi together, gifting each other stupid clothes to try on their characters – even though Jessica didn’t really care about video games. Their interactions made Jessica feel like a teenager again, reminded her what it was like to make friends easily, and to find entertainment in every little thing with her. Even over a long distance, Jessica felt close to Clara. She wished she’d been this close with her in high school, because right in her midst, all that time, was somebody who it felt like really, truly understood her. 

Which was why, when Nick wanted to move to Seattle, she felt something close to hope. Jessica hated the Pacific Northwest, sure. It rained too much. It was too terminally hip. It was too far from home. But Clara had moved there for college, and Nick loved the idea of being close to the water, and Jessica loved the idea of being close to Clara. So Nick got to live where he wanted, Jessica got to live near her friend, and everything would be great.  

It would be awesome. 

It would be everything she ever dreamed. 

At first it was, too. Jessica got used to the weather, and the people really weren’t as bad as she’d thought they’d be. Meeting Clara was a reaffirming experience, as it confirmed that they were very much on the same wavelength. Being close to Nick as he got to live in the city of his dreams was calming, because he was happy and excited about trying every new thing he could. It didn’t seem like things could go wrong. 

But Jessica had discovered, throughout the course of a year, that she was a master saboteur. That if something was going right in her life, she’d find a way to fuck it up with expert precision. And it all started with Clara. Clara Luna. That girl with the beautiful name, beautiful smile, beautiful heart. 

“We Can Stop The Hurtin’” started to play as tears welled up in Jessica’s eyes. 

Jessica didn’t mean to fall for Clara. She really didn’t. All she wanted was another trans friend, a comrade, somebody who got what she was going through, who could share and relate to her experiences. When they were just messaging each other on Facebook, it was easy to not fall for her. They’d just shared written words, swapped innocuous pictures, sent each other mindless memes. But when the Skype calls started, Jessica started to feel a tinge of something that resembled… Was it love? Lust? Jealousy? She didn’t know. It confused her, scared her, made her feel rotten down to her fetid, fractured, fragile core. Nick had been there for her, before she’d come out, before she even knew who she really was, and now she was feeling all sorts of confused, inconvenient bullshit about someone she’d barely known in high school?  

How awful was she?  

How deceitful was she?  

How much of an ungrateful little bitch was she? 

Yet Jessica couldn’t deny the complex emotions coalescing in her coagulated heart. Because when she experienced the synesthesia that came with seeing Clara’s face in person, tasting her gentle laugh in the same air she breathed, feeling the soft fabric of the cashmere cardigans she wore, it became too much to bear. This might be… It probably was… No, no, it had to be something that was sort of, kind of, possibly close to love. And a few months after being in Seattle, and several times after spending rainy days and misty nights with Clara, Jessica knew that a fucked-up temptation to fuck up the relationship with the man she loved was eating her apart from the inside out.  

Of course, Jessica knew better than to put words to these feelings. She wished she could share these feelings with Clara, that Clara would reciprocate them, that the ideal love she pictured with her could become reality. But she’d kept her silence. For fear of sullying their friendship. For fear of hurting Nick. What she didn’t expect was that, in the end, that silence would hurt her more than she could’ve possibly hurt either of them.  

Because there was this one day, six months ago, when Clara confided in Jessica about a man. A man that she’d fallen for, this English teacher who’d recently gotten out of a rough marriage, and wasn’t fully ready for a commitment. Jessica couldn’t remember his name, but she remembered the tears in Clara’s eyes when she confessed her love for him. She didn’t want to be a rebound and didn’t want to come across as desperate. But as she confessed that she wanted to be there for this pathetic fucking divorcee, to nurse his wounds, to be his ideal woman, it was clear that Jessica should’ve said something about her own feelings ages ago. Because Clara was clearly infatuated with this mediocre man, and there was nothing Jessica could do about it. Sure, she could counter with a, “hey, guess what, I’m in fucking love with you and I love the way you smile and the smell of your band shirts and that weird little pop your jaw makes when you’re eating something chewy,” but what kind of a friend would she be then – taking her friend’s heartache and pain and conflict, then making it about her? 

So, instead, she decided to give advice that she should’ve taken herself. 

“If you really love this guy,” she’d said, “you owe it to yourself to tell him.” A rock formed in her throat. “You deserve to be happy, y’know, and if you don’t at least try, he’ll move on before you get a chance to tell him how you feel.” Icy hot regret washed over her heart. “You owe it to yourself to find your happiness, Clara. I love you.” That the first time she’d told her she loved her. “I love you and I want you to be happy. And I’ll support you no matter what.” 

That week, Clara had confessed her feelings to the guy, and they’d been going strong for six months.  

Six months.  

Six months that Jessica watched from the sidelines, letting a petty jealousy fester inside of her as she incubated and nurtured it like a parasite. Two months ago, the parasite had taken control of its willing host and spilled its secrets to her lover. Despite herself, Jessica couldn’t control her jealousy’s desire to sabotage everything her and Nick had worked towards. To share every intimate way that it craved Clara, needed Clara, loved Clara. Before Jessica could wrangle it back inside of her, the damage had been done. Nick kicked her out the following day, and she was left to stay in a shitty, roach-infested motel before she could scrap together enough for a reasonable apartment on the outskirts of town.  

She wondered how he was. 

If he’d moved on. 

If he still hurt. 

On some level, she hoped he did.  

Fucking prick. 

The soothing synth riff of “Hard Habit to Break” chimed from her cheap speakers. Her records, her laptop, and her clothes – that was all she’d been able to take from Nick’s before he changed the locks. Other than that, she’d had to start over from scratch. Granted, with her inheritance, that had been easier than it might’ve been for someone else, but it still wasn’t easy. For the first time in her life, she was alone, left to her own devices and sole victim to her own self-destructive tendencies.  

And with nobody else to hurt, she had no choice but to hurt herself. 

Alcoholism ran in Jessica’s family, and if her dad’s body hadn’t shut down on him, his nightly whiskeys eventually would have taken their toll. Her grandfather had died of cirrhosis, her uncle had a liver removed, her cousins had all been to rehab more times than she could count. Naturally, she steered clear of booze, because she was scared that it would take control of her. But two months ago, she realized that her own mind was a more formidable foe than any amount of liquor could ever be, and besides, her life was in shambles anyway. What did she have to lose, really? 

She’d driven away a perfectly fine man who’d stayed by her through her transition. 

She’d pushed the woman she loved into the arms of a Jason Segal knock-off. 

She was alone by her own design, by her own hand, by her own malicious machinations. 

Jessica sat upright. Her spine crackled like a bag of popcorn. She let out a loud belch, then laughed to herself at how unpleasant she’d become. All those years of trying to pass as a woman, and now she was an unsightly slob. With unsteady footing and shaky posture, she pulled herself to her feet and stumbled over to the kitchen to pour herself another drink. Before she wrapped her frigid hands around a half-empty bottle of Strawberry Lemonade Svedka, though, she noticed that her phone was flashing on the countertop next to her fridge. She grabbed it and yanked it from the charger. 

One Missed Call. 

Clara Luna.  

One New Visual Voicemail. 

Jessica gulped. It was a little past two, and Clara had only called thirty minutes ago. She fumbled with the touchscreen, then held the receiver up to her pierced ear. 

“Hey, Jess. It’s Clara. Look, I saw those Tweets you posted a few hours ago, and I’m really worried about you. I’m gonna be up for a while, so… I dunno, call me back. I miss you.” She cleared her throat. “I love you, Jess. Okay. Bye.” 

Jessica eyes started to sting. Her face was damp. Was she crying, just at the sound of Clara’s voice? Yeah. Yeah, she was. God, she was drunk. But wait a second, Tweets? Had she posted something on Twitter? She didn’t remember. She scrolled over the app, hand burning with the pain that came with spending too much time each day on her phone, and clicked on her account.  

“Ah, shit,” Jessica muttered to herself. 

being alone is so fucked 

might fuck around and drink til I pass out lmao 

can I die if I puke in my sleep? or will I just roll over? asking for a friend lol 

Right, right.  

She remembered now.  

After the first two drinks, before she took an impromptu nap and woke up, she’d gone on a stream-of-consciousness rant on the useless website she couldn’t help but to spend six hours a day on. She took down the tweets in an instant, but the damage was done. People were probably worried about her now, all because she couldn’t keep her stupid mouth shut. Because she thought she could turn her suffering into fun, ironic humor for fellow millennials to laugh at and commiserate with. But these days, it was hard to walk that thin line between “ironic self-hatred” and “genuine red flags,” and clearly, she’d fallen firmly into red flag territory tonight. So much so that Clara was worried about her. That she’d called her for the first time in… 

Well, no.  

No, that was a lie. 

Clara had tried to reach out several times over these past two months. It was just that Jessica deliberately iced her, because in her unstable state she had no idea what would come out of her mouth. That parasite would take control again, and it’d be impossible to rein it back in before the damage was already done. Maybe she’d spill her guts to her. Maybe she’d force herself on her. Who knew? Definitely not Jessica. So she hadn’t taken a chance. Hadn’t taken the risk of making her situation even worse than it already was.  

But hearing Clara’s voice sound so heavy, so full of concern… Self-hatred coursed through Jessica, like ice through her veins. In trying to not hurt Clara, and in trying to just keep all her pain inside of her, she’d wound up doing the complete opposite.  

Jessica walked, lightheaded and nauseous, over to her record player and hit “stop” – cutting “You’re The Inspiration” off mid-chorus. She drew in a few deep breaths, and with each one, she worried that she’d spew all over the Boy Pablo shirt she’d gotten at a show last year. She swallowed a mouthful of spit. She closed her eyes, then opened them, eye level with her own reflection in the dark, damp third-story window. 

It’d been a while before she looked at her face.  

Her freckled face.  

Her freckled, blemished face.  

Her freckled, blemished, mannish…  

She sighed. She pushed a tangle mess of auburn hair from her eyes, then looked down at her phone. Clara was waiting. She had to call her. Just to tell her was okay. Just to lie to her, to tell her things weren’t that bad, to not worry. Just string her along long enough for her to hang up and burst into tears, fantasize about being wrapped in her arms, breathing her in, touching her hair— 

The buzzer rang. Jessica jumped, just a bit. 

She rushed over to her door and answered the buzzer. 

“’ello?” she muttered.  

“Oh, thank god. Jess, it’s me. Let me up.” It was Clara. 

Jessica closed her eyes. “Uh, Clara. Now’s… Now’s not the best—” 

“Don’t bullshit me, Jessica. Let me up. Right fucking now.” 

She swallowed. “Look, just calm down—” 

Her voice soothed Jessica, even at a harsh hiss. “Shut the fuck up, Jess. Let me up.” 

She’d sit out there all night. Jessica knew that, and she couldn’t do that to her. That was just the kind of person she was. 

“Yeah. Alright.” 

Jessica buzzed her up. In less than a minute, Clara swung open the unlocked door. She was breathless and covered in cold sweat that streaked her mascara, cutting trails through her two layers of concealer and revealing her brownish-red complexion. She pushed her windswept, braided black hair from her blue eyes, which glared at Jessica with the kind of contempt one could only feel for somebody they loved. Closing the door, and locking it behind her, Clara stormed to over to Jessica, who was leaning on the counter and looking at the floor. Without hesitation, she grabbed her friend and held her tight – squeezing the air out of her. 

“You idiot.” Clara growled. “You fucking idiot!” She held her tighter. 

“N-nice to see you too.” Jessica wheezed.  

Clara took a deep breath. “You smell like booze.” 

“I’ve been drinking.” 

“Yeah, I figured that much out.” She balled her small, slender hands up. “What are you doing, Jessica?” 

“Minding my own goddamn business.” 

“If you were doing that, you wouldn’t be tweeting about it.”  

“… I guess.” 

“Where have you been? You just cut me out after Nick dumped you. You just—” 

“I didn’t want to bother you. I-I didn’t want you to worry.” 

“So you make me rush to your apartment in the middle of the night because I’m scared my best friend’s fucking dead?” 

Jessica let out a single, wry laugh – meant to hurt. Meant to push away.  

“What’s so funny?” 

“Your best friend? Isn’t that what your boyfriend is?” 

Clara loosened her grip and took a step back. “W-What?” 

Jessica looked back down at the floor. It was dirty. She hadn’t cleaned since she’d moved here. “Whatever his fuckin’ name is. Isn’t he your new best friend now?” She gritted her teeth. “Isn’t he the one who was everything you ever fucking wanted?” Her voice wavered as she spat words of vicious venom. “Isn’t he?!” 

Clara, in a swift, aggressive motion, clasped Jessica’s shoulders and shook her. “What the fuck are you talking about, Jessica?” 

Jessica looked up, malice in her eyes, a sneer on her chapped lips, tears streaking her flushed cheeks. “He’s everything I couldn’t be, right?” 

Clara’s grip loosened. “Jess…” Her thick, bushy brows furrowed. “I-I didn’t… Jeremy wasn’t supposed to…” She drew in a deep breath. “Don’t you ever check your goddamn messages?” 

“I did tonight.” 

“What about a month ago? Y’know, when I was sobbing my fucking eyes out? Because Jeremy left me for some eighteen-year-old whore in the class he teaches?” 

Jessica stood inert for what felt like eons. A month ago? Wait, she didn’t… No, no, that couldn’t be right. She would’ve heard about it. They would’ve talked about it. Right? Yeah, yeah, definitely. But…  

Clara released her grip, turned around, and paced a few steps forward. “I called you. And called you. And called you. But then I thought, ‘oh, she’s going through that thing with Nick, I’m being a shitty friend, she shouldn’t have to deal with my bullshit too.’” She looked up at the ceiling as she snorted a mouthful of phlegm and swallowed it. “So I just stopped. Left you alone. Then you fucking write all that bullshit online tonight, out of fucking nowhere, and now I’m thinking maybe I should’ve tried harder. Because what the hell, Jess?” She wheeled around. “Is this where you’ve been? Holed up in here, drinking yourself to an early grave because Nick left you? I mean, fuck, you never even told me why he left you in the first place!” She rubbed her face. “Just that he left you, and you were sad, and you needed some space, and—” 

Jessica’s parasite took over – fueled by a year of repression and a night of stiff drinks. “I fucking love you, Clara.” 

Clara was taken aback. “I-I love you too, Jess, but you can’t just shut me up by—” 

Jessica cut her off. “No, no, no, no, no.” She ground her dirty teeth. “No. T-That’s not what I mean.” She swallowed. “Nick left me because I… Um, well… I told him something I’ve been wanting to tell you for-fucking-ever, but I didn’t have the balls to, okay?” She couldn’t look at her friend in the eye. She was too ashamed. “I-I was fucking pissed when you came to me about… What was his name? Jeremy? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I was… I was fucking pissed. Because for the past year, I’d… I mean, I guess the last several years, I… Well, I guess I always thought… If things went south with Nick, you and I would… Well, maybe we could…” She closed her eyes, squeezing out burning tears like juice from a lemon. “I wanted to be with you. I-I’ve wanted to be with you ever since… That one night on Skype, two years ago, when you… When you talked to me about my dad. Helped me through it.” Jessica looked up. “And then, out of nowhere, this fucking English teacher comes out of left field and just… steals you.” 

Clara narrowed her eyes. “Steals me? Jessica, I don’t belong to you.” 

“I know that, okay?! I know I’m being a complete fucking cunt about this. It’s just…” She gulped. “It’s just that I’ve loved you for so fucking long, and didn’t know how to end things with Nick, and I... I guess seeing you fall for somebody else hurt. A lot. Because I’m selfish. I’m a selfish bitch and a shitty friend.” She ran her fingers through her grease-caked hair. “I’m sorry. Okay? I’m sorry. But now I… Well, fuck, if I’m going to ruin our friendship anyway, I might as well tell you how I feel.” 

Clara shook her head. “At 3 AM. While you’re drunk off your ass. This is the best time to drop this on me.” She exhaled through her teeth. “No, no, that’s… that’s the only way you would tell me, isn’t it?” She put her hands on her hips. “What the fuck am I gonna do with you, Jess?” 

“Blow my goddamn brains out?” 

“Hey.” She walked over to her friend and put her hand under her chin, lifting it gently. “Don’t say that.” 

“It’s what I deserve.” 

“Stop.” 

“I’m better off dead.” 

“Jessica.” 

“I’m—”  

Clara grabbed Jessica by the back of her neck and pulled her face into hers. They stood like that for a moment, Clara’s eyes closed in a scowl, Jessica’s open in bewildered surprise. The pierced girl yanked her head back from her drunken friend’s face once she started to run out of breath. She opened her eyes and scowled. 

“I… I…” Jessica’s sunken face was pockmarked with confusion. 

“Now, shush” Clara grimaced. “Gotta say – probably the shittiest first kiss I’ve ever had with someone.” She drew in a mouthful of stagnant air and held it for a moment. “God, can’t believe I just did that.” 

“Uh… But why—” 

“To shut you up.” She closed your eyes. “And because I love you too, you idiot. Or I did until you decided to act like a complete bitch to me.”  

“I… Wait, you…” 

“Why the hell do you think I begged you to come to Seattle?” 

It was true. Clara was the one who told Jessica how great Seattle would be, how she just needed to give it a chance, that things would be so much better if they could be close to each other. 

Clara continued. “Why do you think I always cancelled plans with you and Nick? Why I only wanted to spend time with you alone?” 

Also true. Something would always come up whenever Jessica would invite Clara along with Nick to go do something. Anything. Whether it was a movie, or dinner, or just hanging out at their apartment, Clara had never really spent a significant amount of time around Nick. 

“I wanted you to come here so I could hook up with you. I figure you’d just leave Nick in the dust and get with me. And when that didn’t happen, I figured you weren’t interested, a-and decided to just try dating. But then, well, the guy I decided to take a chance on is a borderline pedo. God, I really know how to pick ‘em, don’t I?” She snorted. “But yeah. I-I love you too. A lot. I just didn’t want to be a homewrecker.” 

Jessica’s face was contorted into something between embarrassment and bewilderment. “Clara…” 

“What?” 

“You… You really feel that way?” 

“Well, yeah. At least, I did. I-I’ve kinda been trying to get over you, honestly. But I’ve had this thing for you for so long that, well, it’s a lot easier said than done I guess.” She scoffed. “You’re not easy to get over.” 

“Neither are you.” 

Clara walked over to Jessica’s futon sofa and collapsed into it, burying her face in her hands. “How the fuck did things turn out like this?” 

Jessica slumped down into the floor, leaning against the back of her counter. “I have no idea.” 

Both women sat in the dark apartment, thinking back on all the time they’d spent getting to know each other. Together, in silence, they realized that everything that had happened over the past several months could’ve been prevented had they just been honest with each other. If they hadn’t let their fears, doubts, anxieties take control of their behavior, the thing both of them wanted might have become a reality. Before Jessica had blown hundreds of dollars on booze. Before Clara had become emotionally invested in a PNW soft boy with a fetish for jailbait. Before they’d turned their backs on each other, insulted each other, hastily confessed their feelings to each other.  

But they couldn’t turn back time – both women knew that. Now when Clara looked at Jessica, she saw a drunk who couldn’t process her feelings and would rather run than be honest. And when Jessica looked at Clara, she saw a woman who’d convinced her to move to a city she hated because she wanted her to cheat on her boyfriend. Now, despite their best efforts, they’d shown their worst sides to each other.  

For years, they’d been a stable force in each other’s lives.  

Now, both knew how unstable they really were. 

“Jess, I—” Clara started. 

“Can we just, like, cuddle or whatever?” 

“What?” 

“Can I come over there and… I dunno, can you hold me?” 

“Jess, that’s not…” Clara stared across the small apartment at Jess. She looked so scared. So broken. So unsure of what was going to happen next. She looked exactly how Clara felt. “Psh. Yeah. Yeah, sure, I guess. Come here.” 

Jessica used the counter to get to her feet, then sauntered across the room and collapsed on the sofa next to Clara. Without warning, she buried her head in Clara’s chest, the top of her head resting in the pitch-black hair of her damp armpits.  

“H-Hey!” Clara exclaimed. 

Jessica closed her eyes. “Shh…” 

“Don’t shush me!” 

“Shhh…” 

“Jessica, c’mon, we can’t just—” 

“Can we just… talk about this in the morning?” All the drinks were catching up with Jessica. A heavy, thick blanket of exhaustion had begun to coil itself around her, and she felt nothing other than the uncontrollable urge to shut her eyes and forget about everything for a while. “I’m sleepy…” 

“No, you’re fucking wasted, is what you are.” 

Jessica’s voice had subsided to a whisper. “Yeah…” 

Clara didn’t have anything else left to say. So she just held her tongue, as Jessica’s body began to grow limp and her breathing thickened into heavy snores. Soon, her body started to twitch every few minutes, and she let out soft whimpers – early reactions to the drunken dreams she would surely have throughout the night. Clara looked down at the woman’s round, peaceful face, and for all the anger and resentment she felt towards Jessica in the moment, she couldn’t help but to remember this was the face she’d fallen for. This cute, stupid, precious face. 

Against her better judgment, Clara stroked Jessica’s hair – then wiped its grease off on the couch. When was the last time Jess had bathed? There was no telling.  

After an hour had passed, Clara got to her feet and lifted Jessica’s legs onto the couch – careful to position her on her side. She grabbed a nearby Hello Kitty blanket and draped it over her friend, gently tucking it over her shoulders and making sure her feet were under. Then, with a crack of her knuckles, she walked into the kitchen and did what she wanted to do the moment she saw those Tweets. The instant she knew Jessica was drinking. 

I just don’t ever want to turn out like them. It’s so fucking scary. 

One bottle at a time, she uncorked and poured every bottle of booze down the drain as she recalled Jessica confiding in her about her family’s history of addiction.  

Look, if you turn into some kind of raging drunk, I’ll come over to your house and pour out every drop of booze in there. And you won’t be able to fucking stop me. 

Vodka, bourbon, wine, gin… all of it.  

Clara, that’s really sweet. But I’m not your responsibility. I can take care of myself. 

She then opened the fridge and opened every can of cheap beer in there, too – popping the tabs under her shirt, so as not to wake Jessica. Those, too, went down the drain.  

I already lost my mom to that shit, Jess. Because she thought she could fucking drive me to soccer practice after she threw back a bottle of wine. Okay? I won’t lose you too. 

Soon, the apartment reeked of alcohol. After pouring herself a cup of water, Clara walked over to the windows and cracked them open to let the smell out. The woman took a deep whiff of the cool, damp air before she walked back over to the couch. She grabbed a pillow from under the sofa frame, then positioned it under her bony posterior – sitting with her back resting at Jessica’s feet. 

She looked up at Jessica.   

God, she really did love her.  

She always had.  

She’d do anything for her.  

Even when she smelled like shit, couldn’t stay awake, and was being kind of an aggressive bitch. But now everything was fucked up. Could things even go back to normal, let alone get stable enough to maybe talk about a relationship? They’d lied to each other for years at this point, and Clara knew that wasn’t the best place to start a committed, serious kind of deal. 

That’s what her brain said, anyway.  

Somewhere though, in the jagged crevices of her broken heart, she felt like maybe this was the best place to begin. Because now they knew. They knew what they’d kept from each other, and really, couldn’t things only go up from here?  

Clara wasn’t sure. 

But as she stared at her, Clara couldn’t help but to think how nice it would feel to wake up next to that face every morning.  

To kiss it.  

To touch it.  

To just… be near it.  

To be near her.  

Hunched over into a ball at the foot of the couch, Clara began to drift off wondering if maybe, just maybe, her and Jessica couldn’t fix this whole mess. If they couldn’t overcome this hurdle and go back to the way things were. Then, with enough time, maybe they could talk about the relationship both of them wanted but were both too afraid to admit to each other. Now, more than before, they had nothing to lose. There was nowhere to go but up. Right? 

As Clara began to finally fall asleep, sitting upright next to Jessica, she wished this whole thing hadn’t happened. That all the hours they spent confessing their deepest secrets, laughing at asinine memes, and grinding levels in MMOs could’ve just amounted to a strong, stable, committed friendship. That she’d just been able to move on. That she’d just been able to get over it. 

It was like this song, though.  

The one Jessica loved so much.  

The one that Clara hated because she couldn’t ever get it out of her head. 

Jessica was a hard habit to break. 

This is the introduction of Jessica and Clara to some of my larger fiction. They’re very important characters in Traps, a rape-revenge novel I’m currently soliciting, and would not have existed had it not been for this very low period of my life.

Speaking of novels — serialized publication of Twisted Complex is on hold rn as it’s very hard for me to share a novel I wrote in high school, as it turns out. My writing is still very much a work in progress — isn’t it always — but seeing that level of vulnerability and unprocessed emotion isn’t what I want to lead with.

Readers interested in my games writing might want to know that I have a retrospective on the Sega Genesis hitting Paste Magazine sometime this week. Stay tuned.

Until next time — have a great rest of your summer.