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It was finally over.
Mr Melancholy was dead.
Well, Isabel hoped he was dead. She’d stared into his cold, terrifying eyes as she’d driven her axe deep into his chest, protected from his hatred only by her magic and Tara’s blazing presence beside her. Her sword cleaving his head from his neck.
She sat on the edge of camp Sleepaway’s dock, her feet dangling just above the water. The sun was finally coming up over the trees. Its warm glow lit the lake with brilliant sparking light and chased the chill of the night’s storm off her skin. She was exhausted. Her favourite jumper, embroidered with a big pink and red flower, was ruined. It was completely covered in her blood and moon juice. Her overalls were soaked through with mud. Everything hurt, especially her eyes from crying so much.
The wooden planks behind her creaked under heavy bootfalls. She didn't need to turn to see. She'd felt Tara's approach long before she'd been visible on the shore. Their psychic bond was stronger now than it had ever been.
It shouldn't be. Isabel had abandoned her when Tara needed her most. A cowardly act of false self-preservation and denial.
Just like the Drain Lords. It can't hurt you unless you think about it.
It had hurt, though. Every day of Owen's life, the dull pain of unfulfilled existence worsened inch by inch. Like a frog boiling to death in ever increasingly hotter water. Letting melancholy eat away at them until they were a hollow shell, clinging desperately to the things other people told them they should want. A wife. A child. A 401K.
A productive member of American society.
The thunk of Tara dropping down next to her pulled her back from the memories of her other life.
Silence hung in the air between them. All the things she needed to say were fighting their way up her throat and choking her in the process.
"I'm sorry." was all she could manage to stumble out.
"I thought I told you to stop apologising?"
Tara's voice was warm, but there was an undercurrent she couldn't place. Hurt? Disappointment? She had every right to be.
Isabel couldn't bring herself to look. She stared out over the lake. Still hiding behind her favourite coping mechanism.
"I know, but... I really am sorry. I ran when you needed me. We promised to always be there and help each other no matter what, and I broke that promise. I should have believed you when you tried to tell me, but I was too scared."
Warm arms pulled into a comforting embrace. The soft leather of Tara's jacket pressed into Isabel's skin. Tara squeezed her with just the right amount of pressure she liked.
"Bel, please look at me?"
Isabel pulled her legs up over the dock's planks. She shuffled around as Tara adjusted her position to make space for her. She couldn't bring herself to make eye contact, so she settled for staring into the curve of Tara's neck where it settled into her muscular shoulders. Bruises were already forming on her skin from the beating she’d taken.
Tara's hand cupped the side of her cheek. Isabel leaned into its warmth.
Soft lips met hers, and she relaxed into the kiss. It was nothing like their first one, where all she could taste was dirt, bile and sweat. She'd just vomited moon juice all over the ground that Tara had pulled from when she pulled her into a desperate kiss. "I thought I lost you!" She'd cried, tears streaming down her face, "I thought you'd left me!"
Now, it just tasted like Tara. The sweet tang of her skin, the salty warmth of her saliva. It was a heaven she never thought she’d reach.
But even though her heart beat strong inside her chest, back where it belonged, Isabel could still feel Mr Melancholy’s poison oozing around its edges.
She broke their kiss.
“What’s wrong?”
Isabel could feel Tara’s searching gaze on her. How could she even begin to explain?
“Do you remember the TV show about us in the Midnight Realm?”
Tara snorted, "Feels like our lives are like a TV show with how wack they get sometimes." Her expression grew serious as Isabel forced herself to meet her gaze. Tara's soft brown eyes were creased with concern. "I mean, little bits and pieces? It was something pink? No, the Pink Opaque! That's right. Why?"
Isabel tried to swallow the lump in her throat. It wouldn't budge. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, just like her guidance counsellor had taught her and tried again.
“The girls who played us in the show… They were so pretty. I couldn’t remember anything about being here. I watched those tapes you made me over and over again, and then after you left, I tried so hard to forget… To push back down ever thinking that I could— I could be her.”
Tears fell from her eyes, and a sob crashed through her words. Tara reached for her, but she batted away her arms. The hurt that flashed across Tara's was a new knife in her chest, but she couldn't stand to be touched right now. Isabel's hands flew to her head, digging her fingers into the tactile comfort of her soft, long hair.
“Right before you pulled me out of the ground, there was a moment— A moment where I was so happy because I thought I was going to be her! And then you pulled me out, and I remembered, I remembered that I was still… this!" Isabel waved her arms at herself.
The confusion on Tara’s face flashed into the heartbreak of understanding before settling into her battle face.
“What you are, is Isabel.” She said sternly. “I won’t ever let anyone take that away from you.”
“I know,” Isabel moaned, “But it just— for a moment, I thought I was never going to have to feel this way— this discomfort with my body, ever again. I thought that after taking that terrifying leap of faith back towards the real world, it'd all go away!" Isabel pushed herself up and paced towards the end of the dock before spinning on her heel. Everything she'd pushed down to keep Owen safe was exploding out of her like volcanic ichor. “I can cast spells that banish demons! We stopped the apocalypse! But I still can't become a real woman unless I fly halfway around the world and pay a doctor to cut me open!" It's not fair! IT'S NOT FAIR!"
Her furious scream echoed across the lake. Isabel sunk to her knees, the tears pouring from her eyes completely blurring her vision as she sobbed. Dimly, she registered Tara moving towards her.
“Can I give you a hug?”
Her head only managed a few jerky nods before Tara's strong arms surrounded her. Isabel sunk into her embrace, bawling into her jacket. Fingers combed gently through her hair as everything they had bottled up flowed into the daylight.
“You do look so much like her, Bel. I wish you could see it, you’re so beautiful.”
Tara’s words opened new cuts in her heart. They stung with meaning she couldn’t deserve, but it wasn’t blood flowing out. It felt like the dregs of Mr Melancholy leaking away.
Tara eased them down onto the dock, her arm cradled around Isabel, who curled into her shoulder. She thought she'd cried all her tears before that last terrifying battle with him. Her throat felt raw, and her jaw ached.
“It feels like I’m tricking you, somehow.” She whispered
“Hmm? What?” Isabel felt Tara turn to look at her. “Bel, what do you mean?”
She couldn't say it. It would shatter this one last wonderful thing she had left to cling to. She never should have opened her mouth. Panic seized her, and she tried to sit up, but Tara wouldn't let her go.
“Isabel, please— just stop for a second, please just—" Isabel squirmed harder against her. She had to get away! "You're real! Okay? You are real! You're a girl! I like girls, and you are a girl!"
Silence, broken only by her pathetic sniffling.
“You promise?”
“I promise." Tara grinned at her, toothy and warm. She looked a lot like the girl from the TV show and a bit like Maddy, too, but Isabel preferred her Tara over anyone else.
She was finally home.