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Abigail Anderson… she was your neighbour to this day, but back then she was more than that. You grew up incredibly close, you had been best friends for as long as you could remember. Every childhood memory was with her, until that day, at least. You always played outside in the big yard of her house, you rarely went to your own, she never liked it there. She always said your house seemed, cold..
So you were always at her place, looking up at the clouds or playing something - whatever it was, all that mattered was that it was with her. You liked her, liked her a lot, but you were too young to categorise the feeling, not that it mattered, at least not to you. Soon enough, though, you found out it did matter. Your parents were never fond of the relationship between you two, they didn’t like that you were always holding hands, a little too close for their liking. Strict devote Catholics. They wouldn’t be seen with a queer daughter.
You were five years old when you came running home from the house across the street, just before dinner. When you entered your house, your mother walked toward you with a little smile.
“Sweetheart, what do you have there?” Your mother hummed as she helped you out of your coat.
“Flowers” you answered proudly
“Ellie picked them and gave them to me. She said that she likes me and…”
Your giggles stopped you from finishing in one sentence.
“…she kissed my cheek.” You whisper in giggles.
In all your giggles you didn’t see your mother’s smile falter. That night they sent you to bed without any food. That night your silent tears filled the air, you didn’t know what you did wrong.
They forbade you to talk to her, they said she was dangerous, unsafe for you. And every time you broke there rules and saw Abby, you went to bed without food.
Years of yearning for her followed, years when you just wanted your favourite person back, years in which you bled blood to let go. Then came the year of your energy reeling, the year of slow realisation, understanding your parents actions.
Your parents taught you sins, liking girls as a girl? Hell. After years, you came to believe them. Alas, came the years of disgust for people like her, queers like her. Years in which you lost yourself, became shallow, years in which everything started to feel wrong but you couldn’t say… no, admit why.
You stopped talking to her completely, but she never took her eyes off you. Her gaze still read every of your breaths of confusion, it felt like she knew you perfectly. Sometime in middle school she started to change, just when your nameless grave sealed. She officially came out, she began to look like it. And you, you were stuck in hate, in a life where everything felt so wrong and yet you didn’t know… no, admit what it was.
Now, in senior year, she had reached her final form, and so had you. She was a full‑on masc lesbian in her prime: messy hair, tank tops, girls, man‑spreading, charm, that one gaze, muscles. Hell of a lot of them.
And then there was you, living a warm illusion: popular, perfect boyfriend, feminine, flawless makeup, fake, empty.
Some boy of your school threw a house party for everyone in your school over sixteen. That included you and Abby, so you were both there. She was having fun in some seating area, obviously having snuck in alcohol or whatever.
But honestly, you weren’t any better, almost everyone had. You were with your girlfriends, popular girls, of course, all fake, just as fake as you. Though they didn’t feel that off‑putting wrongness, when kissing their boyfriends. But you had grown used to the feeling, you thought it was normal, any other explanation would be unacceptable.
You were in the bathroom, the air had gotten thick in the living room and you needed space. Your eyes flicked up to see who had just come in, as you heard the crack from the door of the bathroom you had just escaped into. You froze as your eyes met her foggy‑green ones, locking for a second. She quietly walked to the sink next to you, snapping you out of your trance. As you kept rummaging through the mess of your purse to touch up the makeup on your face, her voice finally broke through the muffled music from the party outside.
“Hey..” She said, her voice low and quiet.
“Hi.” I replied, my voice quiet and weak. I turn my head around the bathroom, checking no one was inside, it was just us. Alone. My gaze on the floor below my feet, not daring to look at Abby.
“You look nice, y/n.” Abby said, her voice flat, her eyes digging flames into your skin.
“Thanks.” I said, barely above a whisper. I zip up my purse, pulling it over my shoulder.
“Wait..” Abby quickly spoke, “Just talk to me.”
I paused. My eyes seemingly more interested on the floor than her. My body seemed to freeze. “I shouldn’t be speaking to you.” I say bluntly but my voice is weak.
“Seriously? Still on your parents bullshit?” She said, voice harsh.
“Your.. just…” I tried to speak but my voice came out in shattered words.
“Gay? Yeah..” She scoffs. “Get over it y/n.”
“It’s a sin.” I say, still not daring to look at Abby.
Abby steps closer to you ever so slightly, you can feel her eyes piercing through your skin, her hand reaches up, running her fingers gently in your hair before dropping her hand to her side. “Y/n.. cmon. You can’t think that.”
My hands instinctively reach up to the cross on my neck, fiddling with it. Her touch felt so wrong.. but so right. “Abigail...”
“Abby.” She interrupted.
“Abby.. you know it’s wrong.” I say but my voice barely comes above a whisper.
Abby steps closer, making you back into the bathroom wall behind you, the faint linger of some kind of alcohol on her lips. Fuck, don’t think about her lips. “You know what else is wrong? Showing up to a party. Yet you’re still here.”
I pause, my eyes locked onto my leather boots. I look up at Abby, locking my gaze onto her eyes. “That’s unfair to say.”
“You ghosting me is also unfair but I haven’t said anything about that until now.” Her voice gentle but harsh, a defending contradiction.