You have all heard me talk of performing. Well, for anyone who is interested, here is a link to one of my performances on YouTube. The rest of the videos can be found from there.
Now, I realise they aren't the best performances, but in my defense, I had just gotten off from work, drove for an hour, and had very little room to move. I'm going to record the benefit concert performances as well, and hopefully I will have a tripod for the camera (Samantha, I love you, but your camera work sucked). The concert will also be outside (weather permitting), which makes the sound quality better.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RG8RwYvf6Hc
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
New laptop, 100 posts, and BaP news!
What a milestone. The 100th post on my blog happened to coincide with my buying a new laptop. Yes, my dear readers, I have reached 100 posts. Of course, it's not that big of a deal really, but it was fun to pretend for a moment. In other news, the big charity benefit concert is approaching (11th June) and I can't wait! Radio DJ's are attending as well as news crews, and we always raise a fair amount of money.
I've gotten a camera operator, props and blood for the Bits and Pieces short film, and as soon as the script is completed (shouldn't be too long from now), the cast and I are going to get together to run through it. I can't wait!
I've gotten a camera operator, props and blood for the Bits and Pieces short film, and as soon as the script is completed (shouldn't be too long from now), the cast and I are going to get together to run through it. I can't wait!
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Bits and Pieces (Complete Version)
Well, my lovelies, here it is. The completed version of "Bits and Pieces". Hope you enjoy. Note: This may be made into a short film if I am able to find cast members willing to cooperate. The girl I want for Bronwyn is a bit uncomfortable with the bisexual aspect of the story, and I don't have anyone for Scott or the nameless man with Joan.
As the answering machine played back the messages she had received, the young blonde woman gasped. She knew that low raspy voice, though she hadn't heard it in years. They had been best friends, closer than sisters, but when they had gotten into a huge argument, all of that had collapsed. So why was she calling her now?
"Hey, Bronnie. I know we haven't spoken in awhile, but I need to talk to you. Call me back, okay? Thanks."
Joanie. Her Joanie. She knew everyone else called her "Joan" now, but to Bronwyn, she would always be Joanie, just as she would always be "Bronnie". The message ended, and a small click signalled the beginning of a new one. Joan again. But something was different about this message. There was something in her voice that wasn't quite right.
"Bronnie, please. I'm not screwing around, this is important. Call me back. Please."
She sounded almost desperate. Something was definitely wrong, yet Bronwyn couldn't bring herself to pick up the phone.
"Bronwyn, come on, man, pick up the damn phone. You can go back to hating me later, but please. I need to talk to you. You're the only one I've got."
How could she be the only person Joan had? Joan was surrounded by people every day at her job, and Bronwyn was sure that she had a crowd of friends to talk to. Still, she worried. Should she call Joan, or wait and see if she called again? Opting for the second choice, Bronwyn sat in a chair and let her mind take her back to the days when she and Joan had been inseparable.
The woman may have been tiny and short, but Bronwyn was instantly intimidated by her. Her short dark hair, coupled with a leather jacket only added to her fear. The woman made her way over to her and Bronwyn braced herself for a cold remark.
"Hi," was all she said, her voice low and somewhat raspy.
"Hi," Bronwyn answered.
"I'm Joan," her hand was outstretched and Bronwyn took it.
"Bronwyn."
She was amazed that the woman hadn't hit her. She seemed to radiate toughness, and Bronwyn fought the urge to step back.
"Bronwyn, huh? That's an interesting name. I like it."
She smiled, and Joan returned it. As she saw Joan's beautiful smile, she was amazed at how much it changed her. The tough girl became a striking young woman, and it was nothing short of mesmerising.
Bronwyn closed the door of her refrigerator and sighed. It had been almost eight hours since Joan's last phone call, and she found herself becoming more worried with each minute. Again she debated on whether she should call her friend back or simply wait for another call. Joan could have been drunk when she made the calls, she reasoned. After all, Joan was known for drinking heavily when she was depressed. However, she hadn't sounded drunk at all. She had sounded completely sober, and that worried her most of all.
Her phone rang again, and Bronwyn jumped, startled. She made a mad dash for the phone and answered breathlessly.
"Hello?"
"Hey," came a voice on the other end.
"Oh. Hi, Tessa."
"Well, don't you sound happy to talk to me…"
Tessa's voice was dripping sarcasm.
"Sorry. I thought you were Joan."
"Joan? As in Joan Esten? Why would she call? You haven't talked to her in what…ten years?"
"I know, but she called me and she sounded bad," Bronwyn explained.
"Hmm…I wonder how drunk she was."
"She wasn't. She sounded sober."
"Wow…Joan never calls anyone unless she's in really deep shit, and even then, someone else usually has to call on her behalf."
"I know, but I'll talk to you later, okay? I want to make sure I don't miss her call."
As the friends said their goodbyes, Bronwyn found her mind wandering once again to the past, and as her mind locked on a particular memory, she blushed.
"I miss you, Joanie…" she whispered.
The smoke from the fireplace was thick, creating an almost eerie haze in the room. The television was on, but neither of them were paying it any attention. Joan was in the kitchen of their shared apartment, swearing every so often as she tried to cook a meal without destroying it.
"Do you need some help?" Bronwyn asked, her eyebrows raised in amusement as she watched the older woman.
"No," was Joan's muffled reply.
She stood back from the refrigerator, a bottle of rum in her slender hand, and smiled wickedly.
"I've got all I need right here."
She took a drink from the bottle and held it out to Bronwyn. She took it and hesitantly took a small sip. The liquid burned as it went down, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. Joan sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her.
"Come on, Bronnie. Sit down."
Sighing, Bronwyn lowered herself onto the couch, and flinched as Joan put an arm around her shoulder. Joan wasn't an outwardly affectionate person, so this action was a bit startling to the blonde woman.
"I'm worried about you, Joanie."
"Why?"
"You've been distant lately. You don't ramble like you used to."
"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Sorry if I've shut you out."
Bronwyn looked up at her, admiring the way the light reflected off Joan's hair, giving her eyes an almost frightening glow, and before she knew what she was doing, she leaned up and kissed her. Joan froze, and when Bronwyn pulled back, she simply looked at her, unsure of what to say.
"I…I'm sorry, Joan. I don't know what came over me."
Much to her surprise, Joan smiled.
"Don't worry about it, Bronnie."
This time it was Joan who leaned down and brushed her lips against Bronwyn's, a small smirk on her lips.
"However, if this goes any farther, you'd better worry. This ends now. Got it?" Joan warned.
Bronwyn nodded, surprise still evident on her face, and she wondered where this would lead them.
It had led them nowhere, but even now, Bronwyn still found it difficult to think of Joan without recalling that night. After all, how was she supposed to remember the woman who had become such a strong sexual attraction for her? With all the men and women Joan had been with, Bronwyn had to wonder if maybe there was something about her that wasn't enough for her friend. She had tried not to let her growing affection and attraction show, but when she watched Joan with a man or another woman, she had to bite her tongue (sometimes literally) to keep from screaming.
She thought back to the night when Joan had finally had enough and walked out of her life, and wondered if there was anything she could have done differently. Taking a drink of her glass of water, she threw back a handful of pills, hoping they would save her from this intense reawakening of her memory. Bronwyn smiled sadly to herself, knowing that her drug addiction had been one of the things Joan had been unable to handle.
Joan had problems of her own, ranging from depression, self injury and eating disorders to an almost overwhelming tendency to be excitable. She was passionate about music, though by her own admission she would never be able to play an instrument well enough to perform and relied on her voice, she loved to write, whether in her journal or one of her many stories. Bronwyn had loved hearing her stories. She didn't enjoy reading them as much as she loved hearing Joan read them aloud. Joan's voice painted thrilling pictures in her mind, and gave life to the things her imagination created.
Watching Joan struggle through her problems had been almost unbearable for Bronwyn. She never complained, never let her pain show and spent all of her time trying to help anyone she could, regardless of what it cost her.
Bronwyn paced the room, swearing loudly when she hit the small table that her glass was resting on. As if in slow motion, she watched the glass fall and shatter, the sound magnified in the silence. The pills were beginning to take effect, she realised, and she suddenly regretted taking them. Her mind drifted again, and Joan's voice was so clear in her memory that she could have sworn she was standing in the room.
"Bronwyn, I thought you were going to stop. You said you were going to stop!"
Bronwyn jerked at the coldness in Joan's voice and raised her eyes to the dark-haired woman.
"I'm trying, Joanie…" she said softly.
Joan shook her head.
"No, you're not. If you were trying, I wouldn't have to be saying this. And my name is Joan!"
"Okay, Joan," she spat the name viscously, uncaring that she sounded like a bitter child, "what about you? You harm yourself day after day, you starve yourself and work yourself to death. You haven't been trying to stop any of your destructive habits!"
"How dare you?" Joan whispered dangerously, "Do you not understand that I've been trying for years to stop? It's not that easy, but at least I'm trying."
"You're not trying hard enough then. At least when I decide to try, I won't half-ass it!"
Her vision swam and the floor rushed up to her. She braced herself for the impact, but found herself unexpectedly wrapped in Joan's arms. Sighing, Joan easily lifted the younger woman and sat down on the couch. Bronwyn's head was resting in her lap and she gently ran her hand over the blonde woman's hair.
Bronwyn moaned and her eyes opened slowly, her gaze hazy. As her eyes focused on Joan's face, she was able to make out her sad expression.
"Joanie?"
Joan looked down at her, not bothering to reprimand her use of the nickname, and sighed sadly.
"Bronnie…I can't do this anymore. I can't watch you destroy yourself knowing that you aren't even trying to save yourself."
The defeat and weariness in her voice scared Bronwyn more than anything. She would have preferred screaming, hatred, anything to the look that Joan gave her now.
"Joanie?"
Joan lifted Bronwyn's head from her lap and stood, making her way to the door.
"Joan. Wait."
Joan turned, her pale hand on the door, an expectant look on her face.
"I'm sorry," Bronwyn murmured, aware of how foolish she sounded.
Joan nodded.
"I know, but I can't stay. I won't sit here and watch you die anymore. I love you, Bronwyn, but I'm sorry."
She opened the door and walked out without even a single glance behind her. Bronwyn stared at the place where she had stood, her mind unable to comprehend that her best friend was truly gone. She didn't know how long she stayed that way, only that some time afterward she sank to the floor and let her tears flow freely.
The ringing of the phone jolted her out of her memory and she made her way over to the phone, stumbling and nearly falling along the way.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice slightly slurred.
"Bronwyn?"
"Umm…yeah?"
"It's me. Joan."
"Oh! Hi, Joanie!" she exclaimed, her mood suddenly elevated.
On her end of the line, Joan sighed. She knew that tone.
"You're stoned." It wasn't a question, and Joan couldn't keep her sadness and disappointment from her voice.
"Uh…no?"
Joan knew that there would be no way of talking rationally to her so she decided to wait.
"Bronwyn, I'll talk to you later."
Without waiting for an answer, Joan hung up. Why was it that when she needed her, Bronwyn was stoned? She opened her nearly bare refrigerator and took out the half-empty bottle of rum and took a drink. Sighing, she surveyed the contents of her refrigerator. The rum bottle was now in her hand, leaving only a bottle of wine that had yet to be opened, a container of yogurt and a carton of eggs. She made a mental note to pick up another carton of eggs the next day, and made her way slowly to her bare living room. She felt her legs give way and she collapsed on her couch, being careful not to spill her drink. She thought back to the first few months after she had left the apartment she had shared with Bronwyn. All the sleepless nights spent drinking, sleeping with random men and women, the downward spiral that seemed endless.
Things had finally began to improve, but now after months of stressful work hours, the dizziness that left her with no other choice but to admit that she was in way over her head, and the lack of money in her bank account despite her work schedule had forced her to call on the one person who she had thought she could rely on. She had thought that Bronwyn would have cleaned up her act after she left, but apparently she was wrong. With one final drink of rum, she set the bottle down on the table and closed her eyes, falling into a restless sleep.
Bronwyn woke up with her head pounding. She raised up groggily, and saw her phone laying on the floor next to her. She dimly remembered her phone ringing, but who had been on the other end? Had it been Tessa? She couldn't remember. Her head was spinning and noticed the light blinking on her answering machine. Joan! She rushed to it, and pressed the button. The machine clicked on and there was a moments silence.
"Hey, man, whenever you decide to sober up, give me a call. It's important."
Confusion clouded her mind. It was Joan, no mistaking that voice, but how had she known? The nights events were blurred, and she realised that it had been Joan that she'd spoken to last night before passing out. Shame coloured her face as she realised how disappointed Joan must have been. The message had been from this morning, she saw, and wondered if there was a possibility that she might still catch her. Taking her chances, she dialled the number she knew by heart and waited.
Just as she was about to hang up, the ringing stopped, and Bronwyn was suddenly overcome by speechlessness.
"Hello?" a man's voice answered.
Bronwyn was confused. Had she dialled the wrong number?
"Is Joan there?"
"No. She's not. She's gone out," the man replied coldly.
"Who is it?" came Joan's voice faintly.
Bronwyn's heart stopped. Joan's voice was unmistakable, she was there, so why wouldn't this man hand the phone over?
"Well, this is Bronwyn. Could you tell her I called?"
"When I want her to call you, I'll tell her." Joan's voice rose in the background.
"Who is it? Give me the phone."
A faint cracking sound was heard, and Bronwyn knew that Joan had been slapped. She jerked herself, and found tears forming in her eyes. Now she knew why Joan had called her. She just wished she had called sooner. The phone clicked in her ear and she knew that the phone had been hung up. She felt her tears spilling over and decided to wait for a few minutes before calling Joan back again. She just hoped it wouldn't be too late.
Joan raised her head as she heard her phone ringing, but couldn't bring herself to move from her position on the floor. She knew she was alone, but for how much longer, she couldn't be sure.
"Hey, this is Joan. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message. If the machine cuts you off, take it's advice and talk less."
The voice of her best friend filled the silence in her apartment and Joan crawled to her phone.
"Joan, it's Bronwyn. I'm returning your call, but I guess-"
"Bronnie?" Joan's voice was strained as she answered.
"Joan! Are you okay? What's wrong? I tried to call you earlier, but-"
"Bronnie…slow down," Joan advised, a hint of amusement in her voice, "I'm fine. Are you sober enough to talk to me tonight?"
"That's not funny, Joan. Who was that man that answered your phone?"
"He's no one," Joan cringed as she realised that Bronwyn had been able to hear everything from that morning. "Don't worry about it. Do you think you could meet me somewhere in about an hour?"
Bronwyn nodded even though Joan couldn't see her.
"Of course, Joanie. Where?"
"Anywhere. Someplace with a crowd of people."
Bronwyn thought for a moment.
"Well, do you still work at that little coffee shop in town?"
Joan laughed bitterly.
"Work at it? I'm the owner and manager."
"Could we meet there?"
"Sure," Joan agreed, "I'll be there. And Bronnie?"
Bronwyn waited.
"Thanks."
Bronwyn smiled softly.
"No problem."
When Bronwyn arrived at the small coffee shop, she scanned the crowd for Joan. After searching for several minutes, she finally approached the young man behind the counter. He flashed her a quick smile before asking if he could help her.
"Yes, I was wondering if Joan Esten has been in today?"
He thought for a moment then shook his head.
"No, ma'am. I haven't seen her today. It's her day off, so you might try her at home."
"I spoke with her an hour ago and she was supposed to meet me here."
The young man smiled again.
"Perhaps she's just running late," he suggested, "Can I get you anything while you wait?"
Bronwyn shook her head.
"No, thank you. I'll just sit here for a bit."
"Okay, well if there's anything I can do, just ask."
Bronwyn returned his smile and made her way to the only vacant table available. Joan definitely knew how to draw a crowd, she saw, and she knew how to choose employees. She pulled her chair closer to the table and rested her arms on the smooth surface. She trained her gaze on the door, waiting for the tiny woman to appear in the doorway.
It always amazed her that such a small woman could be so tough and fill an entire room with her presence, yet be so vulnerable at the same time. She recalled one night when she had awoken to Joan's screaming. She had run to Joan's room to find her sitting up in bed, gasping for breath, an expression on her face that she had seen only a few times before. It was as if Joan had wanted to cry, but refused to allow herself and resorted to anger instead. Though she had been afraid for her friend, Bronwyn always appreciated that moment of vulnerability that she had seen. It had reminded her that although Joan seemed as if nothing could hurt her, she wasn't as invincible as she liked people to think.
Bronwyn glanced at her watch and saw that almost half an hour had passed since she had arrived. It wasn't like Joan to be late. Ever. If anything, Joan was nearly always early for everything. One of her biggest annoyances was when people showed up late for something, or worse, not at all. Bronwyn was beginning to worry. She stood abruptly and approached the counter again, the same young man as before smiling at her again.
"Can I help you again, ma'am?" he said with a laugh.
"I know you can't give me her address, but I was wondering if perhaps you could call Joan for me? I'm starting to get worried. Joan is never late for anything."
He gave her an uncertain look, but soon brightened.
"My shift is over in twenty minutes. If you'd like, I can give you a ride," he offered.
Bronwyn nodded gratefully, relief clear on her face.
"Thank you so much. That would help me out a lot."
Joan's head was throbbing viciously, and she shakily raised up from her position on the floor. She was pulled to her feet by her hair and as the raised hand was prepared to strike, the knock on the door made them both freeze. She was thrown behind the couch and soon he leaned over her, his face inches from her own.
"Don't move. Don't make a fucking sound," he whispered.
Joan would have told him to fuck off had she been able to speak, but settled on a glare instead. He answered the door and she could hear him easily speaking to the person on the other side.
"She was supposed to meet me an hour ago."
Joan's breath caught. Bronwyn! She had to warn her. She stood slowly, deliberately, and willed Bronwyn to look at her. With dread filling her, she also recognised Scott, her young employee. Still she tried to attract Bronwyn's attention. When their eyes met, Bronwyn's widened in terror, and Joan knew that he had seen. She ducked down quickly, but not quickly enough. Her movement was caught by his well-trained eyes, and he slammed the door in Bronwyn's face, turned the lock and strode to her. She was pulled up painfully by the arm and dragged down the hallway to the small closet. After being thrown to the floor, she heard the lock turn on the door, and she could feel her anxiety growing. Her breathing quickened, and she knew she couldn't stand it much longer. Uncaring if anyone heard, she began to scream as loudly as her strained vocal chords would allow. Somehow, she knew that no one would be coming to save her.
On the other side of the door, Bronwyn and Scott stood frozen in fear. They could hear Joan's screaming, and pounded frantically on the door. Bronwyn knew that Joan was claustrophobic and knew they had to act fast. Her screams were heartbreaking, tortured, and scared, and Bronwyn could hear Joan's own pounding of whatever room she was being held in. Scott's terrified eyes found hers and together they seemed to come up with the same solution. Pulling out his phone, Scott ran to the other end of the hall, calling over his shoulder.
"I'm calling the police!"
Bronwyn prayed that by the time they arrived, it wouldn't be too late.
Joan's voice was becoming hoarse, but still she kept screaming. She could feel blood running down her hand, but she didn't care. She had to get out of this room. The walls seemed to be closing in on her, and she fought to keep her fear from growing. She had been locked in here before, but never for this long, and Joan knew if she didn't get out soon, she was going to die.
She slipped on a fallen jacket and landed on her back.
"Fuck," she whispered.
Standing up again, she resumed pounding on the door and screaming. She would have preferred abuse, threats, death, anything but being trapped in this small space. He knew she couldn't handle small dark areas, and she knew this was some sick way of amusing himself.
'YOU BASTARD!" she screamed, "OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"
Her cries were in vain, but she was determined to let him know that he couldn't defeat her. She wasn't sure how much longer she could handle this though, so she prayed that she would be released soon.
Scott returned fifteen minutes later, closely followed by three men in uniforms. When they reached Bronwyn standing outside Joan's door, the officer's eyes were wide.
"How long has this been going on?"
"About half an hour. Maybe longer," Bronwyn answered, "She's locked in a room somewhere, but we can't get in."
"How do you know she's locked in a room?"
"Because I know Joan. She only freaks out like that if she's in a small space and can't get out."
The officer nodded, and raised his fist, pounding in the door.
"Police! Open the door!"
Bronwyn was thrown aside as the door flew open and the man she had seen with Joan pushed past, making a mad dash for the stairs. Two of the three police officers ran after him, while the other looked to Bronwyn and Scott. Joan's screams and sobs could still be heard, and as the remaining officer stepped inside, he held Bronwyn back.
"Stay out here. I'm going to go help your friend."
The screaming suddenly stopped and Scott and Bronwyn exchanged worried glances. Footsteps approached swiftly and Bronwyn found her view obstructed as Joan crashed into her, hugging her fiercely. When she released her, Joan leapt on Scott, hugging him as well. Scott looked slightly startled and amused at the same time. He smoothed Joan's hair back gently and she kissed him on the cheek softly. Turning back to Bronwyn, Joan smiled sadly.
"I'm sorry I was late," she whispered.
"Oh, Joanie," Bronwyn exclaimed, her voice breaking slightly, "It's nothing! I'm just happy you're okay."
She wrapped her arms around her and Joan rested her head on her shoulder. Bronwyn felt something hit her shoulder and when she pulled away to look at her friend, she saw tears in Joan's eyes. Scott came up behind Joan and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned and found him looking at her with an almost scared expression.
"I hope you don't mind that I drove her here. I couldn't give her your address, but since I knew it, I offered her a ride."
Joan threw herself at him again and when she pulled back, there was a small smirk on her face. Scott looked confused for a moment, then winced as Joan's hand connected with the back of his head.
"You dumbass."
Scott laughed and he put his arm around her shoulder. When Bronwyn did the same on her other side, Joan leaned over and kissed her softly before turning to Scott and repeating the action. Scott had the decency to look embarrassed, but Bronwyn knew he had enjoyed it. How could anyone not love kissing Joan? Joan was oblivious to the effect this had had on the pair, and she returned to her apartment to prepare for her testimony that she had to give to the officer still waiting for her.
Two hours and four glasses of rum later, Joan and Bronwyn were sitting on the couch with Scott in the kitchen trying to find something worth eating.
"Dammit, Joan, don't you have any food in here?"
Joan laughed.
"Nope. Just yogurt and booze. Sorry, Scott."
"And eggs," Bronwyn added.
Scott returned to the living room and sat on Joan's other side, gazing at Joan fondly. Joan, who was staring off at something only she could see, didn't notice and only looked around when she felt the couch shift under his weight as he slid closer to her. Bronwyn noticed this however, and struggled to keep her face neutral. How dare he look at her Joanie that way? Who was she kidding? Joan didn't belong to her. Joan belonged to nobody but Joan and it would always be that way.
Even when Joan was in a relationship, she was still her own person, and anyone who couldn't accept her as she was soon found themselves being kicked out. Bronwyn had to admit, she admired Joan when it came to relationships. She gave them everything she had and wasn't the type to be with someone if she didn't believe it would work. Although, as Bronwyn had discovered recently, that hadn't always been the case. Joan had confided in her about her many one-night stands in the early months following their argument. She had been shocked, but in a way it had made perfect sense.
A loud thud caused her to jump and when she looked around, she saw Joan laughing. At first she wasn't sure what her friend was laughing at, then she saw Scott sprawled on the floor, an embarrassed look on his face.
"How did you manage to end up there?" Joan asked, trying to control her laughter.
Bronwyn thought she knew the reason. In his attempt to be closer to Joan, he had slid from the couch to the floor. Judging by his stammered response, Bronwyn knew she was right. Joan held her hand out to help him up, and let out a shriek when she was pulled to the floor. Still laughing, she reached up and pulled Bronwyn to the floor with them. Despite the events of the day and the love struck expression on Scott's face, Bronwyn found that she was enjoying herself. Being with Joan again was enough. She had missed this.
Joan was jolted from her sleep when her door was thrown open with such force that it slammed against the wall and rebounded. She blinked in a daze, and struggled to focus. The dark form standing over her caused her pulse to race, and though she wanted to, she couldn't scream. His hand over her mouth prevented her from making any sound, and even as she thought of biting down on his hand, she knew he had seen the thought in her eyes.
His hand moved from her mouth to her throat and she began to struggle. His free hand was raised, and Joan closed her eyes tightly, already knowing what was coming. Blow after blow rained down on her and as blackness began to dance at the edge of her vision, Joan dimly wondered what would happen if she simply didn't wake up this time. She was scared to find that she didn't care.
The door to the coffee shop opened, and as always when he heard the bell, Scott glanced up.
"Holy fucking shit," he whispered, his eyes wide.
He quickly moved from his place behind the counter and stood in front of his boss. Joan shot him a glare and moved past him.
"Joan, are you okay?"
She nodded once.
"I'm fine," she said shortly, "Now go find something to clean."
"Okay," he answered confusedly.
It wasn't like Joan to give orders so sharply, and her dishevelled appearance alarmed him. Still, she was his boss, so he did as she asked. As he watched her, he noticed that she walked rather slowly, a contrast to her normally fast stride, and she was fidgeting with her necklace. He had seen the long silver necklace before, a small bird and rose rested on a tiny circular clock, but he knew that Joan loved it and normally kept it hidden under her shirt unless she was checking the time.
As he was wiping down the counter, he heard something hit the floor and Joan swore softly. Setting his towel down, he walked in the back storeroom and found his boss kneeling on the floor sweeping up bits of glass. He knelt down next to her.
"Here, let me help you with that."
"I can handle it," Joan snapped, "Go finish what you were doing."
As she reached to pick up a larger piece of glass, Scott noticed that her hands were shaking. Wanting to help, but not wanting her to be upset, he gently placed his hands over hers. She looked up at him with an unreadable expression, but didn't pull away.
"Joan…let me help you."
Sighing, Joan allowed him to take the glass from her hand, and simply sat silently while he went to locate the broom. When he retuned, she knelt with the dustpan as he swept up the broken pieces. After the glass had been swept, Joan made her way to the nearest trash bin and as she tipped over the dustpan, it slipped from her hand and fell into the bin.
"Dammit," she muttered.
"Joan? Maybe you should take the day off," he suggested.
The answering glare she threw at him was enough to make him step back. The ringing of the bell signalled a customer, and Joan stepped behind the counter, a smile painted on her face.
"Hi, can I help you?"
"Yes, I'd like-" the woman stopped as her eyes rested on Joan, taking in the paleness, bruises and dark circles. Joan didn't notice however, and smiled again. "Yes?"
"I'd like a French vanilla cappuccino with whipped cream," the woman continued.
"Of course," Joan answered cheerfully, "I'll bring it right over when it's ready."
The woman nodded and handed her money over, without waiting for her change.
Scott glanced at his boss as she worked, and noticed that her hands were shaking worse than ever. He fought the urge to tell her to leave and knew that if he did, she would fire him, concerned or not. The bell chimed again, and a young man entered, stepping up to the counter. Scott made his way over, but was too late. Joan pointed to the cup behind her.
"I've got him, you go take this to the young woman over there in the blue shirt."
He nodded, and Joan smiled again.
"Hi, can I help you?"
"I just need a small coffee. Black."
Joan nodded.
"Sure thing. We'll bring it out in just a moment."
After the man had paid and taken his seat at a table, he waved Scott over.
"I know it isn't my place to ask, but what happened to that woman?"
"Who? Joan?"
"The woman behind the counter."
"She's dealing with a lot right now, but I'm not really sure on the specifics. I don't know what the bruises are from."
"Oh, I was just wondering."
Seeing Joan out of the corner of his eye, Scott made to walk away. She set the man's coffee in front of him and smiled.
"Let me know if it's too strong," she said with a smile, "I tend to make my coffee very strong."
He took a drink and smiled.
"No, ma'am. It's fine."
Satisfied, Joan walked back to the counter and Scott cornered her as she was entering the storeroom again.
"Joan. Please go home and rest. You're shaking, pale, you look like hell. I'm worried about you."
"I'm not going home. And don't worry about me."
Scott looked at her with a mixture of sorrow and concern. Joan wasn't sure why he worried about her, and said as much. Scott threw up his hands in exasperation.
"How can I not worry about you? You're my boss, but I still care about you."
"What?" Joan blinked, confused.
"I care about you, Joan," he repeated.
Joan stepped back as he moved closer and turned away.
"Don't," she whispered.
"Don't what?"
"Don't care about me. I'm not worth that."
He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. She looked confused, almost scared, and he leaned down to her eye level.
"Joan, listen to me. You are worth more than anyone I've ever met. You're smart, funny, you don't care what people think, you tell people what they need to hear whether they'll like it or not, and you're beautiful."
Joan looked as though she were about to scream, but he still had one last thing to say.
"Joan, when you kissed me yesterday, that was one of the best moments of my life."
"Scott," she whispered finally, "I don't know what to say. So I'll say this: get back to work."
When Bronwyn knocked on Joan's door, she was terrified that her friend wouldn't answer. Joan pulled open the door and rushed into Bronwyn's arms, hugging her. Bronwyn inhaled deeply, committing to memory Joan's very scent. She knew that Joan used pure vanilla extract as perfume, and the smell was mixed with a slight hint of sun block. As Joan stepped back to allow her inside, Bronwyn noticed the bruises on her pale skin and fought the urge to gasp.
The two had planned to have a day where they could sit together as friends and forget the past. Bronwyn was anxious to hear some of Joan's stories, and asked to have her read aloud to distract her from asking about the bruises on Joan's small body.
"There's nothing to read, Bronnie."
"What do you mean? Aren't you writing anymore?"
Joan shrugged slightly.
"Not really. It just doesn't interest me the way it used to."
"Joanie…" Bronwyn fought to keep the sadness from her voice, "are things really that bad? You're so unhappy that you can't even write?"
Joan said nothing for a long moment, and Bronwyn wasn't sure she had heard her.
"I guess," was Joan's eventual answer.
Bronwyn had never heard her friend sound so…indifferent. Seeing Joan give up was heartbreaking, and so unlike her that Bronwyn was very concerned.
"Joan…writing was always your way of expression. If it wasn't music, it was writing. Sometimes you even combined the two and wrote music. You can't let that go."
Joan didn't appear to be listening.
"Joan, don't give up. Don't lose yourself to your pain. Don't you remember your goals and dreams?"
"Bronnie, I lost myself years ago. It's too late now."
Joan's head snapped back. A look of complete shock and fear coloured her face as she stared at Bronwyn's hand still suspended in the air.
"Dammit, don't talk that way! Joan, you can't give up on me! I love you!"
Too late she realised her mistake, and Joan stared at her in silence. She still couldn't believe Bronwyn had slapped her, and her admission only added to her shock. Joan had known, in some way, that Bronwyn had harboured feelings for her, but had assumed they would pass over time. Clearly she had been wrong.
"What?"
Bronwyn, amazed at her own actions, pulled Joan to her, kissing her fiercely, almost urgently. She ran her hand through Joan's black hair, admiring the way it slipped through her fingers. She finally released her and Joan was staring straight ahead as if she couldn't comprehend what had just happened. Her expression was unreadable and too late Bronwyn worried that she made a mistake.
"Joan?" she whispered tentatively.
Joan didn't answer, but stood and walked slowly to the door, opening it.
"I think you should go," she said quietly, "I need time to think."
Hearing this made Bronwyn want to stay. Joan needing time to think was never a good sign. When Joan began thinking too much, her thoughts took a dark and dangerous turn that at times she couldn't be saved from. Still, Bronwyn respected her request and made her way through the door, looking at Joan one last time.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Joan nodded only once.
Bronwyn threw the pills to the back of her throat and swallowed. How could she have been so stupid? She should have known not to kiss Joan. Now she had messed up their newly rekindled friendship quicker than she had ever thought possible. Joan had only kissed her twice in all the years she had known her, and once had just been as a way of saying "thank you". Why had she assumed that Joan could ever feel the same way about her? Joan had always been adamantly clear that she considered her just a friend.
The lights swirled around her and she stumbled to her door. Wrenching it open, she saw Joan on the other side, her hand poised to knock.
"Bronnie?"
"Hmm? Oh, hi Joanie."
Bronwyn's voice was slurred and Joan sighed. She should have known.
"I'm leaving."
"No! Joanie…stay. Please? I'm sorry!"
Against her better judgement, Joan crossed the threshold into Bronwyn's apartment. She sat down on the couch and her friend soon followed, nearly falling into her lap. Though Bronwyn was only a year younger than her, Joan felt significantly older as she ran her hands over her friend's hair.
"Joanie?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
"I know," Joan sighed.
"Don't you like me anymore?"
"You're my best friend, Bronnie. Of course I like you. I'm just not in love with you."
Joan wondered why she was explaining herself, seeing as it was unlikely that Bronwyn would remember any of this in the morning. As Bronwyn began to drift off as a result of the pills she had taken earlier, Joan found herself growing more anxious as each moment passed. Raising the younger woman's head's from her lap, Joan stood and made her way into the kitchen. She soon discovered that Bronwyn was very unorganised and her search was nearly in vain until her eyes lighted on the dishwasher.
Searching for a moment, she triumphantly produced her prize and raised the fabric of her jeans. She winced in pain as the blade of Bronwyn's sharpest kitchen knife tore through her skin. The blood didn't flow instantly, and Joan made another swipe with the knife, her hand jerking slightly. Finally she saw a thin line of blood and felt a small amount of relief. It wasn't enough though, so she ripped the blade across her leg again and again, not satisfied until her skin was completely coated in blood.
She rinsed the knife and turned, wincing as she put her weight on her leg. She nearly fell in shock when she saw Bronwyn standing in the doorway, a hurt expression on her face.
"Joan…"
Joan couldn't meet her eyes, but whispered "What?"
"Why?"
"Because I upset you. I'm the reason you're stoned right now. Because I made you feel like shit, or stupid, or however I made you feel."
"Seeing you like this makes me feel worse than anything you could have said. You were just being honest."
Bronwyn had never seen so much blood on her friend's body before and she fought the urge to cry. Joan lowered herself to the floor and watched with a twisted kind of interest as the blood pooled around her.
"Maybe I went too far," she remarked half-heartedly.
Bronwyn was about to reply when the floor rushed up to her and she hit with a thud. Ignoring the intense pain in her leg, Joan stood and carried her over to the couch, throwing a blanket over her.
"What am I going to do with you?" she whispered.
It didn't occur to her that had she been awake, Bronwyn would have asked her the same.
When Joan entered the coffee shop the next morning, she found Scott waiting for her at the door. She tried to sidestep him, but he moved with her, blocking her way.
"Scott," she sighed, "I didn't come to work to dance with you. Now, are you going to get out of my way or not?"
He shook his head.
"Not. Joan, I need to talk to you. Now."
Her eyes narrowed, and he pulled her over to the side of the building.
"You lay a finger on me, and I'll fucking kill you."
"No, Joan. You can't go in there. He's looking for you."
Joan knew from the scared expression on his face that there was no need to ask who he was talking about.
"Well, I can't go back home, he'll look there next."
Scott nodded.
"Come with me."
He took her hand and pulled her back into the parking lot. Deciding it would be better to use her car, he slid into her driver's seat, ignoring the glare she sent him. It was clear she didn't like being a passenger in her own car. He backed out of the space, and drove out of the lot as fast as he could without attracting attention.
Joan wasn't sure where they were going, but at the moment, she didn't care. She trusted Scott and she knew he wouldn't hurt her. Watching someone else drive her car was strange to her, but she admired how carefully he drove. When he finally pulled over in the parking lot of a small apartment complex, Joan glanced over at him, confused.
"Where are we?"
He didn't answer, but instead shut off the engine and slamming the door before walking around to her side of the car. He pulled her door open and shut it behind her after she stepped out.
"Come on."
She followed him up several flights of stairs and when he dug out a key from his pocket, she finally understood.
"You live here."
He nodded, though it hadn't been a question.
"I have to get back to the shop, but you'll be safe here. Just keep the door locked and don't leave."
The fact that he cared for her enough to open his home to her was overwhelming and Joan had to fight to keep the tears from her eyes. She wrapped her arms around him and he held her for a moment. When she pulled back, his arms were still circling her and she looked at him, really looked, for the first time. He leaned down and though she knew what was coming, she did nothing to stop it. His lips met hers and for a moment, she forgot everything.
"Joan."
"What?"
"You're amazing."
Joan shook her head.
"No, I'm not. Why does everyone keep saying things like that?"
"Because it's true."
Again the jet black hair flew as Joan shook her head.
"It isn't. I'm nothing. I hurt other people, I left my best friend alone when she needed me most, and I never called her unless I needed help."
"If you're referring to Bronwyn, she loves you. She knows that you left because you had to. She doesn't blame you."
Joan was unable to keep the tears from falling as she listened to Scott. Scott felt something break inside him as he watched Joan's tears fall. He had never seen her cry like this, and he wondered how long it had been since she had let herself truly feel and express her emotions.
"Joan…should I go back and close the shop for today?"
She shook her head.
"No. Go back to work. I'll be okay here."
Against his better judgement, he gave her one final look and then walked out, locking the door behind him. Once she was alone, Joan walked around Scott's apartment, curiously examining things. She spotted a picture on his refrigerator and leaned closer to get a better look.
It had been taken at the small Christmas party they had given at the coffee shop the previous year. In the picture, she was sitting in between Scott and Kaleigh, the young girl who worked night shift, smiling cheerfully. Joan knew the picture well, she had a copy of it herself, but something about this one was different.
Staring intensely, she struggled to find the difference in the two pictures. Suddenly, she knew. Her copy had been crumpled during one of the late-night fights, resulting in a slight distortion. Her smile looked forced in the copy she had, but in Scott's…for the first time she saw what everyone else must see when they looked at her.
As Joan was examining the picture in Scott's apartment, Bronwyn was pulling into the empty space of the coffee shop, tossing back a pill as she did so. She knew better than to drive when she was high, but her body was screaming for a hit. She spotted Scott behind the register, and scanned the room for Joan.
"She's not here."
She turned and saw Scott smiling at her. He motioned for her to follow him into the storeroom and shut the door.
"She's safe, don't worry, but I can't tell you where right now. I'll explain later, okay?"
Bronwyn nodded.
"I'll take you to see her when my shift is over."
Scott opened the door and Bronwyn exited the storeroom, taking a seat at the empty table in front of the counter. The pills she had ingested earlier were beginning to take effect and she smiled to herself as her body relaxed. She watched the customers filing in and was amazed at how many seemed concerned to not see the beloved owner behind the counter. One customer in particular seemed overly concerned and Bronwyn frowned.
"Excuse me, young man, is Joan Esten here?"
Bronwyn started. She knew that voice. She stole a glance in Scott's direction and noticed the look of fear in his eyes. She knew that he had recognised the man, but was trying to keep his shock hidden.
"No, sir. She's not here today."
The man narrowed his eyes, as if he didn't believe Scott, but said nothing. Bronwyn let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and hoped that wherever Joan was, she would be safe.
The key turned in the lock, and Joan raised up, startled. The door swung open, revealing Scott and Bronwyn.
"Joan, I think we should go. There was a car tailing us the entire way here."
There was no mistaking the urgency in her employee's voice, and Joan grabbed her leather jacket, heading for the door. Scott locked the door and the three of them made their way down the stairs.
"Scott, you didn't tell me you had a sister."
They turned at the voice and found an elderly woman looking from Scott to Bronwyn and smiling.
"Well, I-"
"And this beautiful woman must be your girlfriend," she continued, turning her gaze to Joan.
"Mrs. Anderson, we really need to be going."
Scott's neighbour smiled and began walking toward the stairs. Joan and Scott exchanged amused glances and caught up to Bronwyn. No one expected the gunshots that rang out, and as bystanders ran to the safety of their apartments, Bronwyn found herself being pushed to the ground. In the chaos that erupted, she searched for Scott and Joan, but her eyes were struggling to focus.
Scott's voice came to her through the screams of the crowd, and as she finally found him, her heart stopped.
"JOAN!"
Bronwyn crawled to Scott and felt her eyes filling with tears. Joan's blood coated her jacket, dripping onto the pavement beneath her, and her hand was held tightly in Scott's. She didn't notice Bronwyn next to her, and her complete concentration seemed focused on taking the next breath.
"Joan…" Bronwyn sobbed, "Please, don't give up. Breathe. You can do it. Breathe."
Joan's eyes found hers, but when she spoke, Bronwyn knew it was meant for Scott.
"Is everyone else okay?" she whispered.
Bronwyn laughed sadly. Typical Joan. Always worried about everyone except herself.
Scott nodded, unable to speak, and kept her hand entwined with his. As her grip on his hand slackened, Scott didn't even notice when the police officer laid a hand on his shoulder. Bronwyn watched on in silence, unable to stop the sobs that wracked her body. She wouldn't have stopped them even if she had been able to.
Bronwyn sighed as she knocked on the door of Scott's apartment. Today was the day. September 22nd. Joan's birthday. Even now, four months later, the pain of losing Joan was just as fresh as it had been the day it happened. At least Bronwyn had the small consolation that she and Joan had managed to repair their friendship. Joan's murderer had yet to be caught, and Scott dedicated the time that he wasn't running her coffee shop to tracking him down.
Bronwyn admired Scott for keeping Joan's shop open, and after her death, they had organised a memorial service for her. Bronwyn had been amazed at the large number of people that had shown up to pay their respects for her friend. She knew that if Joan could have seen it, she would have been secretly pleased. She would have been upset that people had made such a big deal over her, but Bronwyn knew how important her friends had been.
Scott opened the door, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and he shut the door behind him. Though he had never told her, he blamed himself for Joan's death.
"You ready?" he said quietly.
Bronwyn nodded, and the pair made their way slowly down the stairs to the very parking lot they both hated.
Scott stared at the headstone bearing Joan's name and felt his eyes moisten. He traced the letters of her name with his fingertips and sighed.
"I'm so sorry, Joan," he whispered.
Bronwyn laid a hand on his shoulder and he turned to her.
"This is my fault. She's dead because of me."
His voice was thick with tears, and Bronwyn felt her heart break again.
"Scott, it's not your fault. He would have killed her no matter what happened."
"If I hadn't told her to leave the apartment, she wouldn't have been in the parking lot. He wouldn't have known she was there."
Bronwyn forced him to look at her.
"Scott, what happened to Joan is over. We can't bring her back. I know it's hard, and I know you cared for her, but we can't hold on to her forever."
"I loved her," Scott whispered.
"I know," she answered, "So did I."
Bronwyn placed her flowers on the ground in front of Joan's headstone, and sighed. Her hands were no longer shaking, and even through the pain, something worthwhile had come of Joan's death. Bronwyn had been clean for the past three months, and though she was proud of herself, the victory was bittersweet. She knew Joan would have been proud of her, but the triumph wasn't as gratifying without her best friend to share it with. She turned away from the stone, staring up at the sky, knowing that Joan was where she needed to be, and finally free.
"I'm sorry, Joan. I love you."
The sun shone down on her in response, and Bronwyn heard Joan's voice as clear as if she were beside her.
"I know, Bronnie. I love you, too."
The answering breeze was all she needed to assure her that Joan was watching her, and that she would always be there. She turned to Scott, and together they left the cemetery, both knowing that while leaving the past behind would be difficult, it was all they could do. There were no other choices. It was for the best. Nothing came together. No Heaven. No Hell. Just moments.
As the answering machine played back the messages she had received, the young blonde woman gasped. She knew that low raspy voice, though she hadn't heard it in years. They had been best friends, closer than sisters, but when they had gotten into a huge argument, all of that had collapsed. So why was she calling her now?
"Hey, Bronnie. I know we haven't spoken in awhile, but I need to talk to you. Call me back, okay? Thanks."
Joanie. Her Joanie. She knew everyone else called her "Joan" now, but to Bronwyn, she would always be Joanie, just as she would always be "Bronnie". The message ended, and a small click signalled the beginning of a new one. Joan again. But something was different about this message. There was something in her voice that wasn't quite right.
"Bronnie, please. I'm not screwing around, this is important. Call me back. Please."
She sounded almost desperate. Something was definitely wrong, yet Bronwyn couldn't bring herself to pick up the phone.
"Bronwyn, come on, man, pick up the damn phone. You can go back to hating me later, but please. I need to talk to you. You're the only one I've got."
How could she be the only person Joan had? Joan was surrounded by people every day at her job, and Bronwyn was sure that she had a crowd of friends to talk to. Still, she worried. Should she call Joan, or wait and see if she called again? Opting for the second choice, Bronwyn sat in a chair and let her mind take her back to the days when she and Joan had been inseparable.
The woman may have been tiny and short, but Bronwyn was instantly intimidated by her. Her short dark hair, coupled with a leather jacket only added to her fear. The woman made her way over to her and Bronwyn braced herself for a cold remark.
"Hi," was all she said, her voice low and somewhat raspy.
"Hi," Bronwyn answered.
"I'm Joan," her hand was outstretched and Bronwyn took it.
"Bronwyn."
She was amazed that the woman hadn't hit her. She seemed to radiate toughness, and Bronwyn fought the urge to step back.
"Bronwyn, huh? That's an interesting name. I like it."
She smiled, and Joan returned it. As she saw Joan's beautiful smile, she was amazed at how much it changed her. The tough girl became a striking young woman, and it was nothing short of mesmerising.
Bronwyn closed the door of her refrigerator and sighed. It had been almost eight hours since Joan's last phone call, and she found herself becoming more worried with each minute. Again she debated on whether she should call her friend back or simply wait for another call. Joan could have been drunk when she made the calls, she reasoned. After all, Joan was known for drinking heavily when she was depressed. However, she hadn't sounded drunk at all. She had sounded completely sober, and that worried her most of all.
Her phone rang again, and Bronwyn jumped, startled. She made a mad dash for the phone and answered breathlessly.
"Hello?"
"Hey," came a voice on the other end.
"Oh. Hi, Tessa."
"Well, don't you sound happy to talk to me…"
Tessa's voice was dripping sarcasm.
"Sorry. I thought you were Joan."
"Joan? As in Joan Esten? Why would she call? You haven't talked to her in what…ten years?"
"I know, but she called me and she sounded bad," Bronwyn explained.
"Hmm…I wonder how drunk she was."
"She wasn't. She sounded sober."
"Wow…Joan never calls anyone unless she's in really deep shit, and even then, someone else usually has to call on her behalf."
"I know, but I'll talk to you later, okay? I want to make sure I don't miss her call."
As the friends said their goodbyes, Bronwyn found her mind wandering once again to the past, and as her mind locked on a particular memory, she blushed.
"I miss you, Joanie…" she whispered.
The smoke from the fireplace was thick, creating an almost eerie haze in the room. The television was on, but neither of them were paying it any attention. Joan was in the kitchen of their shared apartment, swearing every so often as she tried to cook a meal without destroying it.
"Do you need some help?" Bronwyn asked, her eyebrows raised in amusement as she watched the older woman.
"No," was Joan's muffled reply.
She stood back from the refrigerator, a bottle of rum in her slender hand, and smiled wickedly.
"I've got all I need right here."
She took a drink from the bottle and held it out to Bronwyn. She took it and hesitantly took a small sip. The liquid burned as it went down, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. Joan sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her.
"Come on, Bronnie. Sit down."
Sighing, Bronwyn lowered herself onto the couch, and flinched as Joan put an arm around her shoulder. Joan wasn't an outwardly affectionate person, so this action was a bit startling to the blonde woman.
"I'm worried about you, Joanie."
"Why?"
"You've been distant lately. You don't ramble like you used to."
"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Sorry if I've shut you out."
Bronwyn looked up at her, admiring the way the light reflected off Joan's hair, giving her eyes an almost frightening glow, and before she knew what she was doing, she leaned up and kissed her. Joan froze, and when Bronwyn pulled back, she simply looked at her, unsure of what to say.
"I…I'm sorry, Joan. I don't know what came over me."
Much to her surprise, Joan smiled.
"Don't worry about it, Bronnie."
This time it was Joan who leaned down and brushed her lips against Bronwyn's, a small smirk on her lips.
"However, if this goes any farther, you'd better worry. This ends now. Got it?" Joan warned.
Bronwyn nodded, surprise still evident on her face, and she wondered where this would lead them.
It had led them nowhere, but even now, Bronwyn still found it difficult to think of Joan without recalling that night. After all, how was she supposed to remember the woman who had become such a strong sexual attraction for her? With all the men and women Joan had been with, Bronwyn had to wonder if maybe there was something about her that wasn't enough for her friend. She had tried not to let her growing affection and attraction show, but when she watched Joan with a man or another woman, she had to bite her tongue (sometimes literally) to keep from screaming.
She thought back to the night when Joan had finally had enough and walked out of her life, and wondered if there was anything she could have done differently. Taking a drink of her glass of water, she threw back a handful of pills, hoping they would save her from this intense reawakening of her memory. Bronwyn smiled sadly to herself, knowing that her drug addiction had been one of the things Joan had been unable to handle.
Joan had problems of her own, ranging from depression, self injury and eating disorders to an almost overwhelming tendency to be excitable. She was passionate about music, though by her own admission she would never be able to play an instrument well enough to perform and relied on her voice, she loved to write, whether in her journal or one of her many stories. Bronwyn had loved hearing her stories. She didn't enjoy reading them as much as she loved hearing Joan read them aloud. Joan's voice painted thrilling pictures in her mind, and gave life to the things her imagination created.
Watching Joan struggle through her problems had been almost unbearable for Bronwyn. She never complained, never let her pain show and spent all of her time trying to help anyone she could, regardless of what it cost her.
Bronwyn paced the room, swearing loudly when she hit the small table that her glass was resting on. As if in slow motion, she watched the glass fall and shatter, the sound magnified in the silence. The pills were beginning to take effect, she realised, and she suddenly regretted taking them. Her mind drifted again, and Joan's voice was so clear in her memory that she could have sworn she was standing in the room.
"Bronwyn, I thought you were going to stop. You said you were going to stop!"
Bronwyn jerked at the coldness in Joan's voice and raised her eyes to the dark-haired woman.
"I'm trying, Joanie…" she said softly.
Joan shook her head.
"No, you're not. If you were trying, I wouldn't have to be saying this. And my name is Joan!"
"Okay, Joan," she spat the name viscously, uncaring that she sounded like a bitter child, "what about you? You harm yourself day after day, you starve yourself and work yourself to death. You haven't been trying to stop any of your destructive habits!"
"How dare you?" Joan whispered dangerously, "Do you not understand that I've been trying for years to stop? It's not that easy, but at least I'm trying."
"You're not trying hard enough then. At least when I decide to try, I won't half-ass it!"
Her vision swam and the floor rushed up to her. She braced herself for the impact, but found herself unexpectedly wrapped in Joan's arms. Sighing, Joan easily lifted the younger woman and sat down on the couch. Bronwyn's head was resting in her lap and she gently ran her hand over the blonde woman's hair.
Bronwyn moaned and her eyes opened slowly, her gaze hazy. As her eyes focused on Joan's face, she was able to make out her sad expression.
"Joanie?"
Joan looked down at her, not bothering to reprimand her use of the nickname, and sighed sadly.
"Bronnie…I can't do this anymore. I can't watch you destroy yourself knowing that you aren't even trying to save yourself."
The defeat and weariness in her voice scared Bronwyn more than anything. She would have preferred screaming, hatred, anything to the look that Joan gave her now.
"Joanie?"
Joan lifted Bronwyn's head from her lap and stood, making her way to the door.
"Joan. Wait."
Joan turned, her pale hand on the door, an expectant look on her face.
"I'm sorry," Bronwyn murmured, aware of how foolish she sounded.
Joan nodded.
"I know, but I can't stay. I won't sit here and watch you die anymore. I love you, Bronwyn, but I'm sorry."
She opened the door and walked out without even a single glance behind her. Bronwyn stared at the place where she had stood, her mind unable to comprehend that her best friend was truly gone. She didn't know how long she stayed that way, only that some time afterward she sank to the floor and let her tears flow freely.
The ringing of the phone jolted her out of her memory and she made her way over to the phone, stumbling and nearly falling along the way.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice slightly slurred.
"Bronwyn?"
"Umm…yeah?"
"It's me. Joan."
"Oh! Hi, Joanie!" she exclaimed, her mood suddenly elevated.
On her end of the line, Joan sighed. She knew that tone.
"You're stoned." It wasn't a question, and Joan couldn't keep her sadness and disappointment from her voice.
"Uh…no?"
Joan knew that there would be no way of talking rationally to her so she decided to wait.
"Bronwyn, I'll talk to you later."
Without waiting for an answer, Joan hung up. Why was it that when she needed her, Bronwyn was stoned? She opened her nearly bare refrigerator and took out the half-empty bottle of rum and took a drink. Sighing, she surveyed the contents of her refrigerator. The rum bottle was now in her hand, leaving only a bottle of wine that had yet to be opened, a container of yogurt and a carton of eggs. She made a mental note to pick up another carton of eggs the next day, and made her way slowly to her bare living room. She felt her legs give way and she collapsed on her couch, being careful not to spill her drink. She thought back to the first few months after she had left the apartment she had shared with Bronwyn. All the sleepless nights spent drinking, sleeping with random men and women, the downward spiral that seemed endless.
Things had finally began to improve, but now after months of stressful work hours, the dizziness that left her with no other choice but to admit that she was in way over her head, and the lack of money in her bank account despite her work schedule had forced her to call on the one person who she had thought she could rely on. She had thought that Bronwyn would have cleaned up her act after she left, but apparently she was wrong. With one final drink of rum, she set the bottle down on the table and closed her eyes, falling into a restless sleep.
Bronwyn woke up with her head pounding. She raised up groggily, and saw her phone laying on the floor next to her. She dimly remembered her phone ringing, but who had been on the other end? Had it been Tessa? She couldn't remember. Her head was spinning and noticed the light blinking on her answering machine. Joan! She rushed to it, and pressed the button. The machine clicked on and there was a moments silence.
"Hey, man, whenever you decide to sober up, give me a call. It's important."
Confusion clouded her mind. It was Joan, no mistaking that voice, but how had she known? The nights events were blurred, and she realised that it had been Joan that she'd spoken to last night before passing out. Shame coloured her face as she realised how disappointed Joan must have been. The message had been from this morning, she saw, and wondered if there was a possibility that she might still catch her. Taking her chances, she dialled the number she knew by heart and waited.
Just as she was about to hang up, the ringing stopped, and Bronwyn was suddenly overcome by speechlessness.
"Hello?" a man's voice answered.
Bronwyn was confused. Had she dialled the wrong number?
"Is Joan there?"
"No. She's not. She's gone out," the man replied coldly.
"Who is it?" came Joan's voice faintly.
Bronwyn's heart stopped. Joan's voice was unmistakable, she was there, so why wouldn't this man hand the phone over?
"Well, this is Bronwyn. Could you tell her I called?"
"When I want her to call you, I'll tell her." Joan's voice rose in the background.
"Who is it? Give me the phone."
A faint cracking sound was heard, and Bronwyn knew that Joan had been slapped. She jerked herself, and found tears forming in her eyes. Now she knew why Joan had called her. She just wished she had called sooner. The phone clicked in her ear and she knew that the phone had been hung up. She felt her tears spilling over and decided to wait for a few minutes before calling Joan back again. She just hoped it wouldn't be too late.
Joan raised her head as she heard her phone ringing, but couldn't bring herself to move from her position on the floor. She knew she was alone, but for how much longer, she couldn't be sure.
"Hey, this is Joan. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message. If the machine cuts you off, take it's advice and talk less."
The voice of her best friend filled the silence in her apartment and Joan crawled to her phone.
"Joan, it's Bronwyn. I'm returning your call, but I guess-"
"Bronnie?" Joan's voice was strained as she answered.
"Joan! Are you okay? What's wrong? I tried to call you earlier, but-"
"Bronnie…slow down," Joan advised, a hint of amusement in her voice, "I'm fine. Are you sober enough to talk to me tonight?"
"That's not funny, Joan. Who was that man that answered your phone?"
"He's no one," Joan cringed as she realised that Bronwyn had been able to hear everything from that morning. "Don't worry about it. Do you think you could meet me somewhere in about an hour?"
Bronwyn nodded even though Joan couldn't see her.
"Of course, Joanie. Where?"
"Anywhere. Someplace with a crowd of people."
Bronwyn thought for a moment.
"Well, do you still work at that little coffee shop in town?"
Joan laughed bitterly.
"Work at it? I'm the owner and manager."
"Could we meet there?"
"Sure," Joan agreed, "I'll be there. And Bronnie?"
Bronwyn waited.
"Thanks."
Bronwyn smiled softly.
"No problem."
When Bronwyn arrived at the small coffee shop, she scanned the crowd for Joan. After searching for several minutes, she finally approached the young man behind the counter. He flashed her a quick smile before asking if he could help her.
"Yes, I was wondering if Joan Esten has been in today?"
He thought for a moment then shook his head.
"No, ma'am. I haven't seen her today. It's her day off, so you might try her at home."
"I spoke with her an hour ago and she was supposed to meet me here."
The young man smiled again.
"Perhaps she's just running late," he suggested, "Can I get you anything while you wait?"
Bronwyn shook her head.
"No, thank you. I'll just sit here for a bit."
"Okay, well if there's anything I can do, just ask."
Bronwyn returned his smile and made her way to the only vacant table available. Joan definitely knew how to draw a crowd, she saw, and she knew how to choose employees. She pulled her chair closer to the table and rested her arms on the smooth surface. She trained her gaze on the door, waiting for the tiny woman to appear in the doorway.
It always amazed her that such a small woman could be so tough and fill an entire room with her presence, yet be so vulnerable at the same time. She recalled one night when she had awoken to Joan's screaming. She had run to Joan's room to find her sitting up in bed, gasping for breath, an expression on her face that she had seen only a few times before. It was as if Joan had wanted to cry, but refused to allow herself and resorted to anger instead. Though she had been afraid for her friend, Bronwyn always appreciated that moment of vulnerability that she had seen. It had reminded her that although Joan seemed as if nothing could hurt her, she wasn't as invincible as she liked people to think.
Bronwyn glanced at her watch and saw that almost half an hour had passed since she had arrived. It wasn't like Joan to be late. Ever. If anything, Joan was nearly always early for everything. One of her biggest annoyances was when people showed up late for something, or worse, not at all. Bronwyn was beginning to worry. She stood abruptly and approached the counter again, the same young man as before smiling at her again.
"Can I help you again, ma'am?" he said with a laugh.
"I know you can't give me her address, but I was wondering if perhaps you could call Joan for me? I'm starting to get worried. Joan is never late for anything."
He gave her an uncertain look, but soon brightened.
"My shift is over in twenty minutes. If you'd like, I can give you a ride," he offered.
Bronwyn nodded gratefully, relief clear on her face.
"Thank you so much. That would help me out a lot."
Joan's head was throbbing viciously, and she shakily raised up from her position on the floor. She was pulled to her feet by her hair and as the raised hand was prepared to strike, the knock on the door made them both freeze. She was thrown behind the couch and soon he leaned over her, his face inches from her own.
"Don't move. Don't make a fucking sound," he whispered.
Joan would have told him to fuck off had she been able to speak, but settled on a glare instead. He answered the door and she could hear him easily speaking to the person on the other side.
"She was supposed to meet me an hour ago."
Joan's breath caught. Bronwyn! She had to warn her. She stood slowly, deliberately, and willed Bronwyn to look at her. With dread filling her, she also recognised Scott, her young employee. Still she tried to attract Bronwyn's attention. When their eyes met, Bronwyn's widened in terror, and Joan knew that he had seen. She ducked down quickly, but not quickly enough. Her movement was caught by his well-trained eyes, and he slammed the door in Bronwyn's face, turned the lock and strode to her. She was pulled up painfully by the arm and dragged down the hallway to the small closet. After being thrown to the floor, she heard the lock turn on the door, and she could feel her anxiety growing. Her breathing quickened, and she knew she couldn't stand it much longer. Uncaring if anyone heard, she began to scream as loudly as her strained vocal chords would allow. Somehow, she knew that no one would be coming to save her.
On the other side of the door, Bronwyn and Scott stood frozen in fear. They could hear Joan's screaming, and pounded frantically on the door. Bronwyn knew that Joan was claustrophobic and knew they had to act fast. Her screams were heartbreaking, tortured, and scared, and Bronwyn could hear Joan's own pounding of whatever room she was being held in. Scott's terrified eyes found hers and together they seemed to come up with the same solution. Pulling out his phone, Scott ran to the other end of the hall, calling over his shoulder.
"I'm calling the police!"
Bronwyn prayed that by the time they arrived, it wouldn't be too late.
Joan's voice was becoming hoarse, but still she kept screaming. She could feel blood running down her hand, but she didn't care. She had to get out of this room. The walls seemed to be closing in on her, and she fought to keep her fear from growing. She had been locked in here before, but never for this long, and Joan knew if she didn't get out soon, she was going to die.
She slipped on a fallen jacket and landed on her back.
"Fuck," she whispered.
Standing up again, she resumed pounding on the door and screaming. She would have preferred abuse, threats, death, anything but being trapped in this small space. He knew she couldn't handle small dark areas, and she knew this was some sick way of amusing himself.
'YOU BASTARD!" she screamed, "OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"
Her cries were in vain, but she was determined to let him know that he couldn't defeat her. She wasn't sure how much longer she could handle this though, so she prayed that she would be released soon.
Scott returned fifteen minutes later, closely followed by three men in uniforms. When they reached Bronwyn standing outside Joan's door, the officer's eyes were wide.
"How long has this been going on?"
"About half an hour. Maybe longer," Bronwyn answered, "She's locked in a room somewhere, but we can't get in."
"How do you know she's locked in a room?"
"Because I know Joan. She only freaks out like that if she's in a small space and can't get out."
The officer nodded, and raised his fist, pounding in the door.
"Police! Open the door!"
Bronwyn was thrown aside as the door flew open and the man she had seen with Joan pushed past, making a mad dash for the stairs. Two of the three police officers ran after him, while the other looked to Bronwyn and Scott. Joan's screams and sobs could still be heard, and as the remaining officer stepped inside, he held Bronwyn back.
"Stay out here. I'm going to go help your friend."
The screaming suddenly stopped and Scott and Bronwyn exchanged worried glances. Footsteps approached swiftly and Bronwyn found her view obstructed as Joan crashed into her, hugging her fiercely. When she released her, Joan leapt on Scott, hugging him as well. Scott looked slightly startled and amused at the same time. He smoothed Joan's hair back gently and she kissed him on the cheek softly. Turning back to Bronwyn, Joan smiled sadly.
"I'm sorry I was late," she whispered.
"Oh, Joanie," Bronwyn exclaimed, her voice breaking slightly, "It's nothing! I'm just happy you're okay."
She wrapped her arms around her and Joan rested her head on her shoulder. Bronwyn felt something hit her shoulder and when she pulled away to look at her friend, she saw tears in Joan's eyes. Scott came up behind Joan and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned and found him looking at her with an almost scared expression.
"I hope you don't mind that I drove her here. I couldn't give her your address, but since I knew it, I offered her a ride."
Joan threw herself at him again and when she pulled back, there was a small smirk on her face. Scott looked confused for a moment, then winced as Joan's hand connected with the back of his head.
"You dumbass."
Scott laughed and he put his arm around her shoulder. When Bronwyn did the same on her other side, Joan leaned over and kissed her softly before turning to Scott and repeating the action. Scott had the decency to look embarrassed, but Bronwyn knew he had enjoyed it. How could anyone not love kissing Joan? Joan was oblivious to the effect this had had on the pair, and she returned to her apartment to prepare for her testimony that she had to give to the officer still waiting for her.
Two hours and four glasses of rum later, Joan and Bronwyn were sitting on the couch with Scott in the kitchen trying to find something worth eating.
"Dammit, Joan, don't you have any food in here?"
Joan laughed.
"Nope. Just yogurt and booze. Sorry, Scott."
"And eggs," Bronwyn added.
Scott returned to the living room and sat on Joan's other side, gazing at Joan fondly. Joan, who was staring off at something only she could see, didn't notice and only looked around when she felt the couch shift under his weight as he slid closer to her. Bronwyn noticed this however, and struggled to keep her face neutral. How dare he look at her Joanie that way? Who was she kidding? Joan didn't belong to her. Joan belonged to nobody but Joan and it would always be that way.
Even when Joan was in a relationship, she was still her own person, and anyone who couldn't accept her as she was soon found themselves being kicked out. Bronwyn had to admit, she admired Joan when it came to relationships. She gave them everything she had and wasn't the type to be with someone if she didn't believe it would work. Although, as Bronwyn had discovered recently, that hadn't always been the case. Joan had confided in her about her many one-night stands in the early months following their argument. She had been shocked, but in a way it had made perfect sense.
A loud thud caused her to jump and when she looked around, she saw Joan laughing. At first she wasn't sure what her friend was laughing at, then she saw Scott sprawled on the floor, an embarrassed look on his face.
"How did you manage to end up there?" Joan asked, trying to control her laughter.
Bronwyn thought she knew the reason. In his attempt to be closer to Joan, he had slid from the couch to the floor. Judging by his stammered response, Bronwyn knew she was right. Joan held her hand out to help him up, and let out a shriek when she was pulled to the floor. Still laughing, she reached up and pulled Bronwyn to the floor with them. Despite the events of the day and the love struck expression on Scott's face, Bronwyn found that she was enjoying herself. Being with Joan again was enough. She had missed this.
Joan was jolted from her sleep when her door was thrown open with such force that it slammed against the wall and rebounded. She blinked in a daze, and struggled to focus. The dark form standing over her caused her pulse to race, and though she wanted to, she couldn't scream. His hand over her mouth prevented her from making any sound, and even as she thought of biting down on his hand, she knew he had seen the thought in her eyes.
His hand moved from her mouth to her throat and she began to struggle. His free hand was raised, and Joan closed her eyes tightly, already knowing what was coming. Blow after blow rained down on her and as blackness began to dance at the edge of her vision, Joan dimly wondered what would happen if she simply didn't wake up this time. She was scared to find that she didn't care.
The door to the coffee shop opened, and as always when he heard the bell, Scott glanced up.
"Holy fucking shit," he whispered, his eyes wide.
He quickly moved from his place behind the counter and stood in front of his boss. Joan shot him a glare and moved past him.
"Joan, are you okay?"
She nodded once.
"I'm fine," she said shortly, "Now go find something to clean."
"Okay," he answered confusedly.
It wasn't like Joan to give orders so sharply, and her dishevelled appearance alarmed him. Still, she was his boss, so he did as she asked. As he watched her, he noticed that she walked rather slowly, a contrast to her normally fast stride, and she was fidgeting with her necklace. He had seen the long silver necklace before, a small bird and rose rested on a tiny circular clock, but he knew that Joan loved it and normally kept it hidden under her shirt unless she was checking the time.
As he was wiping down the counter, he heard something hit the floor and Joan swore softly. Setting his towel down, he walked in the back storeroom and found his boss kneeling on the floor sweeping up bits of glass. He knelt down next to her.
"Here, let me help you with that."
"I can handle it," Joan snapped, "Go finish what you were doing."
As she reached to pick up a larger piece of glass, Scott noticed that her hands were shaking. Wanting to help, but not wanting her to be upset, he gently placed his hands over hers. She looked up at him with an unreadable expression, but didn't pull away.
"Joan…let me help you."
Sighing, Joan allowed him to take the glass from her hand, and simply sat silently while he went to locate the broom. When he retuned, she knelt with the dustpan as he swept up the broken pieces. After the glass had been swept, Joan made her way to the nearest trash bin and as she tipped over the dustpan, it slipped from her hand and fell into the bin.
"Dammit," she muttered.
"Joan? Maybe you should take the day off," he suggested.
The answering glare she threw at him was enough to make him step back. The ringing of the bell signalled a customer, and Joan stepped behind the counter, a smile painted on her face.
"Hi, can I help you?"
"Yes, I'd like-" the woman stopped as her eyes rested on Joan, taking in the paleness, bruises and dark circles. Joan didn't notice however, and smiled again. "Yes?"
"I'd like a French vanilla cappuccino with whipped cream," the woman continued.
"Of course," Joan answered cheerfully, "I'll bring it right over when it's ready."
The woman nodded and handed her money over, without waiting for her change.
Scott glanced at his boss as she worked, and noticed that her hands were shaking worse than ever. He fought the urge to tell her to leave and knew that if he did, she would fire him, concerned or not. The bell chimed again, and a young man entered, stepping up to the counter. Scott made his way over, but was too late. Joan pointed to the cup behind her.
"I've got him, you go take this to the young woman over there in the blue shirt."
He nodded, and Joan smiled again.
"Hi, can I help you?"
"I just need a small coffee. Black."
Joan nodded.
"Sure thing. We'll bring it out in just a moment."
After the man had paid and taken his seat at a table, he waved Scott over.
"I know it isn't my place to ask, but what happened to that woman?"
"Who? Joan?"
"The woman behind the counter."
"She's dealing with a lot right now, but I'm not really sure on the specifics. I don't know what the bruises are from."
"Oh, I was just wondering."
Seeing Joan out of the corner of his eye, Scott made to walk away. She set the man's coffee in front of him and smiled.
"Let me know if it's too strong," she said with a smile, "I tend to make my coffee very strong."
He took a drink and smiled.
"No, ma'am. It's fine."
Satisfied, Joan walked back to the counter and Scott cornered her as she was entering the storeroom again.
"Joan. Please go home and rest. You're shaking, pale, you look like hell. I'm worried about you."
"I'm not going home. And don't worry about me."
Scott looked at her with a mixture of sorrow and concern. Joan wasn't sure why he worried about her, and said as much. Scott threw up his hands in exasperation.
"How can I not worry about you? You're my boss, but I still care about you."
"What?" Joan blinked, confused.
"I care about you, Joan," he repeated.
Joan stepped back as he moved closer and turned away.
"Don't," she whispered.
"Don't what?"
"Don't care about me. I'm not worth that."
He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. She looked confused, almost scared, and he leaned down to her eye level.
"Joan, listen to me. You are worth more than anyone I've ever met. You're smart, funny, you don't care what people think, you tell people what they need to hear whether they'll like it or not, and you're beautiful."
Joan looked as though she were about to scream, but he still had one last thing to say.
"Joan, when you kissed me yesterday, that was one of the best moments of my life."
"Scott," she whispered finally, "I don't know what to say. So I'll say this: get back to work."
When Bronwyn knocked on Joan's door, she was terrified that her friend wouldn't answer. Joan pulled open the door and rushed into Bronwyn's arms, hugging her. Bronwyn inhaled deeply, committing to memory Joan's very scent. She knew that Joan used pure vanilla extract as perfume, and the smell was mixed with a slight hint of sun block. As Joan stepped back to allow her inside, Bronwyn noticed the bruises on her pale skin and fought the urge to gasp.
The two had planned to have a day where they could sit together as friends and forget the past. Bronwyn was anxious to hear some of Joan's stories, and asked to have her read aloud to distract her from asking about the bruises on Joan's small body.
"There's nothing to read, Bronnie."
"What do you mean? Aren't you writing anymore?"
Joan shrugged slightly.
"Not really. It just doesn't interest me the way it used to."
"Joanie…" Bronwyn fought to keep the sadness from her voice, "are things really that bad? You're so unhappy that you can't even write?"
Joan said nothing for a long moment, and Bronwyn wasn't sure she had heard her.
"I guess," was Joan's eventual answer.
Bronwyn had never heard her friend sound so…indifferent. Seeing Joan give up was heartbreaking, and so unlike her that Bronwyn was very concerned.
"Joan…writing was always your way of expression. If it wasn't music, it was writing. Sometimes you even combined the two and wrote music. You can't let that go."
Joan didn't appear to be listening.
"Joan, don't give up. Don't lose yourself to your pain. Don't you remember your goals and dreams?"
"Bronnie, I lost myself years ago. It's too late now."
Joan's head snapped back. A look of complete shock and fear coloured her face as she stared at Bronwyn's hand still suspended in the air.
"Dammit, don't talk that way! Joan, you can't give up on me! I love you!"
Too late she realised her mistake, and Joan stared at her in silence. She still couldn't believe Bronwyn had slapped her, and her admission only added to her shock. Joan had known, in some way, that Bronwyn had harboured feelings for her, but had assumed they would pass over time. Clearly she had been wrong.
"What?"
Bronwyn, amazed at her own actions, pulled Joan to her, kissing her fiercely, almost urgently. She ran her hand through Joan's black hair, admiring the way it slipped through her fingers. She finally released her and Joan was staring straight ahead as if she couldn't comprehend what had just happened. Her expression was unreadable and too late Bronwyn worried that she made a mistake.
"Joan?" she whispered tentatively.
Joan didn't answer, but stood and walked slowly to the door, opening it.
"I think you should go," she said quietly, "I need time to think."
Hearing this made Bronwyn want to stay. Joan needing time to think was never a good sign. When Joan began thinking too much, her thoughts took a dark and dangerous turn that at times she couldn't be saved from. Still, Bronwyn respected her request and made her way through the door, looking at Joan one last time.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Joan nodded only once.
Bronwyn threw the pills to the back of her throat and swallowed. How could she have been so stupid? She should have known not to kiss Joan. Now she had messed up their newly rekindled friendship quicker than she had ever thought possible. Joan had only kissed her twice in all the years she had known her, and once had just been as a way of saying "thank you". Why had she assumed that Joan could ever feel the same way about her? Joan had always been adamantly clear that she considered her just a friend.
The lights swirled around her and she stumbled to her door. Wrenching it open, she saw Joan on the other side, her hand poised to knock.
"Bronnie?"
"Hmm? Oh, hi Joanie."
Bronwyn's voice was slurred and Joan sighed. She should have known.
"I'm leaving."
"No! Joanie…stay. Please? I'm sorry!"
Against her better judgement, Joan crossed the threshold into Bronwyn's apartment. She sat down on the couch and her friend soon followed, nearly falling into her lap. Though Bronwyn was only a year younger than her, Joan felt significantly older as she ran her hands over her friend's hair.
"Joanie?"
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
"I know," Joan sighed.
"Don't you like me anymore?"
"You're my best friend, Bronnie. Of course I like you. I'm just not in love with you."
Joan wondered why she was explaining herself, seeing as it was unlikely that Bronwyn would remember any of this in the morning. As Bronwyn began to drift off as a result of the pills she had taken earlier, Joan found herself growing more anxious as each moment passed. Raising the younger woman's head's from her lap, Joan stood and made her way into the kitchen. She soon discovered that Bronwyn was very unorganised and her search was nearly in vain until her eyes lighted on the dishwasher.
Searching for a moment, she triumphantly produced her prize and raised the fabric of her jeans. She winced in pain as the blade of Bronwyn's sharpest kitchen knife tore through her skin. The blood didn't flow instantly, and Joan made another swipe with the knife, her hand jerking slightly. Finally she saw a thin line of blood and felt a small amount of relief. It wasn't enough though, so she ripped the blade across her leg again and again, not satisfied until her skin was completely coated in blood.
She rinsed the knife and turned, wincing as she put her weight on her leg. She nearly fell in shock when she saw Bronwyn standing in the doorway, a hurt expression on her face.
"Joan…"
Joan couldn't meet her eyes, but whispered "What?"
"Why?"
"Because I upset you. I'm the reason you're stoned right now. Because I made you feel like shit, or stupid, or however I made you feel."
"Seeing you like this makes me feel worse than anything you could have said. You were just being honest."
Bronwyn had never seen so much blood on her friend's body before and she fought the urge to cry. Joan lowered herself to the floor and watched with a twisted kind of interest as the blood pooled around her.
"Maybe I went too far," she remarked half-heartedly.
Bronwyn was about to reply when the floor rushed up to her and she hit with a thud. Ignoring the intense pain in her leg, Joan stood and carried her over to the couch, throwing a blanket over her.
"What am I going to do with you?" she whispered.
It didn't occur to her that had she been awake, Bronwyn would have asked her the same.
When Joan entered the coffee shop the next morning, she found Scott waiting for her at the door. She tried to sidestep him, but he moved with her, blocking her way.
"Scott," she sighed, "I didn't come to work to dance with you. Now, are you going to get out of my way or not?"
He shook his head.
"Not. Joan, I need to talk to you. Now."
Her eyes narrowed, and he pulled her over to the side of the building.
"You lay a finger on me, and I'll fucking kill you."
"No, Joan. You can't go in there. He's looking for you."
Joan knew from the scared expression on his face that there was no need to ask who he was talking about.
"Well, I can't go back home, he'll look there next."
Scott nodded.
"Come with me."
He took her hand and pulled her back into the parking lot. Deciding it would be better to use her car, he slid into her driver's seat, ignoring the glare she sent him. It was clear she didn't like being a passenger in her own car. He backed out of the space, and drove out of the lot as fast as he could without attracting attention.
Joan wasn't sure where they were going, but at the moment, she didn't care. She trusted Scott and she knew he wouldn't hurt her. Watching someone else drive her car was strange to her, but she admired how carefully he drove. When he finally pulled over in the parking lot of a small apartment complex, Joan glanced over at him, confused.
"Where are we?"
He didn't answer, but instead shut off the engine and slamming the door before walking around to her side of the car. He pulled her door open and shut it behind her after she stepped out.
"Come on."
She followed him up several flights of stairs and when he dug out a key from his pocket, she finally understood.
"You live here."
He nodded, though it hadn't been a question.
"I have to get back to the shop, but you'll be safe here. Just keep the door locked and don't leave."
The fact that he cared for her enough to open his home to her was overwhelming and Joan had to fight to keep the tears from her eyes. She wrapped her arms around him and he held her for a moment. When she pulled back, his arms were still circling her and she looked at him, really looked, for the first time. He leaned down and though she knew what was coming, she did nothing to stop it. His lips met hers and for a moment, she forgot everything.
"Joan."
"What?"
"You're amazing."
Joan shook her head.
"No, I'm not. Why does everyone keep saying things like that?"
"Because it's true."
Again the jet black hair flew as Joan shook her head.
"It isn't. I'm nothing. I hurt other people, I left my best friend alone when she needed me most, and I never called her unless I needed help."
"If you're referring to Bronwyn, she loves you. She knows that you left because you had to. She doesn't blame you."
Joan was unable to keep the tears from falling as she listened to Scott. Scott felt something break inside him as he watched Joan's tears fall. He had never seen her cry like this, and he wondered how long it had been since she had let herself truly feel and express her emotions.
"Joan…should I go back and close the shop for today?"
She shook her head.
"No. Go back to work. I'll be okay here."
Against his better judgement, he gave her one final look and then walked out, locking the door behind him. Once she was alone, Joan walked around Scott's apartment, curiously examining things. She spotted a picture on his refrigerator and leaned closer to get a better look.
It had been taken at the small Christmas party they had given at the coffee shop the previous year. In the picture, she was sitting in between Scott and Kaleigh, the young girl who worked night shift, smiling cheerfully. Joan knew the picture well, she had a copy of it herself, but something about this one was different.
Staring intensely, she struggled to find the difference in the two pictures. Suddenly, she knew. Her copy had been crumpled during one of the late-night fights, resulting in a slight distortion. Her smile looked forced in the copy she had, but in Scott's…for the first time she saw what everyone else must see when they looked at her.
As Joan was examining the picture in Scott's apartment, Bronwyn was pulling into the empty space of the coffee shop, tossing back a pill as she did so. She knew better than to drive when she was high, but her body was screaming for a hit. She spotted Scott behind the register, and scanned the room for Joan.
"She's not here."
She turned and saw Scott smiling at her. He motioned for her to follow him into the storeroom and shut the door.
"She's safe, don't worry, but I can't tell you where right now. I'll explain later, okay?"
Bronwyn nodded.
"I'll take you to see her when my shift is over."
Scott opened the door and Bronwyn exited the storeroom, taking a seat at the empty table in front of the counter. The pills she had ingested earlier were beginning to take effect and she smiled to herself as her body relaxed. She watched the customers filing in and was amazed at how many seemed concerned to not see the beloved owner behind the counter. One customer in particular seemed overly concerned and Bronwyn frowned.
"Excuse me, young man, is Joan Esten here?"
Bronwyn started. She knew that voice. She stole a glance in Scott's direction and noticed the look of fear in his eyes. She knew that he had recognised the man, but was trying to keep his shock hidden.
"No, sir. She's not here today."
The man narrowed his eyes, as if he didn't believe Scott, but said nothing. Bronwyn let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and hoped that wherever Joan was, she would be safe.
The key turned in the lock, and Joan raised up, startled. The door swung open, revealing Scott and Bronwyn.
"Joan, I think we should go. There was a car tailing us the entire way here."
There was no mistaking the urgency in her employee's voice, and Joan grabbed her leather jacket, heading for the door. Scott locked the door and the three of them made their way down the stairs.
"Scott, you didn't tell me you had a sister."
They turned at the voice and found an elderly woman looking from Scott to Bronwyn and smiling.
"Well, I-"
"And this beautiful woman must be your girlfriend," she continued, turning her gaze to Joan.
"Mrs. Anderson, we really need to be going."
Scott's neighbour smiled and began walking toward the stairs. Joan and Scott exchanged amused glances and caught up to Bronwyn. No one expected the gunshots that rang out, and as bystanders ran to the safety of their apartments, Bronwyn found herself being pushed to the ground. In the chaos that erupted, she searched for Scott and Joan, but her eyes were struggling to focus.
Scott's voice came to her through the screams of the crowd, and as she finally found him, her heart stopped.
"JOAN!"
Bronwyn crawled to Scott and felt her eyes filling with tears. Joan's blood coated her jacket, dripping onto the pavement beneath her, and her hand was held tightly in Scott's. She didn't notice Bronwyn next to her, and her complete concentration seemed focused on taking the next breath.
"Joan…" Bronwyn sobbed, "Please, don't give up. Breathe. You can do it. Breathe."
Joan's eyes found hers, but when she spoke, Bronwyn knew it was meant for Scott.
"Is everyone else okay?" she whispered.
Bronwyn laughed sadly. Typical Joan. Always worried about everyone except herself.
Scott nodded, unable to speak, and kept her hand entwined with his. As her grip on his hand slackened, Scott didn't even notice when the police officer laid a hand on his shoulder. Bronwyn watched on in silence, unable to stop the sobs that wracked her body. She wouldn't have stopped them even if she had been able to.
Bronwyn sighed as she knocked on the door of Scott's apartment. Today was the day. September 22nd. Joan's birthday. Even now, four months later, the pain of losing Joan was just as fresh as it had been the day it happened. At least Bronwyn had the small consolation that she and Joan had managed to repair their friendship. Joan's murderer had yet to be caught, and Scott dedicated the time that he wasn't running her coffee shop to tracking him down.
Bronwyn admired Scott for keeping Joan's shop open, and after her death, they had organised a memorial service for her. Bronwyn had been amazed at the large number of people that had shown up to pay their respects for her friend. She knew that if Joan could have seen it, she would have been secretly pleased. She would have been upset that people had made such a big deal over her, but Bronwyn knew how important her friends had been.
Scott opened the door, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and he shut the door behind him. Though he had never told her, he blamed himself for Joan's death.
"You ready?" he said quietly.
Bronwyn nodded, and the pair made their way slowly down the stairs to the very parking lot they both hated.
Scott stared at the headstone bearing Joan's name and felt his eyes moisten. He traced the letters of her name with his fingertips and sighed.
"I'm so sorry, Joan," he whispered.
Bronwyn laid a hand on his shoulder and he turned to her.
"This is my fault. She's dead because of me."
His voice was thick with tears, and Bronwyn felt her heart break again.
"Scott, it's not your fault. He would have killed her no matter what happened."
"If I hadn't told her to leave the apartment, she wouldn't have been in the parking lot. He wouldn't have known she was there."
Bronwyn forced him to look at her.
"Scott, what happened to Joan is over. We can't bring her back. I know it's hard, and I know you cared for her, but we can't hold on to her forever."
"I loved her," Scott whispered.
"I know," she answered, "So did I."
Bronwyn placed her flowers on the ground in front of Joan's headstone, and sighed. Her hands were no longer shaking, and even through the pain, something worthwhile had come of Joan's death. Bronwyn had been clean for the past three months, and though she was proud of herself, the victory was bittersweet. She knew Joan would have been proud of her, but the triumph wasn't as gratifying without her best friend to share it with. She turned away from the stone, staring up at the sky, knowing that Joan was where she needed to be, and finally free.
"I'm sorry, Joan. I love you."
The sun shone down on her in response, and Bronwyn heard Joan's voice as clear as if she were beside her.
"I know, Bronnie. I love you, too."
The answering breeze was all she needed to assure her that Joan was watching her, and that she would always be there. She turned to Scott, and together they left the cemetery, both knowing that while leaving the past behind would be difficult, it was all they could do. There were no other choices. It was for the best. Nothing came together. No Heaven. No Hell. Just moments.
Aggressive, tough, mean, or something else?
Well, my laptop gets closer to crashing permanently every day. I need to get a new one. Saving up my money for one, but with gasoline prices being so fucking high, and making only minimum wage....easier said than done. I'll get there eventually though.
Finally watched Light of Day starring the amazing Michael J. Fox and the fucking awesome Joan Jett. It was amazing. Joan really blew me away with her performance. It sucks that the film is now a collector's item, but I'm very happy to own it.
I'm trying to hold on to some thread of sanity before I completely lose it.
I thought I knew you...
I'm so tired of being alone. It's not that I need someone, I just want someone. The last person I was with (Jonathen) disappointed me beyond belief, but at least it didn't destroy me like Alan did.
You still haunt my memory.
I still think about him. I still talk about him. I still miss him. I don't think I'll ever fully recover from the way things happened. It's made me colder, more hesitant to allow people to get close. I've never been the type to trust easily, and when people are scared to approach you, it doesn't help.
People do seem to expect me to haul off and smack 'em. Maybe I give that impression because I am very intense. I am determined, but people might mistake that for being masculine or bitchy. That's just me. You do have to have the strength to believe in yourself. People usually use the word aggressive to describe me. I somehow don't think that's the right word. Tough? I think the word tough is too much. I think people get tough and aggressive mixed up with mean. I don't think I'm mean. For the most part, I think I'm fairly easy to get along with. I'm approachable, and people can come up and say hi. I'm not gonna bite their head off, you know.
That leather jacket, the dark hair, the heavy makeup, it was kind of armoring because people were kind of afraid of me. I'm always up against obstacles, but that doesn't scare me. You just have to have courage and stick to your guns. I admit I'm stubborn, but I'm proud of what I've done.
I'm kind of a loner in a lot of ways, but in other ways, I'm very much a rule follower. Rules of civility. Rules that help us all get along. Rules that say, when you're on the righthand side, you stop at a stop sign. There's a thing called right-of-way, please and thank you. My rebellion is not about authority, well maybe it is a little bit about authority, but it's more about society. I got along great with my parents. Great, really great. And I got along great with my teachers. I had no problems at school. I was a good student. So I wasn't rebelling against school.
It was about society and what they allow. You're given two messages. You're saying girls can be anything, and then you give girls shit whenever they do something out of the box, different than what you expect a girl to be. When a girl dresses different than you expect a girl to dress, if she doesn't just have a dress on with her long hair parted down the middle and big tits and high heels...you know. I'm not cutting it down at all. It's just, that's one uniform, and I have my uniform.
I think it's important to step into the unknown. I mean, I think everyone has very rational fears about the unknown. And that's why we all stay in our habits, whether they're good ones or bad, especially bad habits. Because even though we might know this is bad for us, it's the thing we know. And to do something else, even if it's good for you, it's not easy.
As I've grown up, I've started thinking about these things. The unknown is not scary. It's just unsure. I'm more confident, and I trust that the universe can take care of me if I just try to go with the flow. And the more I do jump into the unknown, the more I find it's been okay.
Is it brave? God, I don't know. I mean, people may define it that way. I have put myself in situations that people would think you'd have to be kind of brave. No moment is any more important than another. Nothing comes together, no Heaven, no Hell. Just moments.
Finally watched Light of Day starring the amazing Michael J. Fox and the fucking awesome Joan Jett. It was amazing. Joan really blew me away with her performance. It sucks that the film is now a collector's item, but I'm very happy to own it.
I'm trying to hold on to some thread of sanity before I completely lose it.
I thought I knew you...
I'm so tired of being alone. It's not that I need someone, I just want someone. The last person I was with (Jonathen) disappointed me beyond belief, but at least it didn't destroy me like Alan did.
You still haunt my memory.
I still think about him. I still talk about him. I still miss him. I don't think I'll ever fully recover from the way things happened. It's made me colder, more hesitant to allow people to get close. I've never been the type to trust easily, and when people are scared to approach you, it doesn't help.
People do seem to expect me to haul off and smack 'em. Maybe I give that impression because I am very intense. I am determined, but people might mistake that for being masculine or bitchy. That's just me. You do have to have the strength to believe in yourself. People usually use the word aggressive to describe me. I somehow don't think that's the right word. Tough? I think the word tough is too much. I think people get tough and aggressive mixed up with mean. I don't think I'm mean. For the most part, I think I'm fairly easy to get along with. I'm approachable, and people can come up and say hi. I'm not gonna bite their head off, you know.
That leather jacket, the dark hair, the heavy makeup, it was kind of armoring because people were kind of afraid of me. I'm always up against obstacles, but that doesn't scare me. You just have to have courage and stick to your guns. I admit I'm stubborn, but I'm proud of what I've done.
I'm kind of a loner in a lot of ways, but in other ways, I'm very much a rule follower. Rules of civility. Rules that help us all get along. Rules that say, when you're on the righthand side, you stop at a stop sign. There's a thing called right-of-way, please and thank you. My rebellion is not about authority, well maybe it is a little bit about authority, but it's more about society. I got along great with my parents. Great, really great. And I got along great with my teachers. I had no problems at school. I was a good student. So I wasn't rebelling against school.
It was about society and what they allow. You're given two messages. You're saying girls can be anything, and then you give girls shit whenever they do something out of the box, different than what you expect a girl to be. When a girl dresses different than you expect a girl to dress, if she doesn't just have a dress on with her long hair parted down the middle and big tits and high heels...you know. I'm not cutting it down at all. It's just, that's one uniform, and I have my uniform.
I think it's important to step into the unknown. I mean, I think everyone has very rational fears about the unknown. And that's why we all stay in our habits, whether they're good ones or bad, especially bad habits. Because even though we might know this is bad for us, it's the thing we know. And to do something else, even if it's good for you, it's not easy.
As I've grown up, I've started thinking about these things. The unknown is not scary. It's just unsure. I'm more confident, and I trust that the universe can take care of me if I just try to go with the flow. And the more I do jump into the unknown, the more I find it's been okay.
Is it brave? God, I don't know. I mean, people may define it that way. I have put myself in situations that people would think you'd have to be kind of brave. No moment is any more important than another. Nothing comes together, no Heaven, no Hell. Just moments.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Bits and Pieces Teaser
Well, for those of you who are interested, here is a teaser from Bits and Pieces. I'll post it in its entirety when it is completed, and hopefully you will enjoy this enough to stick around for it.
As the answering machine played back the messages she had received, the young blonde woman gasped. She knew that low raspy voice, though she hadn't heard it in years. They had been best friends, closer than sisters, but when they had gotten into a huge argument, all of that had collapsed. So why was she calling her now?
"Hey, Bronnie. I know we haven't spoken in awhile, but I need to talk to you. Call me back, okay? Thanks."
Joanie. Her Joanie. She knew everyone else called her "Joan" now, but to Bronwyn, she would always be Joanie, just as she would always be "Bronnie". The message ended, and a small click signalled the beginning of a new one. Joan again. But something was different about this message. There was something in her voice that wasn't quite right.
"Bronnie, please. I'm not screwing around, this is important. Call me back. Please."
She sounded almost desperate. Something was definitely wrong, yet Bronwyn couldn't bring herself to pick up the phone.
"Bronwyn, come on, man, pick up the damn phone. You can go back to hating me later, but please. I need to talk to you. You're the only one I've got."
How could she be the only person Joan had? Joan was surrounded by people every day at her job, and Bronwyn was sure that she had a crowd of friends to talk to. Still, she worried. Should she call Joan, or wait and see if she called again? Opting for the second choice, Bronwyn sat in a chair and let her mind take her back to the days when she and Joan had been inseparable.
The woman may have been tiny and short, but Bronwyn was instantly intimidated by her. Her short dark hair, coupled with a leather jacket only added to her fear. The woman made her way over to her and Bronwyn braced herself for a cold remark.
"Hi," was all she said, her voice low and somewhat raspy.
"Hi," Bronwyn answered.
"I'm Joan," her hand was outstretched and Bronwyn took it.
"Bronwyn."
She was amazed that the woman hadn't hit her. She seemed to radiate toughness, and Bronwyn fought the urge to step back.
"Bronwyn, huh? That's an interesting name. I like it."
She smiled, and Joan returned it. As she saw Joan's beautiful smile, she was amazed at how much it changed her. The tough girl became a striking young woman, and it was nothing short of mesmerising.
Bronwyn closed the door of her refrigerator and sighed. It had been almost eight hours since Joan's last phone call, and she found herself becoming more worried with each minute. Again she debated on whether she should call her friend back or simply wait for another call. Joan could have been drunk when she made the calls, she reasoned. After all, Joan was known for drinking heavily when she was depressed. However, she hadn't sounded drunk at all. She had sounded completely sober, and that worried her most of all.
Her phone rang again, and Bronwyn jumped, startled. She made a mad dash for the phone and answered breathlessly.
"Hello?"
"Hey," came a voice on the other end.
"Oh. Hi, Tessa."
"Well, don't you sound happy to talk to me…"
Tessa's voice was dripping sarcasm.
"Sorry. I thought you were Joan."
"Joan? As in Joan Esten? Why would she call? You haven't talked to her in what…ten years?"
"I know, but she called me and she sounded bad," Bronwyn explained.
"Hmm…I wonder how drunk she was."
"She wasn't. She sounded sober."
"Wow…Joan never calls anyone unless she's in really deep shit, and even then, someone else usually has to call on her behalf."
"I know, but I'll talk to you later, okay? I want to make sure I don't miss her call."
As the friends said their goodbyes, Bronwyn found her mind wandering once again to the past, and as her mind locked on a particular memory, she blushed.
"I miss you, Joanie…" she whispered.
The smoke from the fireplace was thick, creating an almost eerie haze in the room. The television was on, but neither of them were paying it any attention. Joan was in the kitchen of their shared apartment, swearing every so often as she tried to cook a meal without destroying it.
"Do you need some help?" Bronwyn asked, her eyebrows raised in amusement as she watched the older woman.
"No," was Joan's muffled reply.
She stood back from the refrigerator, a bottle of rum in her slender hand, and smiled wickedly.
"I've got all I need right here."
She took a drink from the bottle and held it out to Bronwyn. She took it and hesitantly took a small sip. The liquid burned as it went down, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. Joan sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her.
"Come on, Bronnie. Sit down."
Sighing, Bronwyn lowered herself onto the couch, and flinched as Joan put an arm around her shoulder. Joan wasn't an outwardly affectionate person, so this action was a bit startling to the blonde woman.
"I'm worried about you, Joanie."
"Why?"
"You've been distant lately. You don't ramble like you used to."
"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Sorry if I've shut you out."
Bronwyn looked up at her, admiring the way the light reflected off Joan's hair, giving her eyes an almost frightening glow, and before she knew what she was doing, she leaned up and kissed her. Joan froze, and when Bronwyn pulled back, she simply looked at her, unsure of what to say.
"I…I'm sorry, Joan. I don't know what came over me."
Much to her surprise, Joan smiled.
"Don't worry about it, Bronnie."
This time it was Joan who leaned down and brushed her lips against Bronwyn's, a small smirk on her lips.
"However, if this goes any farther, you'd better worry. This ends now. Got it?" Joan warned.
Bronwyn nodded, surprise still evident on her face, and she wondered where this would lead them.
It had led them nowhere, but even now, Bronwyn still found it difficult to think of Joan without recalling that night. After all, how was she supposed to remember the woman who had become such a strong sexual attraction for her? With all the men and women Joan had been with, Bronwyn had to wonder if maybe there was something about her that wasn't enough for her friend. She had tried not to let her growing affection and attraction show, but when she watched Joan with a man or another woman, she had to bite her tongue (sometimes literally) to keep from screaming.
She thought back to the night when Joan had finally had enough and walked out of her life, and wondered if there was anything she could have done differently. Taking a drink of her glass of water, she threw back a handful of pills, hoping they would save her from this intense reawakening of her memory. Bronwyn smiled sadly to herself, knowing that her drug addiction had been one of the things Joan had been unable to handle.
Joan had problems of her own, ranging from depression, self injury and eating disorders to an almost overwhelming tendency to be excitable. She was passionate about music, though by her own admission she would never be able to play an instrument well enough to perform and relied on her voice, she loved to write, whether in her journal or one of her many stories. Bronwyn had loved hearing her stories. She didn't enjoy reading them as much as she loved hearing Joan read them aloud. Joan's voice painted thrilling pictures in her mind, and gave life to the things her imagination created.
Watching Joan struggle through her problems had been almost unbearable for Bronwyn. She never complained, never let her pain show and spent all of her time trying to help anyone she could, regardless of what it cost her.
Bronwyn paced the room, swearing loudly when she hit the small table that her glass was resting on. As if in slow motion, she watched the glass fall and shatter, the sound magnified in the silence. The pills were beginning to take effect, she realised, and she suddenly regretted taking them. Her mind drifted again, and Joan's voice was so clear in her memory that she could have sworn she was standing in the room.
"Bronwyn, I thought you were going to stop. You said you were going to stop!"
Bronwyn jerked at the coldness in Joan's voice and raised her eyes to the dark-haired woman.
"I'm trying, Joanie…" she said softly.
Joan shook her head.
"No, you're not. If you were trying, I wouldn't have to be saying this. And my name is Joan!"
"Okay, Joan," she spat the name viscously, uncaring that she sounded like a bitter child, "what about you? You harm yourself day after day, you starve yourself and work yourself to death. You haven't been trying to stop any of your destructive habits!"
"How dare you?" Joan whispered dangerously, "Do you not understand that I've been trying for years to stop? It's not that easy, but at least I'm trying."
"You're not trying hard enough then. At least when I decide to try, I won't half-ass it!"
Her vision swam and the floor rushed up to her. She braced herself for the impact, but found herself unexpectedly wrapped in Joan's arms. Sighing, Joan easily lifted the younger woman and sat down on the couch. Bronwyn's head was resting in her lap and she gently ran her hand over the blonde woman's hair.
Bronwyn moaned and her eyes opened slowly, her gaze hazy. As her eyes focused on Joan's face, she was able to make out her sad expression.
"Joanie?"
Joan looked down at her, not bothering to reprimand her use of the nickname, and sighed sadly.
"Bronnie…I can't do this anymore. I can't watch you destroy yourself knowing that you aren't even trying to save yourself."
The defeat and weariness in her voice scared Bronwyn more than anything. She would have preferred screaming, hatred, anything to the look that Joan gave her now.
"Joanie?"
Joan lifted Bronwyn's head from her lap and stood, making her way to the door.
"Joan. Wait."
Joan turned, her pale hand on the door, an expectant look on her face.
"I'm sorry," Bronwyn murmured, aware of how foolish she sounded.
Joan nodded.
"I know, but I can't stay. I won't sit here and watch you die anymore. I love you, Bronwyn, but I'm sorry."
She opened the door and walked out without even a single glance behind her. Bronwyn stared at the place where she had stood, her mind unable to comprehend that her best friend was truly gone. She didn't know how long she stayed that way, only that some time afterward she sank to the floor and let her tears flow freely.
The ringing of the phone jolted her out of her memory and she made her way over to the phone, stumbling and nearly falling along the way.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice slightly slurred.
"Bronwyn?"
"Umm…yeah?"
"It's me. Joan."
"Oh! Hi, Joanie!" she exclaimed, her mood suddenly elevated.
On her end of the line, Joan sighed. She knew that tone.
"You're stoned." It wasn't a question, and Joan couldn't keep her sadness and disappointment from her voice.
"Uh…no?"
Joan knew that there would be no way of talking rationally to her so she decided to wait.
"Bronwyn, I'll talk to you later."
Without waiting for an answer, Joan hung up. Why was it that when she needed her, Bronwyn was stoned? She opened her nearly bare refrigerator and took out the half-empty bottle of rum and took a drink. Sighing, she surveyed the contents of her refrigerator. The rum bottle was now in her hand, leaving only a bottle of wine that had yet to be opened, a container of yogurt and a carton of eggs. She made a mental note to pick up another carton of eggs the next day, and made her way slowly to her bare living room. She felt her legs give way and she collapsed on her couch, being careful not to spill her drink. She thought back to the first few months after she had left the apartment she had shared with Bronwyn. All the sleepless nights spent drinking, sleeping with random men and women, the downward spiral that seemed endless.
Things had finally began to improve, but now after months of stressful work hours, the dizziness that left her with no other choice but to admit that she was in way over her head, and the lack of money in her bank account despite her work schedule had forced her to call on the one person who she had thought she could rely on. She had thought that Bronwyn would have cleaned up her act after she left, but apparently she was wrong. With one final drink of rum, she set the bottle down on the table and closed her eyes, falling into a restless sleep.
As the answering machine played back the messages she had received, the young blonde woman gasped. She knew that low raspy voice, though she hadn't heard it in years. They had been best friends, closer than sisters, but when they had gotten into a huge argument, all of that had collapsed. So why was she calling her now?
"Hey, Bronnie. I know we haven't spoken in awhile, but I need to talk to you. Call me back, okay? Thanks."
Joanie. Her Joanie. She knew everyone else called her "Joan" now, but to Bronwyn, she would always be Joanie, just as she would always be "Bronnie". The message ended, and a small click signalled the beginning of a new one. Joan again. But something was different about this message. There was something in her voice that wasn't quite right.
"Bronnie, please. I'm not screwing around, this is important. Call me back. Please."
She sounded almost desperate. Something was definitely wrong, yet Bronwyn couldn't bring herself to pick up the phone.
"Bronwyn, come on, man, pick up the damn phone. You can go back to hating me later, but please. I need to talk to you. You're the only one I've got."
How could she be the only person Joan had? Joan was surrounded by people every day at her job, and Bronwyn was sure that she had a crowd of friends to talk to. Still, she worried. Should she call Joan, or wait and see if she called again? Opting for the second choice, Bronwyn sat in a chair and let her mind take her back to the days when she and Joan had been inseparable.
The woman may have been tiny and short, but Bronwyn was instantly intimidated by her. Her short dark hair, coupled with a leather jacket only added to her fear. The woman made her way over to her and Bronwyn braced herself for a cold remark.
"Hi," was all she said, her voice low and somewhat raspy.
"Hi," Bronwyn answered.
"I'm Joan," her hand was outstretched and Bronwyn took it.
"Bronwyn."
She was amazed that the woman hadn't hit her. She seemed to radiate toughness, and Bronwyn fought the urge to step back.
"Bronwyn, huh? That's an interesting name. I like it."
She smiled, and Joan returned it. As she saw Joan's beautiful smile, she was amazed at how much it changed her. The tough girl became a striking young woman, and it was nothing short of mesmerising.
Bronwyn closed the door of her refrigerator and sighed. It had been almost eight hours since Joan's last phone call, and she found herself becoming more worried with each minute. Again she debated on whether she should call her friend back or simply wait for another call. Joan could have been drunk when she made the calls, she reasoned. After all, Joan was known for drinking heavily when she was depressed. However, she hadn't sounded drunk at all. She had sounded completely sober, and that worried her most of all.
Her phone rang again, and Bronwyn jumped, startled. She made a mad dash for the phone and answered breathlessly.
"Hello?"
"Hey," came a voice on the other end.
"Oh. Hi, Tessa."
"Well, don't you sound happy to talk to me…"
Tessa's voice was dripping sarcasm.
"Sorry. I thought you were Joan."
"Joan? As in Joan Esten? Why would she call? You haven't talked to her in what…ten years?"
"I know, but she called me and she sounded bad," Bronwyn explained.
"Hmm…I wonder how drunk she was."
"She wasn't. She sounded sober."
"Wow…Joan never calls anyone unless she's in really deep shit, and even then, someone else usually has to call on her behalf."
"I know, but I'll talk to you later, okay? I want to make sure I don't miss her call."
As the friends said their goodbyes, Bronwyn found her mind wandering once again to the past, and as her mind locked on a particular memory, she blushed.
"I miss you, Joanie…" she whispered.
The smoke from the fireplace was thick, creating an almost eerie haze in the room. The television was on, but neither of them were paying it any attention. Joan was in the kitchen of their shared apartment, swearing every so often as she tried to cook a meal without destroying it.
"Do you need some help?" Bronwyn asked, her eyebrows raised in amusement as she watched the older woman.
"No," was Joan's muffled reply.
She stood back from the refrigerator, a bottle of rum in her slender hand, and smiled wickedly.
"I've got all I need right here."
She took a drink from the bottle and held it out to Bronwyn. She took it and hesitantly took a small sip. The liquid burned as it went down, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation. Joan sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her.
"Come on, Bronnie. Sit down."
Sighing, Bronwyn lowered herself onto the couch, and flinched as Joan put an arm around her shoulder. Joan wasn't an outwardly affectionate person, so this action was a bit startling to the blonde woman.
"I'm worried about you, Joanie."
"Why?"
"You've been distant lately. You don't ramble like you used to."
"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Sorry if I've shut you out."
Bronwyn looked up at her, admiring the way the light reflected off Joan's hair, giving her eyes an almost frightening glow, and before she knew what she was doing, she leaned up and kissed her. Joan froze, and when Bronwyn pulled back, she simply looked at her, unsure of what to say.
"I…I'm sorry, Joan. I don't know what came over me."
Much to her surprise, Joan smiled.
"Don't worry about it, Bronnie."
This time it was Joan who leaned down and brushed her lips against Bronwyn's, a small smirk on her lips.
"However, if this goes any farther, you'd better worry. This ends now. Got it?" Joan warned.
Bronwyn nodded, surprise still evident on her face, and she wondered where this would lead them.
It had led them nowhere, but even now, Bronwyn still found it difficult to think of Joan without recalling that night. After all, how was she supposed to remember the woman who had become such a strong sexual attraction for her? With all the men and women Joan had been with, Bronwyn had to wonder if maybe there was something about her that wasn't enough for her friend. She had tried not to let her growing affection and attraction show, but when she watched Joan with a man or another woman, she had to bite her tongue (sometimes literally) to keep from screaming.
She thought back to the night when Joan had finally had enough and walked out of her life, and wondered if there was anything she could have done differently. Taking a drink of her glass of water, she threw back a handful of pills, hoping they would save her from this intense reawakening of her memory. Bronwyn smiled sadly to herself, knowing that her drug addiction had been one of the things Joan had been unable to handle.
Joan had problems of her own, ranging from depression, self injury and eating disorders to an almost overwhelming tendency to be excitable. She was passionate about music, though by her own admission she would never be able to play an instrument well enough to perform and relied on her voice, she loved to write, whether in her journal or one of her many stories. Bronwyn had loved hearing her stories. She didn't enjoy reading them as much as she loved hearing Joan read them aloud. Joan's voice painted thrilling pictures in her mind, and gave life to the things her imagination created.
Watching Joan struggle through her problems had been almost unbearable for Bronwyn. She never complained, never let her pain show and spent all of her time trying to help anyone she could, regardless of what it cost her.
Bronwyn paced the room, swearing loudly when she hit the small table that her glass was resting on. As if in slow motion, she watched the glass fall and shatter, the sound magnified in the silence. The pills were beginning to take effect, she realised, and she suddenly regretted taking them. Her mind drifted again, and Joan's voice was so clear in her memory that she could have sworn she was standing in the room.
"Bronwyn, I thought you were going to stop. You said you were going to stop!"
Bronwyn jerked at the coldness in Joan's voice and raised her eyes to the dark-haired woman.
"I'm trying, Joanie…" she said softly.
Joan shook her head.
"No, you're not. If you were trying, I wouldn't have to be saying this. And my name is Joan!"
"Okay, Joan," she spat the name viscously, uncaring that she sounded like a bitter child, "what about you? You harm yourself day after day, you starve yourself and work yourself to death. You haven't been trying to stop any of your destructive habits!"
"How dare you?" Joan whispered dangerously, "Do you not understand that I've been trying for years to stop? It's not that easy, but at least I'm trying."
"You're not trying hard enough then. At least when I decide to try, I won't half-ass it!"
Her vision swam and the floor rushed up to her. She braced herself for the impact, but found herself unexpectedly wrapped in Joan's arms. Sighing, Joan easily lifted the younger woman and sat down on the couch. Bronwyn's head was resting in her lap and she gently ran her hand over the blonde woman's hair.
Bronwyn moaned and her eyes opened slowly, her gaze hazy. As her eyes focused on Joan's face, she was able to make out her sad expression.
"Joanie?"
Joan looked down at her, not bothering to reprimand her use of the nickname, and sighed sadly.
"Bronnie…I can't do this anymore. I can't watch you destroy yourself knowing that you aren't even trying to save yourself."
The defeat and weariness in her voice scared Bronwyn more than anything. She would have preferred screaming, hatred, anything to the look that Joan gave her now.
"Joanie?"
Joan lifted Bronwyn's head from her lap and stood, making her way to the door.
"Joan. Wait."
Joan turned, her pale hand on the door, an expectant look on her face.
"I'm sorry," Bronwyn murmured, aware of how foolish she sounded.
Joan nodded.
"I know, but I can't stay. I won't sit here and watch you die anymore. I love you, Bronwyn, but I'm sorry."
She opened the door and walked out without even a single glance behind her. Bronwyn stared at the place where she had stood, her mind unable to comprehend that her best friend was truly gone. She didn't know how long she stayed that way, only that some time afterward she sank to the floor and let her tears flow freely.
The ringing of the phone jolted her out of her memory and she made her way over to the phone, stumbling and nearly falling along the way.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice slightly slurred.
"Bronwyn?"
"Umm…yeah?"
"It's me. Joan."
"Oh! Hi, Joanie!" she exclaimed, her mood suddenly elevated.
On her end of the line, Joan sighed. She knew that tone.
"You're stoned." It wasn't a question, and Joan couldn't keep her sadness and disappointment from her voice.
"Uh…no?"
Joan knew that there would be no way of talking rationally to her so she decided to wait.
"Bronwyn, I'll talk to you later."
Without waiting for an answer, Joan hung up. Why was it that when she needed her, Bronwyn was stoned? She opened her nearly bare refrigerator and took out the half-empty bottle of rum and took a drink. Sighing, she surveyed the contents of her refrigerator. The rum bottle was now in her hand, leaving only a bottle of wine that had yet to be opened, a container of yogurt and a carton of eggs. She made a mental note to pick up another carton of eggs the next day, and made her way slowly to her bare living room. She felt her legs give way and she collapsed on her couch, being careful not to spill her drink. She thought back to the first few months after she had left the apartment she had shared with Bronwyn. All the sleepless nights spent drinking, sleeping with random men and women, the downward spiral that seemed endless.
Things had finally began to improve, but now after months of stressful work hours, the dizziness that left her with no other choice but to admit that she was in way over her head, and the lack of money in her bank account despite her work schedule had forced her to call on the one person who she had thought she could rely on. She had thought that Bronwyn would have cleaned up her act after she left, but apparently she was wrong. With one final drink of rum, she set the bottle down on the table and closed her eyes, falling into a restless sleep.
Choices
The choices I've made have led me to where I am. I am not blaming anyone else for the person I've become. Yes, a few people have broken my heart over the years, but really...that was only part of it. Many of the things I've done I regret. Some of them, if I could change it, I would. Some would stay the same. Things fall into place the way they were meant to.
Does it feel like sometimes there's no way out? Do I sometimes wonder if I'll be alone for the rest of my life? Do I worry about being trapped in this dead-end job and never living out my dream? Yes. However, I know differently. I'll find my way back, I'll meet that one man that I will spend the rest of my life with, and I'll move to Nashville before I'm 26 to pursue my dream. It's just a matter of time.
If you don't like me, or can't accept me and my decisions, then somehow I'll have to live with that. If I hadn't gone down the road I'm on, I wouldn't be the person I am today. Life is not always beautiful. It is not always fair and kind, but it's always worth it. The world is a harsh place, and the sooner people learn that, the better off they'll be.
I've accepted my guilt and my responsibility for the things I've done, and no one is ever going to change me. I don't really care if you think I'm strange. No one is going to control me or tell me that I can't do something. You want to tell me no? That I can't do it? That I can't make it as a singer or anything else I want to do? Watch me. I'll prove you wrong. And I'll love every damn minute of it.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Underworld, binges, and lack of records
Today I bought the last Underworld film. For some reason, I really wanted to watch it again. I also binged majorly, and I haven't been keeping records of my daily food intake. I haven't been binging (with the exception of today), but it still frustrates me. I hate that I've been so fucking busy and tired that I don't even have time to record what I eat.
I'm taking a break from OoTS, and I'm working on a new project entitled "Bits and Pieces". I have a character that is a combination of myself and Joan Jett (appropriately called "Joan"), and one that is a combination of Erin and Cherie Currie (former lead singer of The Runaways and close friend of Joan Jett) that is called Bronwyn. I'll post it when it is completed. It is a story filled with drugs, eating disorders, self-injury, abuse, depression, alcohol, and coffee.
In other news, the musicians have started laying down their parts for my new song "Keep Going". I can't wait for the finished product! Anyway, tomorrow I have to work from 12:00-20:00. Wish me luck!
I'm taking a break from OoTS, and I'm working on a new project entitled "Bits and Pieces". I have a character that is a combination of myself and Joan Jett (appropriately called "Joan"), and one that is a combination of Erin and Cherie Currie (former lead singer of The Runaways and close friend of Joan Jett) that is called Bronwyn. I'll post it when it is completed. It is a story filled with drugs, eating disorders, self-injury, abuse, depression, alcohol, and coffee.
In other news, the musicians have started laying down their parts for my new song "Keep Going". I can't wait for the finished product! Anyway, tomorrow I have to work from 12:00-20:00. Wish me luck!
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Hey! You! Yes, you!
To everyone who takes the time to read and/or comment on my blog, forum posts on PT, or just be my friend:
YOU FUCKING ROCK! I FUCKING LOVE YOU ALL!!! YOU'RE ALL PERFECT JUST THE WAY YOU ARE AND YOU SHOULD NEVER CHANGE FOR ANYONE!
YOU FUCKING ROCK! I FUCKING LOVE YOU ALL!!! YOU'RE ALL PERFECT JUST THE WAY YOU ARE AND YOU SHOULD NEVER CHANGE FOR ANYONE!
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
In Your Dreams, Joan Jett, and Cereal
I bought In Your Dreams, the new Stevie Nicks album, and I really like it.
I'm thinking about writing a song of the same name, but I haven't decided.
If I do, I'll post it here later.
I'm also listening to Joan Jett, and I may call Erin later.
I bought Special K Chocolatey Delight cereal, and I'm in love.
It's so fucking awesome.
I highly recommend it.
That's all for now.
I'm thinking about writing a song of the same name, but I haven't decided.
If I do, I'll post it here later.
I'm also listening to Joan Jett, and I may call Erin later.
I bought Special K Chocolatey Delight cereal, and I'm in love.
It's so fucking awesome.
I highly recommend it.
That's all for now.
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