Four
Downstairs, Vera guided Joan to sit at the kitchen table. The taller woman’s eyes darted around the room nervously, searching for any sign of the man who’d been tormenting her all day. Vera placed a hand on her shoulder, feeling taut muscles and faint shaking.
“Joan?” She spoke, willing the woman to focus on her, on the present. “Are you seeing him again?”
Joan’s eyes darted around a moment longer before settling on Vera. They were glassy and clouded with fear; she looked exhausted.
“No, I-I don’t see him,” she said shakily.
Vera stroked the lean back comfortingly before brushing a strand of dark silver-streaked hair behind her ear.
“Good," she smiled. “Just sit and relax; I’ll make us some tea.”
She made to turn when she felt a hand grip her wrist. She looked down to find Joan staring up at her almost desperately. The woman opened and closed her mouth several times before finally speaking.
“Don’t leave me.” It was shaky and barely above a whisper. Vera never thought she’d hear this formidable woman sound so desperate; sadness washed over her.
What has the world done to you?
“I’m not going anywhere.” She said reassuringly, “I’m just going to put the kettle on, and I’ll be right back.”
Joan reluctantly released her, and Vera gently kissed her forehead before she quickly filled the kettle and turned it on.
She eyed the taller woman worriedly.
Joan stared ahead at nothing in particular, eyes unfocused. She seemed to be half in another world, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
The kettle whistled, jolting her out of the trance. Panicked, she stood. Vera moved and placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to sit once more.
“It’s ok. Just the kettle.”
She puttered about the kitchen, finding everything with ease. A small smile graced her lips at the thought of how familiar she now was with the older woman’s home. Walking back to the table, she placed two steaming mugs down and retook her seat.
They sat silently for a while as they both sipped their tea.
Joan seemed to be slowly calming down, Vera observed. No longer seeing the faint trembling, the tension in her shoulders also seemed to have lessened. Satisfied at this, she finally spoke.
“So um… d-does that… happen… uh often?” She asked quietly.
Joan eyed her cautiously over her mug. Unsure what to reveal. She said nothing as she placed her tea down gently.
“If you’d rather not talk, it’s ok; I won’t push you. I… well, I just want to help.”
The taller woman looked down, her jaw tense, her hands fidgetting as she placed them in her lap again. Unsure what, if anything, she wanted to reveal, how would Vera react? Would she think she's crazy? Did she genuinely want to help? Could she trust her?
Trust is for fools, Joan
Joan bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Her father was nowhere to be seen, but she heard him. She took shaky, deep breaths, trying to calm herself
“Take your time,” Veras's voice broke her out of her thoughts.
“It's…” Joan finally spoke, avoiding eye contact. “It's been happening more frequently…ever since… ever since the riot,” she confessed, looking embarrassed.
Vera nodded sympathetically, clutching the warm mug closer to herself as she tried to figure out what to say next. She had so much she wanted to ask, but she needed to tread carefully. Joan was talking at the moment, which was good; she wanted to keep it that way. Simple questions were best for now; the last thing she wanted was for the taller woman to shut down. Any conversation about the next steps would have to wait until tomorrow; Joan was in a fragile state, and Vera knew the idea of getting any kind of help would be difficult to broach.
“When did it start?” she asked
Dark eyes darted around the room again before fixing themselves on the mug before her and then at the younger woman.
“This time? Or in general?”
“In general,” Vera answered softly
Joan nodded. Her jaw tensed even more, and her nostrils flared as her breathing quickened. Her hands clamped tightly together, almost painfully so. She took another shaky breath before speaking.
“After…um after he…after my f-father…died. That's-” she shifted uncomfortably. “That's when I saw him first,”
Vera nodded again but said nothing, wanting to see if Joan would continue.
“He’s been- I've… I’ve been… seeing… him sporadically ever since.” Her upper lip twitched, and she gritted her teeth. “Sometimes…he… sometimes he goes away for weeks, sometimes months, one time a year.” She felt tears escape her dark eyes and angrily brushed them away. “But he always. Always. Comes back,” she spat, her bottom lip trembling.
Vera took one of Joan's hands and held it.
“I don’t even know what summoned him today,” she shook her head, defeated. “Even in death, he will not let me rest.”
She was silent for a while.
“I hate him,” her voice broke. “B-but I loved him,” she sniffled, shaking her head. “Does that make me a fool?”
Before his treacherous voice could take over, Vera spoke.
“No. It makes you human.” She ran her fingers over the pale knuckles. “Do you ever see anyone else?”
The hand she was holding clenched into a fist. Joan seemed to hold her breath; the trembling had returned.
“I'm sorry, Joan, I shouldn't have pushed you further. I-”
Joan shook her head
“Sometimes I-” she closed her eyes, brow furrowed in pain “s-sometimes,” she took a shaky inhale
“Take your time.” She soothed again.
“Sometimes I see Jianna,” she said quickly. It all came out in a rush. She bit back a sob unsuccessfully, and another followed as she broke down crying.
Vera felt her heart clench painfully at the depths of this woman's pain. She tried to ignore the pang of jealousy at the mention of the young woman. Joan had only told her a bit about Jianna. She knew Joan loved her, that the young woman had a child while in prison, that the boy had been taken away, that Jianna hung herself not long after, and she knew Joan was the one to find her. Her heart ached for the woman she cared so deeply about.
Vera leaned forward and hugged Joan, guiding her head to rest in the crook of her neck. Hot tears burned the skin there, and a hand came up to stroke the dark hair.
“I’m so sorry, Joan; I'm so sorry for all you've been through,” she whispered into the woman's ear as she continued to cry.
“I'm sorry, I'm so broken,” she croaked, her voice muffled by Vera's shoulder.
The smaller woman shook her head and held her tighter. “Hush. You are not broken.”
“I-I’m going mad! I can no longer trust my mind! Perhaps I never could!” she pulled away from Vera slightly, looking into her eyes imploringly. “You don't deserve to be with someone so broken. You don’t deserve a freak like me; You deserve someone better.”
“Joan, stop. You don't get to tell me what I do and do not deserve. I want you and only you. And you are not a freak; you’re not broken.” She spoke firmly, blue eyes burning with sincerity. “And you're not alone anymore. We’re going to figure this out together. You're not alone.” She repeated, pulling her back into the hug.
Joan slowly returned it, squeezing Vera tightly, burrowing her face further into the lean, bronze neck.
I love you, I love you, I love you
The older woman wanted to say it aloud, but the words died in her throat.
They stayed like this for a while, holding each other. Slowly, Joan's crying lessened, sobs became whimpers and sniffles, and then the room was filled with a comfortable silence.
I could stay like this forever, in her arms, her in mine. I love her
Their peace was finally broken by the sound of Veras's stomach growling.
Joan shook in her embrace, and Vera felt a spark of fear. Was she crying again? The shaking intensified, and that's when she heard it.
Laughing.
Joan Ferguson was laughing.
They broke apart; Vera smiled and blushed. “I skipped lunch,” she giggled.
“I—I’m sorry for laughing,” Joan smirked, her face still red and splotchy from all her crying. “After all of this,” she gestured vaguely around her. “ I just couldn't help it,” she chuckled.
“I’m glad I could provide some much-needed comic relief,” Vera laughed. “I suppose it's time for dinner. Are you hungry?”
“No, particularly.” Joan frowned a little; the breakdown had left her with little appetite.
“How about I order Chinese? Maybe you'll be hungry when it comes? If not, you'll have lunch for tomorrow.” Vera smiled
They moved to the living room and ordered food, taking their regular spots on Joan’s large couch side by side. Vera turned on the TV and began flicking through channels. Remarking, not for the first time, how much Joan needed to get Netflix. The older woman scoffed, too tired to think of a witty remark, as the day's events began to catch up to her. She felt her eyes grow heavy, and she found herself struggling to stay awake. Vera noticed this and guided Joan's head to rest against her small shoulder.
“Sleep,” she whispered, “I’ll wake you when the food gets here.”
A thin arm wrapped around her and pulled her closer. Joan smiled slightly as she listened to her girlfriend giggling at some ridiculous sitcom. She felt warm and safe, so much so that she drifted off to sleep.