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Willow Tobbs was with her daughter at Hawkin’s one and only playground.
Her husband was at work. She was spending Saturday alone and looking after her daughter, a job which she still felt as though she was still getting used to after being a mother for eight years, and one that she loathed just as much as she loved. Never because of Cherry—no, her daughter was just like her as a kid: shy, sweet and introverted. She couldn’t even remember Cherry’s last tantrum.
She remembered Nathan’s: last night, when she’d finally spoken up about how she felt as though Nathan always left her to look after Cherry. The man had proceeded to call her a bitch and claim that he worked more days than her, so he was tired more often. Willow had been referring to his days off, when he went out drinking with his friends, coming home hungover.
Willow worked three days a week at Melvalds General Store. All the times Willow wasn’t at work, she was looking after Cherry all by herself. She’d just requested for Nathan to look after her for an afternoon, maybe when Willow needed a nap or just some time with her probably dried-up paints. You could imagine how well that would have gone.
“Mommy! Watch me!”
Willow looked up from where she was sitting at the park bench just in time to see her daughter go down the slide backwards. Her breath hitched when Cherry’s head almost planted with the shredded bark flooring, but her clever daughter stuck her foot in the plastic, stopping herself.
She smiled—Cherry always made her smile—and clapped her hands. “Great job, sweetie! Be careful though, won’t you?”
Cherry got off the base of the slide, her green eyes rolling. “Yeah, yeah.”
God. Willow couldn’t blame her—she’d become exactly like Joyce over the years.
“What’s your little one’s name?”
Willow startled at a woman coming up beside her. She had kind eyes, which softened as she said, “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
Willow gave a small laugh. “No, don’t be. I’m such a rabbit.” She nodded to her daughter, who was—for fuck’s sake—heading down the slide backwards once again. “She’s Cherry—real rascal.”
The woman laughed, her freckles shining on her cheeks. “She seems like one. Though…that could be because she’s met my own—Frank.”
Sure enough, Willow saw a boy with curly black hair and a similar set of freckles giggling at Cherry’s antics, racing up the steps and shouting for Cherry to watch. The two moms observed as the boy went down the slide on his stomach. Not too bad, Willow thought, but it was as though Cherry had hit a gold mine. The girl squealed in delight at the new trick, hurrying up the structure to replicate it herself.
“Mind if I sit?” the woman asked, her dark eyes probing. “You’re not expecting anyone?”
“No. Please,” Willow said, scooting over to make room, gesturing beside her. “I’m Willow Tobbs.”
“Michelle Thompson,” the woman said. “Though most people call me Miki.”
“I’ll call you Miki, then, Miki,” Willow said, with a sly smile, which Michelle copied.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
“My husband and I just moved a few weeks ago,” Michelle explained. “He’s working as a data analysist and there was a good opportunity here, apparently. To be honest, I hope we don’t stay too long…I’ve got a few things I can say about this town.”
“I’ve lived here my whole life,” Willow said.
“Oh.” Michelle blushed. “S-sorry, I, err. I mean, the quarry looks nice, in like a suicide-spot or swimming-pool type of way-”
Willow was laughing, finding the woman’s blundering very amusing. “I’m just teasing. I have a few things to say about Hawkins too, don’t worry.”
Michelle collapsed with relief. She nudged Willow’s side, and Willow felt the warmth bloom from the contact. “Jeez, don’t scare me like that, Willow! I’m trying to make friends out here!”
“I did actually hear about a body that was found once,” Willow said. “Floating in the lake.”
Michelle leaned forward with a glimmer in her eyes. “You’re telling me Tobbs has a spooky ghost story?”
Willow chuckled, surprised that Michelle had already remembered her last name. She couldn’t lie—she had forgotten Michelle’s. “Not really. The police investigated it and it was just a dummy someone had chucked in.”
“Damn,” Michelle said. Then she shrugged. “Can’t say I’m too disappointed.”
“Yeah,” Willow agreed. She actually had nightmares for a few days about a real body being found in the quarry after the whole incident had occurred in the 80s. She’d been only twelve at the time, yet it stuck with her.
“So, what do you like to do?” Michelle asked, tactfully changing the subject.
“Err…” Willow stumbled. “Drawing, I guess. I’m sort of an artist.”
Michelle lit up. “An artist? That’s so cool!”
“I haven’t done it in a while…”
Michelle shrugged, like that wasn’t relevant. “What do you like to draw?”
“Mostly fantasy,” Willow explained. She hesitated, tracking Michelle’s attentive brown eyes. “I used to play this game, it’s kinda stupid, and but I’d draw or paint the characters from it. D&D. Have you heard of it?”
“Oh my gosh, yes,” Michelle said, face lighting up. “I fucking love D&D! I played it all the time as a kid. I was a paladin.”
Willow couldn’t help giggling at how infectious Michelle’s enthusiasm was. So much so, that the woman hadn’t realised she’d dropped a pretty hefty swear word rather close to a playground of impressionable toddlers. But who knew if Michelle was the type of mother who censored herself around her child?
“I was a cleric.”
“That’s so cool! I remember this one campaign that I was hosting—since I DM mostly—where my friends and I were stuck on this raft-”
Michelle launched into a massively long explanation of one of her campaigns she’d hosted, somehow remembering everything in extensive detail despite her stating that the campaign had happened over fifteen years ago in ‘95. Willow sat there, chin resting on her hand, completely captivated by Michelle’s way of storytelling, her impressions of the characters and extravagant gesticulations with each of her words. Willow was addicted to that gleam in her eyes, relishing whenever Michelle looked at her, sent some of that energy straight to her soul.
“…and before we could escape the invaders of the Crewstich, my- oh, hello there, bug.”
The curly haired boy had come up to Michelle’s side, grabbing on her arm. “Mom, I lost my shoe!”
He kicked his leg on the table, revealing nothing but a sock with a hole in it.
“It will be here somewhere. Where did you last see it?” Michelle asked.
Frank didn’t respond, staring at Willow in that classic big-eyed look that said there was something interesting about her. It was a look that children hadn’t quite learned to hide.
“Why does she have a bruise on her cheek?” Frank blurted, pointing, the missing shoe forgotten.
Shit. Willow subconsciously felt at her cheekbone, the mild wound twinging as her fingers touched it. That had been the abnormality Frank had noticed. She hadn’t put on any makeup to cover it, not thinking she’d be approached by anyone at the park.
“Buttercup,” Michelle said, in a stern, reprimanding tone that completely contradicted the use of such a cute nickname. “We don’t ask people that; it’s rude, alright? What do we say to our friend Willow?”
“Sorry, Willow,” Frank mumbled, embarrassed.
Willow laughed, the sound hollow. “It’s alright.”
“Good job,” Michelle praised. She ruffled her son’s hair, ridding the insecurity off his face as he giggled. “Now, go and find your other shoe, silly.”
As Frank scrambled away, Michelle’s face grew sympathetic.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “No filter, that one—just like me.”
“Well, you didn’t mention it,” Willow quipped.
“I’ve learned over the years to hold my tongue,” Michelle said, wisely. “So, I can say that at forty, I’ve nearly got The Art of Not Pissing People Off mastered.”
Willow laughed, putting her hand on her stomach. Gosh, her cheeks were hurting from how much she’d been smiling—she couldn’t remember the last time she felt that ache in her facial muscles.
“Could we…see each other sometime?” Willow asked, tentatively. “For the kids, I mean,” she hurried to correct herself. “They seem to be getting on well.”
Truthfully, Willow was a bad parent, as the second Michelle had sat down with her, she hadn’t really been watching Cherry. Thankfully, her child was alive, and was also—thankfully—talking with Frank by the seesaw, aligning with Willow’s excuse to see Michelle in that their kids were becoming friends. She was so starved for friendship it seemed that she was willing to make a fool out of herself.
Michelle wasn’t judging. “Perhaps we could organise a play date?”
“Great idea!” Willow said.
They exchanged numbers, Michelle grumbling the whole time at ‘new phones’ and how she missed 80s landlines, despite the impracticality. Then, they gathered their own little bundles of joy, waving to each other and parting ways.
Cherry gushed over her time at the playground, talking about how Frank was so fun to hang out with, and Willow smiled occasionally into the rearview mirror, her mind running over her whole conversation with Michelle, thinking that today had been the highlight of her week.
*
Willow suspected that Nathan had been home for most of the day, judging by the dirty plates stacked beside his lounge chair as he watched TV.
“I thought you had work?” she asked, opening the door and Cherry coming in beside her. The girl must have worn herself out, since she merely greeted her father with a small ‘hi’ and then went to her room.
“Called in sick,” he explained, not looking up from the screen. The volume was obnoxiously loud, and Willow found herself hating that TV not for the first time.
“Well…” He didn’t look that sick, but maybe he had a headache. “You could have come to the park with us? Spent time with Cherry?”
“You want a free babysitter?” Nathan drawled, sneaking her a smug smile.
Willow frowned, an aching within the pit of her stomach forming. She always wondered what it was—it’d shown up frequently over recent years. “It wouldn’t really be babysitting since you are her father-”
Nathan sighed dramatically. “Call it what you want, Willow. Did you get dinner?”
“Yep.” Willow moved to the kitchen, dumping the grocery bags she and Cherry had filled with their weekly supplies before returning home. She bit her lip, mustering courage to say, “Could, you make it tonight? I know I was supposed to, but since you had the day off…?”
“What, it’s just pasta, isn’t it?” Nathan asked. “Surely it can’t be that difficult?”
“No, it’s not, but-”
“Willow.” Nathan said, sounding stern, and Willow instinctively flinched. The bruise on her face twinged.
He swivelled his torso, fixing her with dark eyes, void of warmth. “The game’s on. Be a good wife. I’ll make dinner next time.”
Willow went to object again, but then Nathan’s eyes purposefully indicated the bruise on Willow’s cheek. A reminder of the thrown candle and poorly stifled shouting from last night.
Willow gulped, nodding. “Alright.”
She moved lifelessly to the kitchen, pulling out the mince and vegetables.
Nathan wouldn’t make it next time; he never did.
*
Later that night, Nathan joined her in bed, kissing her neck and apologising for how he’d reacted. His breath was drenched in beer, and he was humming as he kissed, wrapping his hairy arms around her waist, in a good mood after the team he rooted for won.
Willow whispered her forgiveness, and Nathan didn’t kiss her for too long before the alcohol had him out like a light.
Knowing that Cherry had been tucked into bed, Willow allowed herself some sleep, feeling prickly hot in her bed.
*
The next morning, Nathan had already left the house, heading out with friends as he typically did on Sundays. Willow stifled her disappointment—she’d hoped that Nathan would blow the guys off just this once so he could spend the last day of the weekend with her and Cherry before school on Monday.
She, against her better judgement, messaged Michelle’s number, asking if today was good for the kids to hang out. Who knew if it was too soon, too eager. Did those sort of rules exist when they were in their forties?
Willow: Hey, Michelle! Was wondering if you and Frank would like to come over. My address is 13 Ackerfield St. I’ve got leftover spaghetti bolognese for lunch! :)
Jesus, she was lame as fuck. Surely Michelle would be put off by her clear lack of friends and hobbies.
Willow shouldn’t have worried; twelve minutes later, Michelle responded:
Michelle: Yes, omg! Would love to, be there in 20 :D !!
With some tidying up in the house—including Nathan’s disgusting mancave of beer cans, plates, underwear and chip packets near the lounge—Willow had the house in okay condition when she heard the knock.
“Frank’s here!” Cherry shrieked, thumping down the hall. Willow had alerted her daughter of the play date after the text, which Cherry had brightened up immediately at the mention of Frank coming over.
“Hey!” Michelle said, when Willow opened the door. Frank barged inside, and Michelle called out, much more sternly, “Hey, mister! You have to say hello to the hostess!”
“Hi,” Frank said, absent-minded. He started ranting to Cherry about school, asking about her timetable. Cherry was listening intently, taking Frank to the privacy of her room.
Willow chuckled at the children’s antics. Oh, to be eight years old and for school gossip and timetables to be your biggest concern. It had never been Willow’s—she’d mostly just done her art and stuck to herself. But she’d definitely had to suffer through countless conversations within her group of friends about all the rumours and who’s-dating-who that she didn’t care much about. Not until it was her turn to state the name of the boy she was crushing on, to which she typically just picked a name that no one else had said yet.
“God, he’s a nightmare,” Michelle said good-naturedly.
Willow gestured for her to come in. “They make a formidable duo.”
Michelle wiped her feet, entering and taking a look around.
“This is a nice place—super homely.”
“Whereabouts are your family at?” Willow asked.
“All the way across town,” Michelle said, regretfully. She was studying one of the paintings on the wall—one that Willow had done herself far too long ago.
Willow winced. “Sorry, that must have been a big drive.”
Michelle waved her off. “Don’t worry. Only like twenty minutes. Plus, Frank was ecstatic about coming and Tony was complaining about the noise,” she said, with a roll of her eyes. “Sitting there with his damn newspaper, doing nothing to help whilst Frank nearly gorged his eyes out at breakfast with a fork.”
“Aw,” Willow sympathised.
“Uh, sorry.” Michelle looked away from the painting, giving Willow a small bout of relief. “You don’t want to hear about my boring marital life. Doesn’t leave a good first impression.”
Willow shrugged. It was no big deal. “I totally get it—can relate to it too,” she added, with a wry smile. It did feel nice to know that other mothers also had issues with their partners—made her feel less alone. “And for the record, you already made a great first impression.”
“Oh.” Michelle brightened, pleased. “I’m glad.” She turned back to the painting. Oh, boy. “Now tell me…was this masterpiece done by the lovely Willow standing right in front of me?”
Lovely. That echoed around her head, as if she were in a daze, before Willow recovered.
“It was…but a masterpiece?” she questioned, cringing at Michelle’s awe-struck face. The painting was so old, Willow should have honestly taken it down. Even Nathan, who said all the time that he loved Willow’s art, pointed out that her new stuff was better.
“What else would you call it? Visionary? Le Magnifique? Seriously, Willow, this is incredible.”
“Shut up,” Willow said, ducking her head.
“Your husband must love your art.”
“He does,” Willow said, yet she sounded unsure. Nathan had never gushed over a single one of Willow’s paintings the way Michelle had just now—though Michelle was definitely more of an enthusiastic person compared to Nathan. Willow guaranteed that any door Michelle walked in, she’d give off compliments like the free things they were, wanting to get comfortable with the host.
“He’s out today.” Willow felt like explaining. “Always goes out on Sundays with friends.”
“Mm.” Michelle hummed, not taking her eyes off the painting.
“Alright, no more staring,” Willow said, grabbing Michelle’s arm and tugging her inside. The cotton of Michelle’s navy-blue cardigan was soft, fitting snugly around her forearm.
“You’re making a great mistake, Willow,” Michelle said, letting herself get pulled along, with a cheeky smile.
Willow released her arm when they were in the dining room. “Why?”
Michelle gestured to the walls, where there were more of Willow’s paintings.
Willow sighed. Dammit.
Michelle clapped her hands. “Right—take me through every single one of them.”
*
After no less than thirty minutes of Michelle’s meticulous perusal of her paintings, Willow was considering calling the fire brigade from how hot she was feeling under the collar.
Michelle apparently had a knack for praise, or she just genuinely appreciated all the ‘detail’ and ‘tone’ and ‘shading’ of every single one of Willow’s paintings. How the sunset blended into the grassy fields of a meadow landscape Willow had painted almost a decade ago; how the little fairies floating on a massive tulip had such realistic expressions; how the fire-breathing, three-headed dragon was ‘literally the coolest thing’ Michelle had ever seen.
Eventually, Willow must have looked like she was overcome with embarrassment and praise, and Michelle agreed to sit down for a coffee. As Willow was preparing the drinks, she stole glances at Michelle, who was bouncing her leg and smiling. Willow felt something flutter within her chest, something that had been there the second Michelle had walked in and immediately complimented her art.
It had all been embarrassing, but God, Willow had relished it. It’d been a long time since she truly felt appreciated like that.
She felt guilty at the thought as she set down the drinks on the table. Nathan was busy with work, and obviously Cherry wouldn’t get that her mother felt run down a lot of the time. Willow wasn’t being fair.
Michelle thanked her, taking a sip.
“That’s my favourite mug,” Willow commented, tipping her head to the pastel yellow mug adorned with daisies.
Michelle raised her eyebrows over her mug. “It is?”
“Yep.” Willow smiled. “I couldn’t possibly consider giving someone who’d sung my praises the stained mug with the chipped handle.”
Michelle laughed. “I’m so flattered. When you come to my house, I’ll make sure to give you the only chair that doesn’t squeak.”
They chuckled together, and when the laughter died down, Willow said, “So you never told me what you do for work?”
“Haven’t worked in a minute…” Michelle explained, sheepishly. “Had a job as an English teacher before we moved. I’ve applied for Hawkins Middle, but no luck yet.”
“I’m sorry,” Willow sympathised. “At least it gives you more time with Frank.”
“That’s true. How about you?”
“At Melvald’s,” Willow said, readying herself for the whole spiel she’d heard from Nathan countless times: ‘That’s not a real job.’
And it’s not as though Willow liked her job very much. Without any type of degree, it was all she could get.
Michelle tilted her head. “Is that the grocery store? Sorry, still remembering the names.”
“It’s the general store. I’m…” Willow looked down. “…just the cashier.”
“Shit, must be nice to have a job,” Michelle commented, not seeming judgemental of Willow at all. “I mean…as nice as any job can be, I guess.”
Willow eased up, an oncoming headache dissipating. “Yeah. Of course, working in art’s the dream, but with that one needing looking after.” She nodded her head in the direction of Cherry’s room. “Not going to happen any time soon.”
“I get it,” Michelle sympathised. “Always wanted to be a writer. Tony always had some bullshit about how I’d ‘never get a novel sold’,” Michelle quoted, with a roll of her eyes, and Willow liked how the woman dropped curses without a care for the fact her child wasn’t too far away. “So, I settled for English teacher—not too different.”
“I can’t imagine grading students’ work is fun.”
Michelle chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, at times it can be tedious. ‘No, Sammy, you can’t write about talking lizards for the fifth time this week. No, Sarah, there’s no such thing as someone ‘ajecting’ from their chair.’ It’s ‘ejecting,’ which seems harsher than necessary for a story about a tea party, or just plain ‘standing’.”
“I’m having an idea,” Willow said.
Michelle leaned forward, eyes gleaming in a way that had Willow captivated. “Tell away.”
“If you want to be a writer,” Willow said, pointing at Michelle. She pointed at herself. “And I want to work in art…”
Michelle snapped her fingers. “Tobbs, you’re a genius! We can make a book together!”
“D&D themed.”
“Oh, obviously.” Michelle said. “And there can be a paladin and a cleric: Willow the Wise and Michelle the Magnificent.”
“Magnificent is a lot of syllables,” Willow teased.
Michelle looked affronted, in that way that Willow could tell she loved the banter. “Willow, you better not start acting like my former students who complained that ‘refrigerator’ is hard to spell.”
“I think it’s a little hard,” Willow argued, just to stroke the flames. “‘Fridge’ is easier.”
Michelle scoffed playfully. “Okay, perhaps your talents only extend to making incredibly beautiful paintings.”
Willow quirked an eyebrow. “You calling me dumb, Michelle?”
“Never!” Michelle said it so emphatically, that Willow burst out in giggles. Michelle’s lip quivered as she kept her outrage intact. “I’m merely trying to say that Magnificent is a perfectly suitable epithet for the paladin version of me to have.”
“How about Mighty?” Willow suggested. “Also starts with ‘M’?”
“‘Michelle the Mighty’,” Michelle mused. “No…it’s not sounding right.”
“Does it have to start with an ‘M’?” Willow questioned. “How about ‘Michelle the Brave’?”
“Okay, ‘Willow the Wise and Michelle the Brave: The Tale Of Two Heroes In Small Town Indacaria.” Michelle was nodding. “I’m liking the sound of this. Let’s talk plot-”
A crash and a stumble. Giggling from the hall.
Michelle sighed, slumping dramatically on the table. “After our children are dealt with.”
Willow stifled a laugh as Cherry and Frank burst into the dining room. Michelle righted herself just in time, plastering on a mischievous face. “What are you two munchkins up to?”
“Mom!” Frank said, and Willow could tell from the tone that this was kid life-or-death urgency. “Cherry has the cool scented crayons I was talking about the other day. You know, the ones that smell like fruits?”
“Oh, wow,” Michelle said, face so expressive as she implored in this discovery of her son’s. “What are you going to draw with them?”
“We think maybe a spaceship,” Cherry said. “A rainbow one so we can use all the colours.”
“The Ferry mobile!” Frank added. “It’s both our names combined. Frank and Cherry equals Ferry.”
“That’s very clever,” Willow commented, and Frank beamed.
“But we don’t have enough crayons,” Frank said, with a pointed look at Michelle.
Michelle raised an eyebrow. “So…this is the part where you ask me to buy more for you?”
Frank said nothing. He didn’t need to—his adorable chubby cheeks and wide eyes said it all, and Willow mentally wished Michelle a good luck.
“I’ll think about it,” Michelle said.
The two kids cheered, and off they went, back to Cherry’s room.
“Idiots,” Michelle chuckled, and Willow joined in.
“So, when will your husband get back?” Michelle asked.
No fucking idea.
“Before dinner,” she said. “At like four or five? He likes playing cricket with his group of guy friends.”
Michelle hummed and nodded. Then, she became elated, leaning forward with her hands on the table. “Gives us plenty of time to discuss story ideas!”
They spent an hour or so just talking, getting rather off topic from what they were supposed to be talking about. But what were they ‘supposed’ to be talking about, anyway? They were two forty year olds talking about whether or not wizards and sorcerers were the same—“It matters,” Michelle insisted, much to Willow’s amusement—most people their age were talking about vacations and marital life and other stuff.
Some point during a lapse in conversation, Michelle said, very sincerely. “I love your hair.”
Willow blushed, ducking her head. “My husband thinks it’s silly…” she said, embarrassed. She’d always kept it in a bob with a fringe—having worn it that way since she was as kid. Nathan complained about it all the time, said it felt like he was fucking a child when they had sex, but Willow could never bring herself to change it. She liked to hang on to that control.
Michelle frowned, like that was personally offensive. She reached forward, taking a front strand and threading her fingers through it. “He’s an idiot then, because it’s adorable.”
Willow gulped, tracking the dimple on Michelle’s face as she removed her hand.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
The sun was beginning to set, and Frank and Cherry were becoming rowdier—signs their children needed their dinners in their separate houses.
“Thanks for having us,” Michelle said, as they were getting up from the table, about to wrangle Frank in. It would be a two-person job, Michelle had assured, with a grim look on her face at the prospect of putting her misbehaving child in her car.
“Thank you for coming,” Willow said, just as politely.
“Uh, sorry for saying that about Nathan, by the way,” Michelle said. “I’m sure he’s lovely.”
“Don’t be,” Willow said. She truthfully hadn’t been offended at all by Michelle calling her husband an idiot. “I think I value your opinion more than his. When it comes to hair.”
Michelle beamed. “Good. Great.”
Frank obliged by his mother’s request easier than either of them had been expecting. Willow and Cherry waved as their new friends drove off, and they went back inside.
Willow began making dinner, preparing for Nathan to come home.
*
Nathan had not arrived home until nine. He thanked Willow for making dinner, which he scoffed down at the table, then he kissed Willow on the cheek, saying he was going to take a shower. He reeked of cigarettes and alcohol.
Willow sighed as the water pipes clanged. She walked down the hall, realising that Cherry was still awake, doodling in her notepad.
Willow’s heart swelled with pride at the little girl taking after herself. She truly hated cricket, which Nathan was so passionate about, and didn’t want her daughter to join any sports team at all—call her a bad parent. Luckily, she hadn’t even needed to try and sway Cherry to the world of art.
“Sweetie, what are you doing still awake?” she questioned, coming inside, shutting the door behind her.
“Did daddy come home?” she asked, letting Willow take the notepad from her.
“Yes, he’s in the shower.” Willow placed the notepad and pen on her bedside table, then quirked an eyebrow. “Were you waiting for him?”
Cherry shook her head. “Just wondering.”
“Let me straighten your sheets out.”
Cherry laid herself down whilst Willow pulled the ends of the sheets, ridding the creases and brushing off some of the lint and food crumbs off the mattress—she should really wash them soon. Cherry yawned as Willow brushed her hair away from her forehead, other hand on the lamp switch.
“Goodnight, little fruit.”
Through another weak yawn, she asked, “What were you and Frank’s mom talking about today?”
“Oh, just boring adult stuff,” Willow explained. Why was Cherry asking her this now?
“It didn’t seem boring,” her daughter responded.
“What do you mean?”
“You were laughing,” Cherry said, voice soft and true. “Like, a lot. I’ve never heard you laugh like that before.”
“That’s not true,” Willow futilely argued, feeling as though she were cornered by her own eight-year-old daughter.
“It is!” she insisted.
“What about when we watched that movie—the, uhh, one with falling meatballs or-”
“Cloudy with A Chance of Meatballs,” Cherry said, precisely. She shook her head, stubbornly. “And, nope.”
“I disagree, young lady.”
“You’re wrong,” Cherry murmured, sniffing tiredly. “You can’t lie to me. I heard you.”
Willow chuckled, placing a kiss on the girl’s forehead. Some part of herself was rubbed the wrong way at Cherry’s observation. It felt too invasive, too knowing for an eight-year-old. “Alright, you win. Michelle is pretty funny.”
Cherry’s eyes closed, and she let out a sleepy sigh, which might have been in one of agreement, and then shuffled further into her pillows.
“Night, darling.”
Willow switched off the lamp, leaving the room, thinking about what her daughter said whilst her husband showered.
*
Willow was thankful that Cherry didn’t mind arriving to school earlier than most other kids. At seven-thirty a.m., they arrived at Hawkins Middle, heading to the staff room where the very kind Mrs. Ratcliffe looked after Cherry until school started at eight-thirty. Were Hawkins like any other school within the US, there would be some sort of before school care program that Willow could enrol Cherry in. There was a privately ran daycare, though it was far too expensive.
Mrs. Ratcliffe had overheard Willow discussing her concerns with getting Cherry to school with the principal, and had offered to watch Cherry before classes. It’d taken Willow a long time to accept such help—Mrs. Ratcliffe had been very insistent that it was no problem and that she was at the school anyway.
Still, Willow felt as though she was taking advantage in getting free childcare.
“Alright, best behaviour, okay?” she murmured to Cherry as they walked. “Be quiet so you don’t bother the other teachers in the staff room and-”
“-read my book or do my homework,” Cherry finished, having heard this speech far too many times. “I got it, Mom.”
“Okay, good,” Willow said, some of the tension easing. “Unless there’s an emergency, of course.”
Willow greeted Mrs. Ratcliffe in the staff room, thanking the woman graciously as always, to which she just smiled and waved an easy hand. She and a few other teachers were there, rubbing their tired faces, getting coffee and marking worksheets. They all knew of Willow’s arrangement, some greeting Cherry kindly as the girl took her designated seat on the staff table and rummaged in her bag for M is for Magic, the current book she was reading.
Willow left, stealing a glance at the time: 7:45.
Fourteen minutes of driving later, she arrived at Melvald’s with a minute to spare before her shift. Her boss, Terry Melvald, the son of the retired Donald Melvald, grumbled at Willow in lieu of a greeting, his disapproving face for Willow’s near tardiness resembling his father’s greatly.
Willow just murmured her apologies, fixing her dreaded name badge on and getting behind the cashier.
The morning was quiet. Well, every time of the day was quiet—she had no idea how Melvalds was even in business with new mall that had reopened after the previous had burned down. All the popular stores like were there. Even Blockbuster, which had beaten out the local VHS rental store a decade ago, though Willow had heard that Blockbuster was dying off too. Apparently ‘streaming services’ were on the rise, according to everything Willow had read in the news and seen on TV. She thought there was nothing better than having her favourite movies like Poltergeist and Alien on a tape, and in recent years, a disc.
Melvald’s was kept alive with the loyal locals, who Willow, by contractual obligement, and the fact that she was truly grateful to have a job, thanked appreciatively each time she checked them out, wishing them a good day or engaging in brief, personal conversation if they seemed open to it.
Her lunch break was far too short, and she spent the rest of the day restocking the shelves.
Three p.m. came, meaning Willow had ten minutes to get back to Hawkins Middle to pick up Cherry. She arrived at twenty-past—curse Hawkins’ low traffic except for during school rush—and Cherry emerged from the group of children and parents on the courtyard.
“Good day, love?” Willow asked, placing a hand on Cherry’s shoulder and a kiss on her forehead. She kept her hand there as they walked to the car.
“Frank and I played together at recess,” she said, bouncing a little on her feet. “He told me he played Sonic on his PlayStation last night. Can we get a PlayStation?”
Shit, Willow thought, having just seen those consoles on Melvald’s shelves, adjusted the tags sporting the hefty prices earlier that day. And those were the second-hand ones.
“Uh, I’m not sure,” she said. She hesitated about telling Cherry the reason, then figured it was better parenting to be honest. “Sorry, darling. They’re a bit expensive.”
“Oh.”
“But, next time you see Frank, how about you ask if he would share?”
At that, her daughter brightened. “Okay, yeah! Frank says it’s better with two people anyway—there are other characters you can choose aside from Sonic, and you race around on these cool maps.”
“Really?”
“Mhm!” Cherry was watching her feet as she talked, making sure not to step on the cracks of the pavement—oh, she was so Willow’s child. “Frank says that sometimes his mom plays too.”
“Wow.” Willow huffed a laugh, imagining Michelle squatting in front of the TV with a controller in hand. “Is she any good?”
Cherry shrugged. “I don’t know. He said that she once threw a controller across the room because she came second.”
Willow snorted. “Must be an intense game.”
Cherry talked of video games and other stuff that had happened at the first day of school for the week all through the drive home. She sat on the kitchen counter whilst Willow prepared dinner, begrudgingly leaving to do her homework at Willow’s insistence.
Willow stifled a smile as Cherry sighed, stomping to her bag to get her book. She’s a good kid.
Willow moved to the chopping board, getting out some vegetables and a knife.
*
Nathan arrived home at eleven-thirty. Drunk.
Cherry had long since gone to bed, after Willow’s unfortunate murmuring that ‘Dad might not be back in time to say goodnight’.
Cherry had given such a crestfallen expression, that Willow had just managed to contain her fury when she kissed her daughter on the head twice, and left with the lights off.
She had her arms crossed, leaning on the kitchen table as the man stumbled inside. She sighed impatiently as his pant leg got caught on the threshold, and as he grunted, trying to get it off.
“You’re later than you said,” she said, once he was inside. She allowed some of her venom to go through her composure. Usually, Willow was good at keeping control, but this was the third night in a row Nathan had blown off his responsibilities as a father. She just couldn’t take it; couldn’t stop thinking of Cherry’s heartbroken expression.
Nathan made some grumbling noise in response.
“Cherry was waiting for you,” she added.
“Alright, I’m sorry,” Nathan said, garbled. He shrugged off his jacket with difficulty.
“You could have at least texted?” Willow tried. “I kept saying to Cherry that you’d be home soon and I felt like a liar.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Nathan took off his shoes, heading to the hall. “I need a shower. Any dinner left for me?”
“There might be,” Willow said, rage bubbling.
“What does that mean?”
“I just- I don’t feel happy about feeding you even when you’ve left me to care for Cherry alone for three days.”
Nathan stopped halfway down the hall, backtracking. His eyes were red from the alcohol. “So what? Because I got a little drunk and lost track of time now I’m not deserving of a meal?”
“That’s not what I’m saying-”
“You know, at least I have a job, Willow,” the man interrupted her. “Shouldn’t you be grateful I’m bringing home most of the money for the family.”
‘I have a job,’ Willow thought. The words didn’t leave her lips—they had in the past, and it hadn’t helped her in the slightest.
“I appreciate how much you work for us,” Willow said, trying to sound sincere. She just found it hard to feel said appreciation when Nathan was acting like a baby. “You’re just hardly here.”
Nathan stepped closer, and it wasn’t harmful, but the action felt menacing. Willow’s folded arms fell to her sides, and she tensed.
“That’s because I’m working,” Nathan slurred mockingly. “I can’t be here because I am being responsible and grown up.”
Willow bit her lip, then decided to retaliate. “Well, I’m here looking after our child and making meals for the family because I’m also responsible.”
Nathan gritted his teeth, and Willow’s system blared with the warning signs, yet she couldn’t hold her tongue tonight.
“You’re talking shit.”
“I’m not the one coming home at midnight hardly able to stand.”
Slap!
Right across her face. Nathan’s sailing palm left a sting, and Willow bit down her cry as her head swung in the direction of his hand.
Nathan’s eyes were red with intoxication and rage. He didn’t hesitate to push Willow against the counter, his fingers digging into her nightgown tight enough to make the threads of the fabric rip.
“You…watch it,” Nathan threatened. “You and her would be on the streets if it weren’t for me.”
Willow stayed silent this time, breathing turned erratic and her waist screaming from where Nathan’s claws sank into her skin.
Nathan faintly smirked in satisfaction, shaking Willow’s frame once more, as if to drive home his point, and then releasing her. A tension within Willow snapped, and she balanced herself on the counter, catching her breath as Nathan stumbled to the shower.
When the water switched on, Willow crumpled to the ground, head in her hands.
*
The mark could be covered with makeup.
For the next two days, Willow woke up a few minutes early, studied herself in the mirror—the red mark apparent on her cheek—and got her expired concealer and applied it. There was no need to attend to the marks on her waist; she avoided looking at them as she dressed herself. She’d then wake up Cherry, and they’d complete their regular morning routines. She’d drop Cherry off at school, and head straight to Melvald’s, where Terry would comment that Willow ‘looked livelier’, which was likely because the concealer also covered her eye bags.
Then she’d pick up Cherry after her shift, head home to where Nathan would either be fixated on the TV, or out until midnight. Willow would bristle every time she looked at Nathan’s intoxicated eyes, wondering when he was going to profusely shower her in apologies and kiss her over and over, and claim that he would look after Cherry when he could.
Two days had passed, and Willow and Nathan had mostly kept to themselves. Aside from Willow begrudgingly leaving a serving of dinner in the fridge for him, which he exchanged with the empty plate on the bench every morning.
On the third day, Willow was grateful that it was Thursday, meaning that after she dropped Cherry off at the normal time, she was free to head home, and would have the house to herself.
She spent the morning tidying up. She started with fixing up Nathan’s spot in front of the TV, gritting her teeth and practically hearing the blaring volume of some cricket game buzzing in her head as she cleaned the bottles and chip packets. Then, her mood evened out as she did regular house jobs: washing, drying, folding, vacuuming. She dusted the bookshelves in Cherry’s room and changed her bedsheets.
And so, when she drove back to Hawkins Middle, she was feeling better than she had in the last few days.
She felt a particular sense of warmth flow through her at the sight of familiar head of black curls on the schoolyard, tapping her foot as she watched the school entrance with the other parents.
Willow went over, nudging her on the shoulder. “You waiting for anyone important?”
Michelle blinked in surprise, expression dissolving into camaraderie. “Willow! This is the first time I’ve seen you at school!”
“Yeah…usually I have work and so I’m always late picking up Cherry.”
“I’m glad to see you,” Michelle said.
She indicated all the parents in their little groups, their children dancing between them as they chattered. “Feel like a fucking loser amongst all these people. I’ve stood here all by myself every day whilst all the other parents talk about work and homework and bills and whatever else seems adult-like.”
Willow chuckled. “You tried talking to them about how paladins are natural protectors who swear a life oath to the one they are most devoted to?”
“Didn’t bother,” Michelle said, with a roll of her eyes. “These people wouldn’t get it—they’re not cool like us. Here, listen.” Michelle gestured, and Willow huddled closer, smelling Michelle’s faint deodorant, something natural and fresh.
Michelle pointed to three women, all with thick scarves despite it not being very cold. “They’re the Knitters; heard of D&D but never touched it.” She drew Willow’s eyesight across the courtyard to a group with trendy clothing—beanies, flannels and rings on all fingers. “They’re the Secret Stoners; too high to play a board game.” Then, she moved her hand to four men in suits with briefcases. “Finance Bros would probably gag at the mere thought of fantasy realms or roleplay.” Then, a very American Dream family: conventionally attractive parents, too-wide smiles and having matching blonde hair with their little boy and girl. “Finally, the Peaked-In-High-School Snobs. Would probably shove me up against the wall and call me Frog-Face if I showed them my D-20.”
Willow had a scrunched-up smile, trying to decipher if Michelle had made all that up on the spot, or if she somehow had telepathic powers. “You’re very strange, Miki.”
Michelle shrugged, a pleased tilt in her smile as she leaned back. “I gotta entertain myself somehow—Frank takes forever to find his way to me.”
“We can have our own clique,” Willow decided. “What else do you like?”
“Anything sci-fi,” Michelle said, instantly. “Graphic novels or movies, really anything with sci-fi. Or just regular fantasy—I recently watched The Sorcerer’s Apprentice and I loved it. Ooh and I love Merlin—I watch that show on repeat.”
“I think I’ve heard of it,” Willow said, trying to place the name.
Wrong answer; Michelle’s eyes bulged out of her head. “You haven’t seen Merlin??”
“Oh, dear,” Willow said. “How many crimes have I committed?”
“Many—you might never be released.”
“Damn.”
“Okay, you’re coming over. We’ll binge together.”
Willow laughed at Michelle’s decisiveness. “I don’t even know what it’s about!”
“It doesn’t matter; you’ll love it! It’s like a medieval fantasy based off the Arthurian legends with you know, King Arthur and stuff. Merlin is a warlock and he gets sent to be Arthur’s servant…and if you ask me, there’s a little something going on between the two.”
Willow’s brows lifted. “Between Merlin and Arthur?”
“Yeah.”
“‘Something’…as in-?”
Michelle dipped her head, knowing. “Yeah. That kind of something.”
“Oh.” Willow felt a little funny in her stomach—like she was nervous and excited at the same time. “You’re…okay with that?”
Michelle bit her lip, suddenly shy. “I mean…yeah! It’s 2011. People should be able to date who they want. Right?”
“Totally, I agree.” Willow nodded, not wanting Michelle to think she was a homophobe. Needing Michelle—for whatever reason—to know that she was okay with it.
Something inside Willow was clawing at the walls of its enclosure, screaming with curiosity.
Was Michelle…?
She was with Tony, obviously. But Willow had been around long enough to know you could like both. Or just one.
She caught herself, questioning why she was even thinking about this at all.
Michelle was giving her a funny look, and Willow couldn’t explain herself as her kid came charging up to her—both of them, actually. Frank and Cherry’s backpacks bounced as their little legs propelled them forward, sneakers hitting the courtyard.
“Here’s some trouble,” Michelle said, smiling at them both. “How was school, pumpkin?”
“Good,” Frank said.
“How utterly fascinating your life is,” Michelle replied, nodding as if mystified.
“What about you, love?” Willow asked, going to place a kiss on Cherry’s forehead.
“Mom!” Cherry shifted, glaring, and then giving Frank a quick check.
Willow concealed a chuckle. Right. Kisses = not cool.
“It was fine,” she said, diverging from her near-death experience—the cause of such experience being the unfathomable embarrassment of her mother’s affection. “Can me and Frank hang out?”
“I don’t know…” Willow said, not wanting to interrupt on Michelle’s plans if she had any.
“Please,” Cherry asked, giving her the classic puppy-dog eyes that children seemed to know were irresistible.
“Ah, this is about the PlayStation?” Michelle slid into their conversation. “Frank mentioned with much conviction that Cherry had never played Sonic before. I was saying to Frank yesterday it would be nice for you to try it out some time.”
Cherry caught her opportunity like it was a butterfly in a net. “Frank’s Mom, can we come to your house? Today?”
Michelle chuckled lightly at the address. “If it’s okay with your mom.” She looked to Willow. “What do you say, Cherry’s Mom?”
Willow grazed her lip, trying not to smile at Michelle’s teasing glimmer. Frank and Cherry were both holding their breaths, watching Willow like the world depended on her answer.
Willow heaved an exaggerated sigh. She gestured outwards. “Alright. Let’s go.”
Cheering—from Cherry, Frank and Michelle. The woman gave the two kids high-fives, and started off towards the car, boasting of the good fortune that had been bestowed upon them by Willow.
Willow was a beat behind in reacting, having stood there as the three walked off. She thought about Nathan, wondering if he had ever been as lively as Michelle was now.
He was going through some stuff, Willow could see that, and Michelle didn’t have a job at all. Of course, she’d be in a good mood.
“Willow?”
She had a feeling that Michelle was just as bright and friendly and charming in a blabbermouth, awkward way, even when she had a head full of deadlines and a class packed with thirty misbehaving students.
Michelle was waiting for her, the genesis of concern on her face.
Willow dragged her feet into motion. “Sorry. Coming.”
The kids ran ahead whilst Michelle came closer to Willow, lowering her voice. “It’s definitely okay to come over? You don’t have any plans?”
“No, just didn’t want to intrude.”
The crease between Michelle’s brows morphed into flat understanding. “You never could.”
Willow was oddly touched by the formal phrasing. Perhaps Michelle hadn’t intended her assurance to come out like that; the woman was a bit pink in the cheeks.
“You don’t look like a frog, by the way,” Willow said. It was reasonably noisy with the rambunctious children and talking parents, yet she couldn’t bring herself to lift her voice. Maybe it was because she didn’t want anyone else to hear, or because she wanted her words to sound sincere.
“You’re really pretty, Miki.”
Now, Michelle was blushing. She ducked her head, avoiding eye contact for a long moment. “You’re…just saying that,” she said, weakly.
Willow frowned, eyes skirting between Michelle’s. “I’m not.”
She genuinely believed that Michelle was gorgeous. Could be a model with her slim, tall frame, brown eyes that sucked anyone in without mercy, unruly hair that somehow suited her regardless of the fact it looked as though she’d not only forgotten to brush it, but had lost the hairbrush within the thick curls. Michelle didn’t need heat-pressed, silky strands like the others: her sharp cheekbones that could cut stones and her swoon-worthy smile were much more than that.
She could tell Michelle this, just like any friend would encourage or comfort another. The words got stuck, feeling too heavy to get out her throat. How she’d even called Michelle ‘pretty’ without collapsing was beyond her.
“I didn’t make up ‘Frog-Face’ on the spot,” Michelle continued. “That’s what they called me in school, since my eyes are far apart.” She looked at Willow, gesturing with two fingers at herself. “I would have been Frank’s age when it was happening, but I guess that stuff just sticks with you.”
Willow was outraged. Hadn’t someone, specifically Tony, told Michelle that the comparison couldn’t be further from the truth? Had Michelle seriously been living with the ridiculous words of eight-year-olds for a couple of decades with no other opinion?
All her lavishing’s over Michelle couldn’t get out right, but Willow felt a burning urgency to rectify this.
She settled for laying a hand on Michelle’s bicep, getting her attention.
“Shelley,” she said, “I mean it. I wouldn’t lie.”
Michelle breathed and everything within Willow’s vision blurred, and it was just her: pale skin and full, red lips.
“Alright,” Michelle sighed out in a strange mix of tortured relief—like she didn’t want to argue with Willow and wanted to accept the praise at the same time. She frowned, shaking her head minutely. “But…never call me ‘Shelley’ again.”
Willow abruptly laughed, and the moment was broken, reforming into something more casual.
“What kind of nickname is that anyway?” Michelle continued.
“A very normal one.”
“What if I called you ‘Willy’? Would that feel normal?”
“That’s gross.”
“‘Gross?’ Frank said the same thing about the mashed potatoes last night.”
“We already know about my limited vocabulary, no need to rub it in.”
“Fine. I won’t rub it anymore, Willy.”
“Miki!”
*
“We’re home, Tony!” Michelle called once she’d unlocked the door. Cherry and Frank burst inside as if they were starving dogs waiting to be fed, and headed straight to Frank’s room, where the coveted PlayStation had its home. Willow hung behind, amused at her children, and wanting herself to at least be a good example of a polite guest even when her daughter had run off.
“Willow and her kid Cherry are here!”
“Who?” came a dull voice from the living room.
Michelle sighed, rolling her eyes. “My friend? And her daughter. Cherry goes to the same school as Frank.”
After Willow and Michelle both wiped their feet, heading inside, Willow spotted Tony who was sitting at the dining room table. He shifted his gaze up from his newspaper for a bit, scrutinising Willow, who put her hands behind her back, giving an uncomfortable smile.
He then straightened out the page, huffing. “Alright.”
“I’m showing her my D&D stuff.”
“Isn’t that game for little boys?” Tony asked.
Michelle sighed again, already heading off. Willow gave one final nod to Tony’s unreceptive form, and trailed after.
“Call out if you need me.”
“What?”
“Fucking idiot,” Michelle muttered, making Willow giggle behind her hand.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak kindly of your husband,” Willow whispered, as Michelle dragged her away from the—admittedly—gloomy aura that was exuding from Tony’s general vicinity.
Michelle chuckled. “Wonder what that says about our marriage?”
“Miki!” Willow scolded, nudging Michelle’s arm, making her laugh.
“Alright, alright,” Michelle soothed. “He’s nice and he’s good with Frank when he’s not reading his newspaper. Happy?”
“I guess,” Willow said. Still a pretty subpar list, but if she had to describe why she loved Nathan, she’d struggle too. Sometimes love was complicated and hard to express—she completely got that.
“Good.”
Romance was different to her friendship with Michelle. Something about her friendship was so much easier, flowed like a peaceful creek in a picturesque valley, rather than a rushing river after a storm. She could describe it in three terms: natural, exciting and something she always wanted more of. Marriage was more of a mixture of dark patches and moments of joy, having to work out bills and scheduling, yet also getting to raise a child together. Complexities and uncertainty were what marriage was supposed to be. Willow was where she was supposed to be.
“Alright,” Michelle said, opening the door, revealing a single bed, to Willow’s surprise.
“Tony’s got bad sleep apnoea,” Michelle explained before Willow could ask. “Used to lie awake for ages before we both decided to sleep in separate rooms.”
“Huh.” Willow had never considered the idea of spouses in separate rooms. It might be good, since Willow wasn’t always in the mood for Nathan snuggling up to her and kissing her when he was drunk.
“Gives me extra space for all my equipment,” Michelle smirked, grandly sliding open the wardrobe door, revealing some clothes and far more nerdy materials: board games, books, guides, figures, character sheets, dice, and more.
“Wow,” Willow breathed, coming closer and taking it all in. She took out a book titled Return of the Dammed with a barbarian in silver armour and holding a sword and bow pictured on the front.
“Impressed?” Michelle asked, in a way that was sardonic.
“You’re the real deal,” Willow said back, and actually meaning it. Yes, Michelle would be scrutinised upon by anyone else within Hawkins for being a forty-year-old mother and having such an extensive D&D collection. To Willow, it just made Michelle a million times cooler.
“So, up for a campaign?” Michelle said. “Mine famously are no shorter than ten hours.”
Willow laughed. “Maybe another time. On school holidays when Cherry and Frank can join.”
Michelle seemed unsure. “You’re serious?”
Willow gave an odd frown. “Of course? You know I’m just a big of a nerd as you are. I just haven’t played a game or anything in a while,” Willow added the last part mournfully.
Michelle placed a hand on Willow’s shoulder. “When school holidays art upon thee, let us rectify such a great shame, for thou cannot live without quaint game of Dungeons and Dragons!”
Willow giggled. “Does thou speak in Shakespearean so absolute when she is Dungeon Master?”
“Only if it is thy wish.”
Michelle’s hand was still on her shoulder, expression bright. When she removed it, the touch lingered.
“Oh, look!” Michelle reached for her DVDs, sliding one out, and showing it to Willow: The Adventures of Merlin – Series 1
Willow raised both her eyebrows, and Michelle cocked her head in question.
“You up for a true cinematic experience?”
Willow laughed again. Michelle was just so fun. Like someone who’d never let their teenage-self go.
“I can’t say no to that.”
Michelle hooked an arm around Willow’s shoulder, guiding her to the dining room. Willow was quickly learning that Michelle was quite a physically affectionate person. She must touch people in a friendly manner all the time, and Willow was the outlier for thinking that the touches were just for her; that she was strange for getting all self-conscious whenever Michelle had her hands on her.
Upon realising they were returning, Tony huffed, grunting as he got up from his chair and taking his newspaper elsewhere.
“He doesn’t like Merlin,” Michelle explained, squatting to fiddle with the DVD player.
Willow felt awkward as she sat on the couch. She cast a glance to the hall the man had walked down. “I feel bad…?”
Having slotted the disc inside, Michelle turned to her and shook her head. “Don’t.” With legs bent, she shuffled over to Willow, climbing up on the couch beside her.
They watched four episodes. Willow enjoyed it—definitely thought it was something she could get into. She was mostly distracted by Michelle’s body heat next to hers, which only seemed to grow closer as they went through the episodes. At some point, Michelle had tossed an arm over Willow’s shoulders naturally, and Willow found herself snuggling into her touch. She whispered her commentary into Willow’s ear, which she usually would have found annoying if it were Cherry—and her daughter could yap on if provoked—but this time, she listened to the cadence of Michelle’s voice, giggling at certain parts, and feeling entirely relaxed.
Towards the end of the fourth episode, Frank bounded in.
“Mommy! Look!”
And he simply clicked his fingers.
But Michelle lit up, spreading her hands in joy. “Frankie? Is that what I think it is?”
Frank giggled adorably and clicked his fingers again, to which Michelle got up, putting her hands in the air and dramatically singing. “Oh, yes, he’s done it! He’s finally done it!”
Frank collapsed into uncontrollable giggles as Michelle goofily swept him up, spinning him around in a circle. Willow was smiling, cheeks stretched wide and watching the scene fondly. She lingered on Michelle’s smile, where she could see genuine pride within, though not for the reason Frank believed.
“I told you practice would pay off,” Michelle said, setting Frank down.
“It was taking months,” Frank said petulantly. “I thought I would never be able to do it.”
“Well, never say never!” Michelle said. “I’m so proud of you, darling.”
“Am I doing it right?” Frank asked, in a moment of doubt, demonstrating his clicking again. “It’s not as loud as how Samuel can do it.”
Michelle’s voice softened, and she placed her forehead against Frank’s, rubbing her hands over his shoulders. “It’s perfect, darling. You’ve been trying for so long. I’m so proud.”
Willow wasn’t sure why, but instead of the words filling her heart with second-hand warmth as the others had, they sent heat straight to her lower abdomen. The change was so stark, so sudden that she just managed to muffle the tiniest whine.
Fuck. She shifted, feeling a tingling down there. She crossed her legs. What the fuck?
She couldn’t classify how she was feeling; why her body was reacting this way to her friend congratulating their child.
Before she could think on it more, Michelle was handing her a concerned look.
“You okay, Willow?”
Her tone was still in that register she’d been praising Frank, and it did nothing to quell the rising heat inside Willow.
She coughed, nodding and feeling Michelle and Frank’s inquisitive eyes on her. “Yeah, yeah, fine.”
Michelle gave her a smile, then turned back to Frank, beaming.
“Next you’ll be able to whistle,” she was saying, and Frank was nodding, going on about a time where he claimed he’d almost done it, but then the sound had ‘fainted’ away. Willow wasn’t listening, her eyes zoning out, mind elsewhere.
Frank left, with his lips set in a determined ‘o’ shape, blowing air out over and over, returning to his room where Cherry was apparently colouring.
They watched another episode, and then parted when it came to dinner time. Michelle put a sincere hand on Willow’s shoulder, stating she enjoyed her company, and Willow felt the imprint of her palm for the duration of the drive home.
*
A few days after the play date, Willow settled into the covers in the evening, Nathan already asleep beside her. It was ten forty-five; he’d missed kissing Cherry goodnight but at least he was home and not more than four drinks drunk. Willow nearly closed her eyes before her phone lit up, making no sound as she’d put it on silent.
Wondering who could possibly be messaging her at this time, she took her phone.
Michelle: hey sorry to bother u but i think frank is havign a night terror, i dont know what to do??? Pls help
Sitting up in her bed, she left Nathan sleeping and headed to the kitchen, dialling Michelle’s number.
“Hey,” she whispered once there was a click.
“Uh, hey.” Michelle was panicked. Screaming and crying was in the background. “It’s been going on for like five minutes. He screamed and so I came to him, and he’s just been thrashing around. Every time I try to touch him, he throws me off.”
“Okay, it’s best not to touch him,” Willow said, keeping her voice level despite the jarring cacophony. “They don’t usually last longer than ten minutes. There’s nothing he could hurt himself on?”
“Uh.” Some fumbling amongst poor Frank’s cries. Willow heard the faintest gulp, which she didn’t think was from Frank. “O-okay…I just moved his alarm clock and lamp away.”
“Good.” Willow made sure her voice was soothing. “We just have to wait it out—I had night terrors all the time as a kid and this is exactly what my mom had to do.”
Another gasp for air not from Frank, like distress that was only starting to come down.
Willow smiled small. “Miki…”
“Sorry,” Michelle whispered. Willow heard her sniff, and the phone move as she presumably wiped her eyes. “It just really freaked me out. Obviously, I know there’s nothing wrong, but just hearing him scream like he’s being tortured…”
“I get it,” Willow said. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. He’s okay. You’re okay, Miki.”
A staticky breath—one that was more controlled, quieter. “Thanks, Willow,” Michelle whispered.
“I’ll stay with you until he wakes up.”
Shifting noises. Frank’s crying.
“N-no, you don’t have to-”
“I will,” she insisted, leaning against the counter.
Michelle gave up, whispering another expression of gratitude, and the two women sat together on the phone, waiting as the thrashing and crying gradually began to dim.
After a few minutes, it was quiet.
Then some sweet murmuring. “Hey, lollipop? You’re awake?” A brushing sound, like a hand running over a forehead. “You come back to me?”
“M-mom?” Frank’s voice, confused and sleepy. “Wha…? W- why are you crying?”
Willow’s heart ached as Michelle gave a rueful chuckle.
“It’s nothing, buttercup. We can talk about it in the morning, okay? You feeling alright?”
Frank yawned. “Tired…why are you here?”
“Just checking up,” Michelle said, so softly and lovingly, and Willow’s heart throbbed. “Go to sleep. Love you.”
The words passed through the phone, sounding like they were for Willow. That was an absurd thought. Willow stared at her feet, tapping her socked toes on the ground.
Frank was clearly only just awake, unquestioning to what was happening. “Love you too.”
Some shifting as Michelle rose from the bed. Willow heard the click of a light turn off.
Michelle let out a relieved sigh, and a door closed shut, followed by quiet footsteps: Michelle heading back to her room.
Another door opened and closed.
“Thanks, Willow,” Michelle’s voice was clearer, less congested. “I was so stressed.”
Willow was smiling. “It’s no problem. You’re going to head to sleep now?”
“Yeah.” Then, as if thinking of something, Michelle chuckled. A quiet thing, not to awake her sleeping child. “Actually, we should head to the club. Thoughts?”
Willow laughed, the sound louder than she had intended. She winced, lowering her tone, eyes flicking to where Nathan slept. “I think that’s a great idea. Except good luck finding a club in Hawkins.”
“Oh, I forgot there’s nothing here,” Michelle said, good naturedly. “What else do teenagers do? The bar? Skinny dipping—except I don’t fancy a dip in the once-fake-dead-body-inhabited quarry.”
“There is Lover’s Lake,” Willow said, cheeks straining in a smile. “A few minutes’ drive up north. It’s shaped like a heart.”
“Yes, perfect!” Michelle said. “Right, grab your swimsuit, Tobbs. I reckon we’ve got three hours before either one of our kids requires attention again.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Raincheck?”
Willow wondered if Michelle was being serious. She imagined just the two of them, their naked bodies lit by the moonlight, dripping in water as they laughed and ran into the lake.
Willow cleared her throat. Michelle was just joking, she told herself.
She played along: “Sure. I’ll see you then.”
Michelle had an audible smile. “Okay, bye, bye!”
Willow had a fluttering feeling in her chest as they hung up.
*
Sex with Nathan was different this Thursday.
They typically picked a time to do it—with both their schedules so busy, there wasn’t viability for spontaneity. It’d been nearly two months since they’d last done anything, though Willow hadn’t been too bothered by it.
Nathan had initiated. Since Willow driven home from dropping Cherry off at school, finding the dishes done and the floors vacuumed, she wasn’t opposed in obliging to Nathan’s eager hands at the hem of her shirt, his lips on hers. The timing was perfect: Cherry was out, Nathan had a day off, and Willow’s housework could be done any time when she wasn’t working.
Everything felt off pretty much as soon as Nathan started sucking at her breast. The spot was sensitive, which is why Willow’s breathing increased—that was typical. What wasn’t was the itching feeling. Not something she felt anywhere on her external body, but rather within her gut. Some type of reluctance that Willow frowned at, not liking how it stabbed tiny needles over her stomach lining.
There was probably nothing wrong, she thought. A lot of the time when Nathan touched her, she felt nothing. They’d discussed it, and Nathan had reasoned that it was probably because women had a harder time getting off than men did. Willow hadn’t been sure about this—and had a feeling Nathan wasn’t particularly concerned when during the conversation they’d had all those years ago, his dick had been hard and ready to go—but she’d accepted it. Accepted that sex wasn’t fireworks and crack and rainbows like everyone described it as.
She guided Nathan away, going to take off his shirt. The sight of his beer gut and hairy chest intensified the prickling, and Willow distracted herself by mouthing at Nathan’s neck, stroking his hard-on after she got it wet with some spit.
Now this was tedious—but that was nothing new. Willow figured that anyone who actually enjoyed giving handjobs or blowjobs to their partner was lying or living on a different planet.
“Fuck, Willow,” Nathan breathed, and the tone, which might have made Willow pleased in the fact she was achieving something with her motions, just made her want to curl in on herself more.
What is wrong with me? she wondered, tasting the salt on his neck.
Was she about to get her period? She’d read somewhere that that phase of the cycle had the lowest sex drive. Perhaps she wasn’t as in much of the mood as she thought.
Nathan was getting quite riled up, grinding against Willow’s thigh and panting in her ear. He sounded a little like a dog, and she wondered what Michelle would have to say if she heard it:
‘Jesus, Willow. You better give that thing his treat before he ruts his dick off.’
Willow giggled, and Nathan’s breath stuttered, head pulling back.
“What?” he asked.
“Sorry,” Willow’s laughs turned into coughs. “Just something stuck in my throat.”
Nathan hummed, and he fumbled with Willow’s underwear. The little Michelle inside Willow’s head had relaxed her limbs, dimming out that uncomfortable feeling, and she let Nathan take off her underwear.
She laid down on the bed, whilst Nathan leaned for a condom within the box they kept in the drawer.
Now that Michelle had appeared in her mind, Willow couldn’t get her out: the woman’s large hands, gesturing frantically along with some rant coming out her full lips; her expressive eyes; the way she always gave Willow undivided attention when she was talking.
Nathan pressed a finger at her hole, and Willow gasped. A spark, something like the hint of a firework, but she couldn’t grasp onto it.
Nathan began sliding his finger in and out of her vagina, preparing her, and Willow’s eyes fluttered shut. The black canvas provided her with fantasies she’d never had—or rather, never consciously thought of: Michelle grabbing her waist, peppering her neck in sweet kisses, murmuring encouragements in that gentle, raspy tone.
Willow’s breathing was picking up, and her whole private area felt like it was on fire all of a sudden. Her hole sucked in the fingers, needing them faster, deeper, in ways that she’d never really desired so primally, more so wanted so that Nathan could be satisfied. Her clit throbbed, untouched thus far.
“You needy tonight, huh?” Nathan had noticed Willow’s abnormal eagerness, it seemed. “You want it that badly?”
With her eyes closed, Willow just breathed out, “Yes.” And didn’t stop to think about how far her mind was removed from where she was.
Michelle becoming rough when she became desperate, whining and gritting her teeth. Sinking her fingers into Willow’s waist; a good kind of hurt. Would she shower praise, like she’d done when viewing Willow’s paintings? Willow could imagine it: that soothing tone that wasn’t really soothing because she knew what Michelle would be bracing her for.
‘I can give you what you want, Willow,’ her voice whispered, a wind in her ear. ‘I’ll give it. All of it.’
Willow gasped and moaned as Nathan put his cock inside. He went at a rapid pace instantly, which for once Willow didn’t detest. She wanted it. She wasn’t indifferent or fine with the fact she provided pleasure for her partner. She needed to be touched there—felt like she’d go insane if she wasn’t.
She reached a hand down, finding her clit and circling it with the pad of her finger desperately. Her body jerked in time with the bed as Nathan thrusted, bursting with the dual pleasure on her clit and her hole.
Michelle’s scent. Boobs that would fit in the palm of her hand. Ones that would jiggle as a body bounced up and down, or get squished into the mattress as a breathy moan left full lips. An ass she could squeeze and grind against.
The pleasure mounted, and Willow was throwing her head back. “Oh, fuck.”
Nathan was murmuring something to her, but it was all white noise. All Willow could do was feel, hear a voice of a person not in the room, shake at everything the voice and the person it belonged to did to her body.
And she finally allowed herself to imagine it: Michelle in Nathan’s place. Michelle sticking something inside her, thrusting it in and out. Slowly, then faster, then slower again. Michelle’s fingers, teasing and rubbing her clit. Knowing exactly how to touch her. Michelle breathing on her neck, Michelle grasping her hand, and grinding herself against Willow’s thigh in a frantic rhythm, whining her name:
“Willow!”
“Oh my-!”
She came, body jolting as the pleasure puffed out like pollen of a shaken flower. Her pussy was so wet, folds soaked in her arousal fluid and trickling down her quivering thighs. Her fingers kept up, making her shiver at the overstimulation.
Only when she opened her eyes did she realise three things: that Nathan had come—his cock softening inside her; that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d orgasmed that hard—if she ever had at all.
And…that she’d gotten off to the thought of Michelle.
Seeing Nathan above her summoned that prickling, ugly feeling and intensified it like fuel being added to a bonfire. His body was too warm and sweaty, and too much all over her.
“Just going to clean up.” She made the excuse, sliding out and heading to the bathroom, needing space.
She closed the door, turning on the shower and letting it run. She didn’t get in—sinking to the floor with her naked back against the door.
Her clit was still tingling, like it couldn’t believe how good she had just orgasmed. How good she’d just felt.
All because of Michelle.
And thinking of Michelle stirred more feelings within Willow, made her clit throb for more. Greedy like it’d never been. Willow fought the urge to cross her legs and grind against her thigh, get off again, this time completely without Nathan.
This feeling…it was wrong. She couldn’t be feeling this for Michelle, not when the woman was married.
When Willow was married.
And the fact that Michelle was a woman. Somehow, this part of the equation was less complicated to understand. The fact that Michelle happened to be a woman didn’t ruffle Willow as much, or perhaps as it should have. Willow felt as though some sort of chest, one that had been buried by pirates years ago inside her, had just been unlocked, and now she was reaping all the treasures she’d never seen or known.
But Cherry.
Willow wasn’t thinking clearly. She was a married woman with a husband and child. A family. One sexual fantasy wouldn’t destroy that—it didn’t even mean anything. It was just Willow wanting something new, or perhaps confusing Michelle’s kindness for something more when it wasn’t.
She told herself this and whispered aloud that it was okay.
The tiles beneath dug hard into her bones, feeling all wrong and uncomfortable.
She sat there for longer, thinking it over. When the room was warping from the amount of steam, Willow decided she’d stop wasting the water, and hopped in, washing off the events of the past thirty minutes knowing that she wouldn’t come out with it all down the drain.
*
Nathan was laying on the bed, sweating. When she returned, he smiled, passing her on his own way to the shower.
Willow uneasily sat down, pulling out her phone, finding her last messages with Michelle that had been about Frank’s night terror:
Michelle: Thanks again for last night. I owe you!
Willow: You don’t owe me anything!
Michelle: How about lunch whilst kids are at school? I’ll pay ;)
Willow: Fine—if it gets you to shut up!
Michelle: Great!
Willow: How is Frank this morning?
Michelle: Bastard doesn’t remember anything. Damn kids!!!
Willow: Haha, you gotta love ‘em
Michelle: I guess we do! XD. Tony’s just as clueless—slept through the whole thing.
Willow: Lucky.
Michelle: Tell me about it
Michelle had sent the last message right before Willow walked in the house after dropping Cherry off, where she’d been bombarded by Nathan and things had escalated.
Their plans to have lunch were still in motion. It was nearly eleven a.m.
Willow typed:
Willow: Hey, sorry, something’s come up. Can’t do lunch.
Less than a minute later, she got a response.
Michelle: ?? is everything okay?
Willow: Yeah, work asked for an extra shift.
The lie tasted sour.
Michelle: *typing*
Michelle: All good! See u another time :)
Willow sighed, putting her phone on silent and placing it on her bedside table.
*
She couldn’t avoid Michelle forever. Which, honestly, was good, since she didn’t want to. Seeing Michelle’s friendly wave or thinking of her text messages ignited Willow with nerves and excitement. She didn’t know how to trample down this newfound feeling she was experiencing whenever Michelle crossed her mind. It couldn’t affect their friendship. Willow refused to let it.
So, when she saw Michelle at school pick up a day or so after their cancelled lunch date, she allowed herself to smile, and she engaged fruitfully in the conversation. She felt as though all of Michelle’s micro-expressions, her sense of humour, her subtle, persistent ways of praising Willow for the smallest things had medicinal properties. Willow felt rejuvenated, lighter after each time they ran into each other across the next few weeks, whether it be at school pick up, or the park, or when Michelle would come into Melvalds, talk across the counter with her, until a customer would cough irritably (Willow never noticed the line whenever Michelle was around).
Willow was simultaneously fighting down her other feelings—the ones that had intruded during sex with Nathan. She tried not to think about it, the way Michelle shone brighter in the sun than anyone else. Her laugh, her freckles, her cheekbones. It was really hard, with Michelle being Michelle, and also little signs Willow got. Like how she noticed Michelle’s trips to Melvalds became much more frequent after she’d asked what days Willow worked. How Michelle was super physically affectionate with her, even at times when it felt as though Michelle was going out of her way to touch Willow. How sometimes, when she’d watch Michelle interact with Cherry, she had the dangerous idea of Michelle being in Nathan’s place. She’d never entertain that fantasy for too long—it was too disloyal, too confusing.
Willow just didn’t think about it—ignoring how she felt so drained whenever she was at home, having argued with Nathan, compared to how alive and free and excited she felt with Michelle.
About a month or so after Willow and Michelle had first met, Nathan came home at about eight in the evening, furious.
“Woman!”
Shit. Willow tensed from her spot on the couch, book in hand. She placed the book face down and open, keeping her spot as the door slammed open.
“What is it, Nathan?” she asked as the man barged in, eyes swarming with hatred, like a thousand angry wasps who’d just witnessed Willow steal their hive.
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he seethed. “The car.”
Willow didn’t know what he was talking about. She knew from past experience, the best thing was to just wait until Nathan got out whatever he was angry about.
At her silence, Nathan came closer, bootsteps menacing against the floorboards. “There’s a scratch on the side.”
“Oh.” Willow frowned, racking her brains. She figured she would have noticed a scratch. With Nathan’s anger setting off alarm bells within her system, it was hard to recall. “Where?”
“You tell me,” Nathan said, crossing his arms. “You are the one who did it. My car—defiled by your horrible driving!”
Willow could mention that Nathan had been in several incidents involving driving under the influence, yet she knew it would be futile. Her heart rate had elevated the second he’d first shouted, and now she was beginning to sweat under her palms.
To soothe and to deflate: “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice any scratch-”
“Of course you wouldn’t.” Nathan threw up his hands, striding closer and slapping her across the cheek. At least Willow had prepared for it, having closed her eyes right before the impact.
“You’re the one too occupied with making sure Cherry’s well-behaved at school,” Nathan continued. “Always worrying that she’d be a nuisance to the teachers even though it’s their job to look after her. And as if Cherry isn’t the politest child in Hawkins!”
“Nathan…the teachers don’t have to look after Cherry before school,” Willow said, feeling small, but not wanting to vanish without a fight. Her two sides were quarrelling: one that said to ‘be a good wife’ and to comfort and apologise to her husband, whereas the other was loathing at the injustice, unable to assume a completely passive position. “They’re doing us a favour. And…I really didn’t mean to scratch your car. What part is damaged? I’m sure it’s fixable.”
“What would you know?” he asked, and without warning, he grabbed Willow under the shoulders, hauling her up with surprising strength. A yelp caught in Willow’s throat, and she hung by Nathan’s locked hands, heart beating within her fragile ribcage. “You females don’t know shit about cars.” He flung her off him, and Willow tumbled to the ground, bruising her hip on the floor. She held back a grunt as the pain sent signals to her brain. “Just drive, drive, drive them! You…” Nathan hiccupped, and it occurred to Willow that he was probably rather intoxicated. She had smelt some vodka on his breath when he’d lifted her. “…use your husband’s car! You’re taking advantage of me and my money.”
Willow felt tears brimming in her eyes. She was very aware of Cherry being awake in her room. “Please…let’s just discuss this outside. I don’t want Cherry to worry.”
“Mom?”
It was too late—Cherry had appeared in the hallway, looking at her burning father and her fallen mother on the floor. She held an innocent yellow crayon in hand. And her eyes were quivering, shaking between the two of them.
“You…” Nathan stepped forwards, shoulders risen like a wild animal. “What are you doing here, you little shit?”
Fucking hell, how much had he drunk?
“Come on, Cherry,” Willow said, rushing to her daughter’s side and hauling her on her hip.
“No, you can’t!” Nathan shouted. He swivelled to where Willow had run off, only to fall to the ground. “You fucking…stop!”
Willow’s brain was going off, mixed orders to protect Cherry, but also to stand her ground against Nathan, for herself and to be a good role model. She felt like she needed to submit so that the lion could be tamed.
She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Cherry’s crayon slipped out of her hand as the child grabbed onto Willow’s shoulders and upper back.
“You two…” Nathan growled. “I’ll fucking… you better fucking watch it, I’ll kill ya…I’ll kill you both.”
Nathan was getting to his feet, and all Willow’s thoughts escaped her brain. Aside from one: run.
Something fell and split as Nathan tried to orient his drunken self their way. A glass or a bowl or a lamp—Willow didn’t see. She was clutching Cherry and racing to the door.
“Fucking coward, Willow!”
“Mom?” Cherry asked again, face buried in her neck. Willow grabbed the keys to Nathan’s other car, which were on the counter. “What’s happening?”
At Willow’s theft, Nathan’s shouting got louder, more indecipherable as the words went on.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Willow panted as she got on the front lawn, her feet kicking up mud as she went over the grass. Her hip where she’d fallen was panging, but at least she could run, could hold Cherry in her arms. “It’s going to be okay.”
Willow could hear the sounds of Cherry muffling her cries, and she felt a fury like never before at the man, who was currently attempting to follow them, having smacked himself into the front door, hurling out more insults as Willow put Cherry in the front seat, and ran around to the driver’s.
She had the engine started and was reversing as Nathan came closer. When she was out on the road, Nathan merely shook his fist, retreating to the house as Willow sped down the road. The neighbour’s lights turned on, perhaps wondering what all the fuss was about. She had no idea what Nathan would be doing with the house to himself—trashing it or perhaps forgetting about it in sake of his TV. Her only concern was getting Cherry to safety. Nathan hadn’t made to hit her…but…
Willow placed a hand on her daughter’s thigh, rubbing over the soft skin as she drove. “I’m here, darling. I’m so sorry.”
Cherry didn’t respond for a bit, and Willow just drove.
“He hits you,” Cherry finally said. Always wise for her age. Always knowing too much—just as Willow did when she was small. “Doesn’t he?”
Willow’s hand on the wheel tightened. She pictured Nathan’s face, and imagined thrusting a knife through his neck.
“He’s a violent person,” Willow said. “And…yes. He does hit me,” she admitted. “But,” And she turned away from the road for a moment, just to meet Cherry’s eyes, so her daughter knew she meant every single word, “I would never let him lay a hand on you.” Her voice grew dark, sickened at the mere thought of anyone, let alone a father hurting their own child. “Never.”
Cherry looked troubled, but she grabbed onto Willow’s hand. “I love you, Mommy.”
Willow felt a tear drop down her face. She held onto her daughter’s hand, and it felt like she was the only link Willow had with Nathan. Perhaps such a link that was becoming purely genetic, blood-based rather than anything more, anything that it might have once represented. “I love you too.”
*
She drove to Michelle’s.
It was about eight-thirty, so the Thompson’s front lights were out, though Willow could see Tony through the window, sitting in the living room chair.
She sent Michelle a text:
Willow: Outside. Emergency. Can I come in?
She waited in the car, holding Cherry’s hand, and answering her questions as best she could, questions which ranged from ‘Is Dad going to come find us?’ to ‘Can I use Frank’s PlayStation if he’s awake?’
Willow had smiled at that one, saying that yes, she could, since she’d been such a good, brave girl.
When the door opened, revealing Michelle in her PJs, looking out confusedly. She spotted Willow’s car, and waved.
Willow and Cherry got out, and crossed the road.
“Is everything okay?” Michelle asked, looking equal parts panicked and analytical. She immediately spotted the fresh mark on Willow’s face, and her eyes narrowed. Willow sighed. Michelle was too clever to stay in the dark forever.
“Could we stay here tonight?” she asked. “I’m sorry, but-”
“Of course,” Michelle said, opening the door and gesturing inside. “Hi, Cherry,” she added, ruffling the girl’s hair as she walked in. “Frank’s in his room.”
Willow watched her daughter leave. Such a small child to have to deal with this. Willow could see that she was confused, not completely understanding of what had happened, and clearly preferring to play with Frank rather than sit down and think about her father’s behaviour.
When her daughter turned down the hall, out of sight, the air left Willow. She wasn’t a mother anymore: she was just Willow. Willow, who had run away from her husband after being slapped and thrown around by him. The man she was married to and shared a child with.
Michelle was watching her with eyes gentle, like the soft scrape of a butterknife on a warm slice of toast.
Willow was collapsing into Michelle’s arms, which had opened right before she practically fell into Michelle’s torso.
“Oh, Wills,” Michelle whispered into her hair, holding her arms around her tight. “You’re okay, love. Everything’s going to be okay. You’re safe here.”
Willow’s tears kept coming, her shoulders shaking. The word ‘love’ echoed around her brain as Michelle closed the front door, taking her past Tony’s oblivious form and straight to her room.
“Here,” Michelle said, closing the door, and it was just the two of them. She went to her closet, pulling out a loose shirt and bottoms. “Change into these. You want a shower?”
Willow nodded wordlessly. She took the clothes from Michelle, and moving to the ensuite bathroom.
“You hungry?” Michelle asked, right before she closed the door. “I can make tea? Or there’s leftover dinner?”
Willow shook her head. “I’m fine. Can you check on Cherry?”
Michelle smiled softly. “Of course.”
She went to leave, and Willow blurted, knowing the tears were still cascading down. “T-thank you, Miki.”
Michelle just nodded, like she didn’t want Willow’s thanks. Like she was doing it because she was a good person, or maybe because she just valued Willow that much. It was a problem, since it just made Willow want to thank the woman more.
“It’s okay, Willow,” she said.
And she was gone.
Turning on the tap, letting the steam fill up the room, Willow got inside the cubicle, eager to get the lingering feeling of Nathan’s hands off. The water relaxed her muscles, evening out the tension sparking in her skull. She used Michelle’s soap, lathering her body.
Michelle hadn’t given her a towel. She couldn’t find any within the cupboards, so she hesitantly wrapped Michelle’s own towel around her naked body. Her cheeks were red from the heat of it all, from the scent of Michelle completely covering herself.
She left after she changed into Michelle’s spare pair of clothes finding Michelle waiting on her bed, staring at the wall contemplatively, a strain in her forehead and tapping her foot. The second the door opened, she was up.
“Feel better?”
Willow found a smile within herself. “Yes.”
“Need anything else?” she asked.
“Just…sleep.”
Michelle waited, her lips twitching, like she was restraining herself from asking questions. She gave in, nodding to herself and backed towards the door.
“Alright. Well, I’ll sleep with Tony tonight,” she said. “You can have my bed.”
“Oh, um.” Willow bit down on her lip, stifling herself. Her foolish self. She’d just assumed…well…
Michelle’s hand had paused where it reached for the handle. “Yeah?”
Willow was feeling very exposed. “Uh…” She swayed a little on her feet, averting her gaze. “Could you…? I…don’t really want to be alone right now.”
“Oh,” Michelle breathed, her hand coming down to her side. Her facial features all did varying twitches and micro-movements as Michelle seemed to process this simple, yet intriguing statement. “O…okay.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, I get that.”
“Mhm.” Willow nodded. “So…” She gestured towards own Michelle’s bed, no courage to say the words aloud.
“Yeah, I-” Michelle scratched her head. “I can stay. Is that- are you asking that?”
“Yes,” Willow said quickly. Then, correcting: “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”
Michelle realigned herself into an attempt of something casual. They were both being casual. “Yeah, of course. No problem. I’ll just…”
Michelle went around to the other side of the bed, and Willow followed her lead, getting in her own side. Michelle pulled back the blankets of the spread, and they awkwardly hopped in together.
They were close together in Michelle’s single bed. Willow heard the faint sound of an owl hooting away.
Michelle had questions—Willow could see them like flare guns in Michelle’s head—and Willow feared that she’d never sleep again if she didn’t get them out. Willow wanted to tell Michelle, anyway. She just didn’t know how.
“You can ask questions,” she said. An invitation.
A gush of air left Michelle’s lips, not unlike the way Willow had lapsed in tension at Michelle’s door, when she’d been able to be a person, rather than a parent.
Michelle was hesitant, not wanting to overstep. “Are you sure?”
“I want you to know,” Willow answered. She meant it.
She knew it wasn’t just because she felt obliged to explain why she was showing up, covered in dirt and shoeless, with teary eyes and a slap mark on her face. She felt a sense of safety, albeit a slightly uncomfortable one considering that Michelle’s apathetic husband was existing outside. But a true one.
In Michelle’s bed, under the covers, Willow could breathe.
“The bruises,” Michelle started. “They’re from him?”
Willow dipped her head, ashamed. “Yeah.”
Michelle found Willow’s arm, and when Willow nodded, she closed the distance, wrapping Willow up in a bountiful of care, all kept within her strong arms.
Willow felt tears spiking her eyes again as she let herself be hugged. Let herself be sad. Be angry for the shit she endured. She didn’t, for once, excuse it as a part of marriage, as something she needed to accept and move on.
Michelle was breathing out of rhythm and she Willow tight, whispering fiercely, “He shouldn’t- he can’t do that to you. I…you’re just…” She sighed, frustrated, and she squeezed Willow, like she was something to be cherished. A teddy bear on a toddler’s birthday. “I’m just so sorry, Willow. I’m so sorry. You and Cherry deserve better.”
Willow didn’t let the tears fall, having cried enough. She knew that she could be angry, and she would be in the future.
She snuggled in closer to Michelle. “It’s okay.”
Michelle gave an abortive huff, shaking her head in disagreement, and wrapping more of herself around Willow. Like she wanted to protect Willow, make sure that no harm or evil could ever come her way again. Willow thought about Michelle’s D&D character, the paladin, and understood it more now.
“You’ll stay here with me, right?” Urgent, desperate. “Don’t go back there.”
Willow winced. “I don’t know…”
“He hurt you.”
“It’s really not that bad- wait,” she said, when she heard Michelle’s intake of breath. “It’s been like this since we’ve been married. Usually he forgets about it,” Willow said, which seemed to be the wrong thing, since Michelle’s hands twitched in their embrace. “Or he’ll apologise. A lot—always feels really sorry, and he’ll say the same thing to Cherry.”
“And that’s…it?”
“Then we just go on,” Willow said. “It’s…” Sigh. “It’s been a routinely part of my life for so long, I forget that it’s not normal. It still hurts though,” Willow said, pouring her heart out like it was gold ichor. “Every time he comes home drunk or yells at me or hurts me…it hurts just the same as the first time. This time he picked me up under the arms and held me there before he dropped me and I fell to the floor.”
Michelle pulled back, staring at Willow in complete, utter shock.
“He never touches Cherry, though,” Willow said, as if that was some type of consolation.
That I know of… a voice in the back of her head whispered, and things suddenly seemed more severe, like Michelle was right to be looking at her in horror.
“Willow…I don’t want to tell you what to do, but this is dangerous—you’re living in an abusive home.”
Hearing the term out loud made Willow shiver.
“I…” Michelle ran a hand through her hair. “Promise me you’ll stay here. Until we figure out something to do.”
“Okay,” she acquiesced, feeling guilty at the fact she might not be able to keep her promise.
Willow then sighed. “This probably such a burden for you-”
“No, it’s not,” Michelle cut off, harsher, more intense than what Willow had anticipated. She brought her back into the embrace, tucking her head over her shoulder, and Willow went more than willingly. “Seriously, Willow it’s got nothing to do with me. I’m completely worried about you.”
They held each other in silence.
“Do you…love him?” Michelle eventually asked.
“I have a family with him.”
Michelle nodded, like that wasn’t the answer she’d wanted, but what she’d expected.
“Maybe you could…” Michelle struggled for the words, not wanting to dip too far into what she shouldn’t. “…you could not have a family with him?”
Willow gave a half-hearted smile at the way Michelle had phrased that question. To not have a family with Nathan. To instead leave, have a life with just Cherry and herself. Or a family with someone else…
“I’ll think about it,” she said. “You’re right, you’re totally right. I just…it’s hard for things to change. It will be a lot for Cherry too.”
Michelle softened. “I get it. And sorry if I was overstepping-”
Willow shook her head adamantly. “You weren’t. I need your advice.”
She yawned, and Michelle’s gaze turned soft.
“And you need sleep,” Michelle quipped, smirking, pulling back from their hug.
“It’s only ten,” Willow protested. Strangely, watching the sixth episode of Merlin was what she wanted to do now that she’d talked and her nervous system had settled.
“Yep,” Michelle said, sitting up. “That means it’s time to get Frank and Cherry into bed, and then I’ll come back here and we can go to sleep too. You’ve had a stressful evening.”
Willow gazed at Michelle for longer than she should. “You’re bossy.”
Michelle just grinned. “Be back, Wills.”
Willow sighed as Michelle left. She giggled to herself when she heard Michelle harassing Tony about how loud he had the TV and how he couldn’t ‘hear shit with his candle wax consistency ear wax’.
She snuggled into the covers, bathing in the warmth—a combination of her own and Michelle’s.
Some thumping down the hall, Cherry and Frank’s little voices carrying as Michelle led them to the bathroom to brush their teeth, and then back to Frank’s room. The sound of the cupboard opening, and Michelle wrestling out the sleeping bag, cursing under her breath as it must have gotten stuck at the back.
Then quiet. Just the faint sound of Tony’s TV in the living room.
When Michelle returned, Willow was already drifting off. She felt the mattress dip, another body coming up beside her. She sensed someone pausing, then felt the ghost of a finger over her forehead, where her hair met skin.
It was gone, and Michelle laid down, her arm touching Willow’s back, as if by happenstance.
*
Willow didn’t wake up till twelve.
Michelle was beside her, reading a book titled Anna Karenina, and she quickly soothed Willow’s worry, saying that she’d already dropped off the kids at school. Willow had felt something race through her. Something simultaneously appreciative and desirous.
Nathan never would have done that.
To deflect for the sudden income of warmth, Willow protested that Michelle should have woken her up. Michelle just shrugged easily, saying that it was fine and that she needed her rest.
Good thing Willow didn’t have work.
She rejected Michelle’s offer to make breakfast—or, more so lunch. The woman had already done way too much for her. As a compromise, Willow allowed Michelle to accompany her to her own kitchen, linger by the counter as Willow made herself some toast. She felt comfortable to navigate someone else’s kitchen, given that it was Michelle’s, and that Tony had left for work. It was just the two of them, and Willow felt surprisingly refreshed despite the hectic previous night.
Willow moved around the kitchen, occasionally glancing at Michelle. Once, when she looked over, she saw Michelle quickly averted her gaze, and Willow felt conscious of her outfit. She was wearing a bra, but she knew that the shirt Michelle had given her didn’t hide much of her chest to the imagination.
“You want a drink?” Michelle asked, waltzing around in her pyjamas, which Willow hadn’t noticed until now were quite thin, and if she looked—which she wasn’t, but if she were to—then she could faintly see Michelle’s nipples through her shirt.
“Beer, wine…tequila?” she added the last one with a smirk.
“You drinking tequila at one p.m. on a school day?” Willow quirked an eyebrow, biting into her freshly buttered toast.
“Only if you are,” Michelle grinned wide.
Willow huffed a laugh.
“I’m not gonna,” Michelle clarified. “I think wine is probably more suitable.”
“I don’t really drink—you go ahead though,” Willow said.
Michelle nodded, heading to the cabinet. Her pants hung low on her hips, showing the tiniest sliver of skin between the hem and the bottom of her shirt. Willow felt saliva pool in her mouth, and she swallowed.
Michelle broke into her thoughts. “You don’t like alcohol?”
Willow shrugged, poking at the bench she leant on. “My dad was a severe alcoholic. Honestly, Nathan is too. Since it’s in my genes, I tend to stay away.” It had been a while since she’d had a drink. She never liked the idea of getting flat out wasted, but she liked the lightness that came with a few glasses. The feeling of freedom and like you could do anything. “But, you know what, maybe just a glass.”
Michelle had come back with a bottle and a single glass. “You sure? I don’t want to pressure you. There’s soda, or blackcurrant juice—for Frank!” Michelle said, firmly when Willow smirked. “Though I will report that it has a very nice and refreshing taste.”
Willow rolled her eyes affectionately. “I’m sure about the wine.”
She felt good with Michelle—wanted to indulge in life’s pleasures just as Michelle was doing. With Nathan at work and Cherry at school, she felt like she could do this. She didn’t want to let burdens of the past, a possible fault in her genetic tree, prevent her from enjoying nice things.
Michelle hummed, hesitantly getting another glass. She placed it on the bench, pouring Willow’s glass first, then her own.
Willow took a sip. “Hm…it’s nice.”
“Yeah,” Michelle agreed. “Drinking wine makes me feel so old…but I have to admit, it is good.”
“Is it yours?”
“Tony’s.” Michelle smirked with her lips around the rim. When she pulled the glass away to talk, they were stained red. “He won’t mind.”
“Oh.” Willow joined in on the joke, smiling herself. “That’s good, because I’m really liking this.”
“Oh, dear.” Michelle’s eyes widened. “I’ve turned Willow Tobbs into an alcoholic.”
Willow laughed brightly. “I was right to abstain after all!”
They smiled as they drank. Something crossed Michelle’s mind, and she asked, more seriously,
“Tobbs is Nathan’s last name, isn’t it?”
Willow nodded.
Michelle sucked her bottom lip, eyes casted across the room. “It feels… I don’t know. What’s your maiden name?”
“Byers,” Willow said. “Why?”
“Uh.” Michelle gave a half-shrug, avoiding her gaze. “No reason.”
“Come on.” Willow nudged Michelle’s shoulder. “Tell me. I won’t judge.”
“I don’t like calling you by… his last name,” Michelle admitted. “Believe it or not, Willow, I don’t really like your husband.”
Willow giggled. “Don’t worry, I’d be concerned if you thought he seemed like your everyday role model.” She tilted her head. “You can call me Byers, if it makes you more comfortable.”
Michelle groaned, and Willow giggled harder.
“You’re making me sound like a dick!”
Willow was gasping around the words. “I’m not! I think it’s sweet.” When she regained her breath, she said more seriously. “Though, my dad sucked too, so maybe ‘Byers’ doesn’t work after all.”
“Damn,” Michelle shook her head, regretfully. “You can’t escape these men.”
“Yeah.” Willow said ruefully. She really had to think about what she was going to do. It wasn’t safe to have Cherry within the same house as Nathan. But to just leave her marriage...
“What’s yours?” she asked, not wanting to think about her troubles right now. “Your maiden name?”
“Wheeler.”
“How about we combine?” Willow suggested—clearly her brain hadn’t caught up on the implications of that. “Byers-Wheeler.”
Michelle blushed, looking at Willow and then away quickly. “You-? Uh-? Alright…yeah, combine, that’s a…that’s a good idea.”
Willow’s cheeks went the shade of the wine, and she busied herself drinking the rest of the cup. When she was done, she poured herself another glass, and drank half of it.
What was she doing?
That relaxed buzz was settling in, making the edges of her brain fuzzy like cotton candy. She smiled at Michelle, wiping her mouth.
Michelle tracked the movement of her hand across her lips. She too drank her glass and poured another.
They sat there for a minute, enjoying the wine and listening to the ticking of the clock and the hum of the fridge. Willow relaxed, letting go of whatever that had been causing a slight tension in her forehead, a twinge in her abdomen when she looked at Michelle too long, and let herself breathe.
Michelle was pretty like this. Tipsy and stained with red-coloured delicacy—the mark of indulgence. Her long fingers were splayed around the glass, the tip of her pointer dipping inside the rim. She leaned into the counter at the hip, the pyjama shirt fitting her lean figure firmly. Yeah, Willow could definitely see her nipples through the cotton, she confirmed.
Michelle noticed she was staring. Willow looked away.
Willow’s phone chimed, and she excused herself, going to the bedroom.
Nathan: sorry about yesterday. thinking about you all day at work. I’m ready to make it up to you…wear your lace set ;)
Willow huffed, rolling her eyes. She brought the phone back to the kitchen. “Guess what.”
“What?” Michelle asked, looking over her glass at her.
Against Willow’s better judgement, she showed Michelle the phone.
“Men, am I right?” she said, smiling faintly at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. “He’ll probably clean the house, at least.”
Michelle hadn’t laughed at the message, and at the last part of what Willow added, her eyes jerked up from the phone, dangerous, inquisitive. “What?”
“That’s what he usually does to apologise,” Willow explained, placing her phone down, not before muting Nathan.
What he does when he wants something.
“That’s…” Michelle looked rightfully disgusted. “…horrible.”
“Hm.” Willow shrugged, in a pathetic agreement. “I still do it with him, most of the time.”
Michelle’s jaw dropped, then she righted her face, clearly not wanting to offend. “You’re gonna have sex with him?”
“Well, maybe not this time,” Willow clarified. All the times Nathan had been an asshole hadn’t been as bad at last night. “But usually I do after he’s yelled or hit.” Willow shrugged, feeling foolish. “I’ve never liked sex with Nathan much anyway. It’s nice sometimes—like I enjoy giving my partner pleasure. Except, I’ve never really gotten anything out of it.”
Michelle seemed to find this information very interesting. Her brows were pulled together, and she seemed to be trying to decipher multiple things at once.
“Why? You don’t ever…” Michelle made a vague motion, and Willow held back a laugh.
“I don’t…?”
“Come?” Michelle said, and shit, Willow understood why she’d avoided the word; she felt like she was fifteen again, blushing at the simple mention of an orgasm.
“Rarely,” Willow said. “I only do when it’s by myself or-” Her breath hitched, and she hiccupped. She thought of the last time she’d come, thinking entirely about Michelle. She was drinking far too much. “…or under special circumstances.”
“Doesn’t he notice?” Michelle sounded outraged, and it made Willow feel warm and pillowy.
Willow shook her head. “Men, right?”
This time, Michelle didn’t laugh. She just made a flat humming noise, burying her nose in her wine glass, with a frown in the shape of a deep ‘V’.
“Besides, it’s not like I hate it,” Willow said, feeling as though she needed to justify. “If it means he’s going to help around the house, then I can’t complain, can I?”
She laughed, sounding hollow. Michelle didn’t fake a laugh. She just stared at Willow like she was working through an intricate puzzle. Except, it wasn’t like Michelle was struggling because it was hard, more so struggling because she had a final piece, and she knew exactly where it needed to go in order for it to be complete, but she couldn’t bring herself to finish it, to let that final piece settle and for the picture to be on full display.
Willow gradually became more concerned as Michelle just stared with that strained, troubled look. Michelle’s hands weren’t on the wine glass, and they were rigid by her sides, like she was forcing them there.
“Miki?”
It came out hard, fast like she needed to say it before she exploded. “I can do better.”
Willow’s eyelids fluttered. Her grip loosened on the wine glass. “What?”
Michelle came closer, brushing her toes against Willow’s, body towering over. “I can make you feel better than he can.”
“Umm.” Willow’s breathing had rapidly picked up. She stared down at their touching feet. Her hands were empty, by her sides. “Miki…”
Michelle tilted Willow’s chin up by the finger. “God, how could he…” Michelle shook her head, as if mystified. “How could he not satisfy you? Every part of you…” Michelle’s eyes trailed not subtly at all to Willow’s boobs, waist, hips and legs, and then back up again, taking her time. Willow burned bright like a dying star.
“…needs to be worshipped,” she finished.
Then, as if she couldn’t help herself, Michelle’s hands jumped out, landing on Willow’s boobs. Her fingers fanned out, squeezing just the slightest, and Willow stifled a yelp, her clit aching so badly as her body leaned into Michelle’s, mouth breathing against her neck.
Whatever trance that had been written on Michelle’s lidded, dark-as-night gaze snapped, and her eyes became soft, apologetic.
She released her. “Sorry. That was so inappropriate.” Her face collapsed, and her lip quivered in guilt. Her head was downturned. “Willow, I’m-”
Willow’s hands found Michelle’s wrists, and she slowly pulled them back up to her chest. Michelle, open-mouthed, let her hands rest on Willow’s breasts once again, eyes darting between Willow’s.
“Tell me…” Willow licked her bottom lip, leaning her chest further into Michelle’s touch. She squirmed, her pussy crying out for far more than she was getting. She felt a little dizzy with Michelle’s unwavering gaze on her, but she swallowed, keeping her eyes open. “Tell me how you’d please me.”
“I…” Michelle was frozen in place. “This is wrong, Willow.”
“You stared it,” Willow said softly, head tilted.
Michelle bit her lip, teeth marks sticking into her bottom one. She fought for a minute longer, before letting out a staggered breath, settling her hands on Willow’s chest securely.
“I’d do anything,” she whispered, reverently. “Anything you want. You come first—literally and figuratively,” she added with a trace of a smile.
Willow huffed a light laugh, which quickly died down. She eyed Michelle’s body, loosening her grip on her wrists and wrapping her arms around Michelle’s waist. “I want to know the things. Specifically.”
“I’d…” Michelle gulped, and Willow instinctively rubbed her hands over her back. “I’d undress you. Slowly—press kisses all over your skin.”
“Mhm.” Willow hummed, closing her eyes. All sensible thought had simply vanished. There was a faint blood-curdling scream in the background, and a child’s voice like Cherry’s, asking innocently what Mommy was doing with her hands around another woman’s waist. Another person that wasn’t Daddy’s.
Willow couldn’t hear the words.
In her opinion, two wrongs made a right. Or could make a right, if she just…
“Then, I’d soak my fingers in your spit,” Michelle continued, breath fanning out on Willow’s mouth. “I’d trace around your hole, just putting the very tip in. Tease you.”
Willow imagined it now, letting out a gasp.
Michelle’s hands tightened on Willow’s chest. Her voice was shaky with arousal and held-back energy. “I’d…fuck, Willow…” She breathed out and in again loudly within the quiet room. “…I’d fuck you. One finger, then two. I’d go slow, then fast, then really slow and deep. I’d make you whine and beg. I’d make it so good for you.”
Willow’s hips brushed forward, the bump between her thighs touching Michelle’s, light as a feather, but it had both of them exhaling sharply. Her eyes blinked open.
Now that Michelle had said all that, the rest was coming out in complete word vomit, abandoning all potential consequences on the way. She sounded so needy: “I’d suck your nipples. I’d massage your tits, baby. I’d lick your clit and fuck your ass at the same time. I’d fuck a hole with each hand and lavish what’s left with kisses. I’d praise you or I’d tell you how bad you’ve been. Fuck, Willow, tell me to stop.” Michelle’s eyes went wide with panic, like she was horrified at what was coming out her mouth, but unable to help it. “Please, get me to stop.”
Everything was a blurry picture of desire, swirling in colours of Michelle’s red lips and unruly hair. Willow was so aware of her senses, she could pinpoint her own breathing, the shifting of their clothes as their chests moved, the trembling grip of Michelle’s hands on her boobs.
She looked between Michelle’s eyes, knowing that whatever they were trying to prevent was inevitable. Trying to stop a speeding train with sticky tape. Holding up the sky with a single hand. Impossible.
All they’d done was talk; there was too much of it.
Her voice came out in a low breath. “Show me, Miki.”
A beat.
Willow’s heart went thump, thump, thump. The sound of her footsteps to her grave, to her dead integrity.
Delicately, as if she handled glass, Michelle’s hands cupped Willow’s face, and she brought their lips together.
They kissed as Michelle backed Willow into a cabinet, her frame making the slightest thud noise as it met the surface. An itch she’d been wanting to scratch the second she’d laid eyes on Michelle dissipated. And in its place, the sauna-hot desire rose, and Willow was on fire just as she’d been when she’d fantasized of Michelle with Nathan, when she’d just had half of what she wanted.
Soon, the gentleness, like waves lapping at the shore on a spring day, crashed with emphasis and intent to destroy. Willow and Michelle’s hands didn’t just wander, they took—Willow latching her fingers into Michelle’s curls and tugging, whilst Michelle grabbed Willow by the shoulders, holding on and pulling closer, closer.
Their legs shifted, hips mimicking a grind, before Michelle seemed to have other ideas, taking them backwards, and accidentally stumbling into the wall.
Michelle hushed Willow’s giggles with a smile. With adrenaline rushing through them both, Michelle grabbed Willow’s hand, tugging her to her bedroom.
Michelle didn’t waste time bringing Willow back to her lips, kissing just as feverishly, as if they’d been parted for years. She backed up, falling on the bed. She scooted backwards, with Willow following above on her hands and knees, keeping their lips together like separation would turn them to permanent stone.
“Fuck, what do you want?” Michelle murmured between kisses. “What do you like?”
“Everything you’ve said,” Willow said. “I’ll tell you if I don’t want something.”
Michelle reluctantly parted, moving her head back to look in Willow’s eye. “You promise?”
Willow nodded, feeling sentimental. She hooked her pinkie finger in Michelle’s. “I promise.”
Michelle sighed, satisfied. Her eyes trailed down to Willow’s lips, and they were kissing again. Willow was letting needy whimpers trickle into Michelle’s mouth, causing the other woman to moan. Michelle pressed kisses down Willow’s jawbone, latching on a spot on her neck as her hands fiddled with Willow’s clothes.
Willow helped, taking off her shirt. When she fiddled with her pants, Michelle took a moment to just stare at Willow’s chest. Her bra happened to be one of the lace ones Nathan had been referring to in his text. Michelle’s eyes tracked the yellow, rubbing her fingers across the top where her skin met the cups.
“So hot,” she murmured. “Nathan doesn’t get this. Not today.”
Michelle fiddled with the clasp at the back, getting it undone and not wasting a second to latch her lips on Willow’s nipple, massing the other boob. Willow’s hands fell from the waistband, and she held onto Michelle’s shoulders.
“He… ah!” Willow moaned, chest pushing out. “Doesn’t get to see it…ever again.”
Michelle practically growled in approval, gently using her teeth, making Willow squeeze her legs together, her whole cunt throbbing with need.
“All for me,” Michelle murmured. “How fucking lucky I am.”
Willow licked her lips at the praise, unable to take it anymore, and reaching to undress Michelle. Michelle yanked off her shirt like the nuisance it was. Then the two women slid off their pants, each of them staring at the other’s chests. Willow’s own nipples were wet with spit, and she felt like she was in a trance looking at Michelle’s naked chest, wanting to taste her scent and salt as well.
Willow’s underwear were soaked when she finally got to them, not caring about shame as she yanked them off. Michelle had hers off too, her curly pubes on full display, much to the delight of Willow’s watering mouth. She’d never seen a woman’s private parts in this context and she cursed herself that it had taken forty years to do so.
She thought of Nathan’s dick like a gear shift in a manual car: something Willow didn’t completely understand, but knew was essential for the car to function. She thought it was interesting that it expanded, faced the sky and went veiny and red when aroused, but never from more than an observational point.
Just the sight of Michelle’s pubic hair eradicated what Willow thought of body parts and desire. She noticed how Michelle was clearly aroused from how the tips of the hair were glistening, and how she could see the faintest red from where all her other parts lied. More of what Willow was experiencing was feeling, rather than clinical assessment: she just saw it and was swept with the overwhelming urge to take.
But Michelle wouldn’t let her. Willow hadn’t noticed the woman had also been drooling at the sight of Willow naked. Her pubic hairs usually were trimmed, but had grown out after a few weeks having missed the due date. Willow didn’t feel ashamed, not when Michelle scooted down, laying horizontally below Willow.
“Sit on me,” she said, scooting further down, eyes aligned with Willow’s vagina.
Holy fuck. Willow had never been more turned on in her life.
Michelle took Willow’s thighs and tugged, and Willow obliged, putting one leg over Michelle’s head so that she was directly beneath.
“Are…” Her breathing was picking up at Michelle’s blown out pupils. “Are you sure? What if I hurt you?”
Michelle just yanked on the tops of Willow’s thighs, eliciting a yelp from Willow as she dropped down, straight into the fiery heat of Michelle’s mouth.
“Miki!” Willow shrieked, scrambling, whether to ease her weight off or to push down more, she didn’t know. Michelle’s hands were on her legs, locking her in place.
Michelle groaned like she’d come home from hiking up a mountain. Her tongue licked ravenously around Willow’s hole, mouth occasionally darting up to suck on her clit.
Willow was wailing, having no choice but to plant her hands on the mattress, and let it happen. Her hips were bucking into Michelle’s mouth, despite her best efforts not to crush her. Michelle wanted the opposite, letting out encouraging groans whenever Willow accidentally clamped her legs around Michelle’s head or dropped down in a swift grind.
“Miki!” Willow panted, the pleasure immeasurable. “Miki!”
Michelle said something garbled. Her mouth was making the most vulgar squelching sounds as she sucked and teased and just consumed Willow. Willow knew she was making enough noise to alert the neighbours, that she was dripping all over Michelle’s face, but she couldn’t help it.
Abruptly, Michelle stopped, hurrying to get out from under Willow.
Willow whined in protest, then came back into her senses to realise what was happening. “Shit, are you okay?” She hoped Michelle hadn’t been hurt.
“Need to be in you,” Michelle murmured, voice deep and raspy. Willow caught sight of the glistening fluid all over Michelle’s lips and chin, and she nearly fainted with the rush it gave her.
“Uh, okay, okay,” Willow said, processing Michelle’s words.
“On your back,” Michelle said. It was a command, but with the desperation in her voice, Willow took it as a plead.
Willow laid down, and Michelle placed a pillow underneath her hips. She loomed over her, taking a minute to brush the hair out of Willow’s eyes.
“So fucking gorgeous,” she murmured. Willow blushed profusely, avoiding Michelle’s face.
“Eyes on me,” Michelle said, and Willow met Michelle’s dark, desiring eyes. More pupil than iris, swelling up with heat and arousal.
After a moment of them breathing in each other’s faces, the moment going down to a simmer, Michelle said, “You doing okay?”
Willow could laugh. “Amazing.”
Michelle gave a sweet smile, and a peck on the cheek. “I’m glad.”
Then, she lifted her fingers of one hand. “Suck for me, honey?”
Honey.
Willow was trying to remember if Nathan had ever called her something as romantic as that. She struggled to focus when Michelle was pushing her fingers in at Willow’s nod, and she sucked around the two digits, lathering them in saliva. She’d never done this with a woman, but she knew how it went.
Michelle watched her fingers inside Willow’s mouth intently. Then, as if she couldn’t handle waiting, she pulled her fingers out, lowering them, and finding Willow’s hole, pushing them inside.
“Ah!” Willow yelped, spine arching up from the bed, and Michelle soothed her with kisses.
“You’re okay,” she whispered. “Too much?”
“P-perfect,” Willow gritted out.
Michelle moved carefully, in and out, and occasionally bending the tips in a ‘come here’ motion. Willow gripped Michelle’s waist, mouth stuck open. Michelle was touching something inside her that felt unbelievable—and it seemed purposeful, judging from the concentration muddled with lust on the woman’s face. Nathan had never tried to aim his thrusts; fingers or dick, he’d just fuck into Willow with no remorse, no attention.
Willow truly felt worshipped, and tears brimmed in her eyes as Michelle teased her fingers over that same spot a few inches inside her hole. Willow was opening up, loosening in ways she never had. Her muscles had tensed initially, but now they were so relaxed, and oh, it was just so good. The tears kept flowing. Willow could have been having sex like this for her whole life.
There was an aching deeper, somewhere she needed Michelle to be. Somewhere she’d never wanted anyone to touch before. She’d always thought she might not be as into sex—now she knew that it was entirely because of the wrong person. Willow held so much passion and lust in her soul, and it was spilling out, making her weep.
“I need more!” Willow cried, nails raking against Michelle’s back.
She wanted all of what Michelle could give.
“I know, darling.” Michelle seemed pretty out of it, and Willow wasn’t even touching her. Her gaze was so lidded, so focussed solely on Willow’s pleasure—it was so fucking hot. “Are you sure? It hasn’t been that long-”
“Miki!!” Willow whined as if in pain, and her tearing eyes locked with Michelle.
“Okay, okay.” Michelle pulled out her fingers. She rummaged through her bottom drawer, finding a box, and pulling out a dark blue dildo that looked like a night sky with miniscule stars, and had bumps along the length.
Willow’s breath hitched. It was about seven or eight inches. She wondered when the last time Michelle had used it on herself.
Michelle smirked at Willow’s reaction. Willow saw she also had a bottle of lube, which she coated over the dildo. She leaned over and placing the shiny tip right at Willow’s hole.
“You sure?”
Keeping eye contact, Willow took a hold of Michelle’s wrist, and together, they slid the dildo inside.
Willow instantly gasped at the cool silicone, eyes fluttering closed. Michelle’s breath stuttered, as if the dildo was entering her, and it just riled Willow up more.
“Is he this big?” Michelle asked, peppering light kisses over Willow’s chest, gripping her with her free hand.
Willow shook her head, unable to form words.
Michelle slid in further, and Willow whimpered. Both her hands clutched Michelle’s wrist and were clutching so hard her nails were forming semi circles.
“Does he make you feel like this?” Michelle asked. She sounded unabashedly jealous, possessive.
Willow shook her head again, letting out a small sob as Michelle briefly rubbed her clit. A heartbeat of a touch, before it was gone.
“Does he touch you how I touch you?”
Willow shook her head, vision blurred with tears.
“Tell me, Willow—say it.”
Michelle seemed to need it just as much as Willow did. The dildo was almost entirely inside Willow, and Michelle suddenly rammed the last few inches in, causing Willow to throw her head back with a loud moan. That was the spot. Right there.
Her hands lost grip of Michelle’s wrist, and they found purchase within the sheets. Her fingers tightened, toes curling. Her breaths made her whole chest shudder.
“No—never!” Willow wailed.
Michelle snarled, gasping out as she buried her mouth in Willow’s neck, sucking beneath her ear. Her hand began rapidly thrusting the dildo. Willow shifted with the movements, the mattress trembling underneath her. She was making the most embarrassing sounds, ones that she’d surely regret later when she’d sobered up.
Right now, with Michelle’s powerful presence, her magic touch, Willow couldn’t fathom the idea of thinking of anything else.
Michelle’s free hand traced Willow’s nipple, pinching and rubbing. She slowed her thrusts, making the dildo sink in deep, pull out fully and then sink back in. It was a steady pace, slower and more intentional, hitting that spot almost every time, so deep within Willow it felt like it was in her stomach. The squelching noise was downright filthy, and their sweaty, moist skin made it look like they were in a pornographic film.
Michelle groaned right in Willow’s ear, tugging on the lobe, making goosebumps form on Willow’s skin. Her finger came down to Willow’s clit, prodding at it in time with her thrusts, and Willow gasps just kept getting louder.
“Please,” she whined. For what, she didn’t know. For more, for less. For all of it—all of Michelle.
“Whose pussy is this, Wills?”
Holy fuck. Willow was seeing stars.
Michelle started up a brutal pace, fucking the dildo into Willow’s seizing, soaked hole. She felt her fluid slipping down her inner thighs, over Michelle’s knuckles, making an absolute mess.
“Hmph! It’s – ah! – it’s yours! Yours.”
“Who?” Michelle ground out through her teeth. And she blew a puff of air into her ear. Her hand kept up the pace on the dildo, whilst her thumb stayed in place on her clit, pushing down rather than rubbing. The pressure combined with the fucking of the dildo had Willow rolling her eyes back.
She cried at the torture. The sweet, painful, explosive pleasure from her clit and cunt. She had never felt like this in her forty years of existence. Never.
“Yours, Miki!”
“Fuck!” Michelle groaned, and there was some shifting on the bed. Willow couldn’t see what Michelle was doing, but the mattress was thumping as if Michelle was unwillingly humping her hips. “I’m gonna come without you touching me, I swear.”
“God, Miki.”
“Look-” A rugged, broken groan. “Ah! L-look how you’re moving,” The hand left Willow’s clit, spanking her ass, which Willow hadn’t realised she’d been bucking up into Michelle’s thrusts. Willow made a sound at the pain. “Wish I could film this…wanna film this so bad, Willow.”
“Like you - hmm! - c-could figure out how,” Willow couldn’t help herself from whimpering, knowing Michelle’s poor ability with technology. She felt close, a familiar curling sensation in her stomach.
She heard Michelle chuckle wryly. “I’d find a way—just for you.”
Willow chuckled, and that was enough for her to be sent overboard—the addition of playfulness along with the devoted attention and care Michelle was giving her. She held Michelle’s wrist, chest heaving as she froze in place, letting the feeling rush over her.
Soon, she regained her breathing, her hearing levelling out. Her cunt was dripping profusely as Michelle pulled the dildo out. Willow’s hands came around the back of Michelle’s neck, just breathing.
“How do you want me?” Willow was still coming down from her high and wanting, needing to please Michelle—make Michelle feel just as good as she’d felt. She needed it just as much for herself. “Mish, how do you…?” Her voice was slurred from the orgasm that had felt so strong, it was melting her lips off. “…tell me what you want?”
Michelle was whining, completely ruined and slacked-jawed. She was scrambling forward to crash her lips into Willow’s, and they made out hungrily, licking into one another’s mouths.
“Your thigh,” Michelle said, coming closer. “I’m- so close. I need... H-hands. Touch me, please!”
The last word came out guttural. Willow obeyed like she was the Goddess of Love Aphrodite herself, lifting her thigh and bringing Michelle onto it with her hands on her back. Michelle settled on the top, groaning at the sensation, and bracketing her legs between and grinding at a brutal pace. Michelle’s head fell into Willow’s neck, mouthing at it mindlessly, whimpering as Willow latched her lips on Michelle’s shoulder, sucking harshly. Her hands travelled all over Michelle, nails dragging up her back, falling down and squeezing her grinding ass, and going to her chest, flicking over her nipples.
Next time, she vowed to herself, watching Michelle’s delicious cunt rub over and over herself. She’d touch Michelle in that way next time.
Michelle was grunting animalistically at the overwhelming pleasure from all over her body. Willow even bucked her thigh up into Michelle’s cunt, the sound of skin slapping. That was all it took to have Michelle gasping as if she were in panic— ‘Oh, Will- Oh, Willow, fuck! —and the woman seized, teeth sinking into Willow’s neck as she came. Her opening spasmed on Willow’s thigh, and it was enough for her body to rush in arousal, an ache to form where Michelle’s dildo had just penetrated.
She let tiredness wash the oncoming heat away, and Willow settled into the blankets as Michelle lifted herself off Willow, flopping on her side with a very Michelle—meaning very dramatic—huff of satisfaction.
Their naked chests rose and fell, heartbeats simmering down. Dappled light casted shadows of leaves over damp skin and sheets. Fresh pollen carried by wind’s gentle hands through the window slit, making Willow’s nose tingle. She pictured a valley where sun was perpetual throughout the year, water ran at a constant, and flowers were always at their brightest, and thought she’d just gotten her first drink at the river.
“I think you were supposed to be my first,” Willow wondered.
Her head dropped to where Michelle was laying and facing her. “Yeah?”
“We were supposed to meet,” Willow said, more confidently. “In college, when we were twenty, maybe.”
“Or high school?” Michelle said, with playful eyebrows. Her cheeks were flushed so beautifully, and she looked divine, like the valley’s ruler. When Willow would approach, she’d be basking in the sun and offering a selection of fruits for her choosing, a place to lay down beside her.
“Or primary school?” Willow countered, with a smile.
“No,” Michelle said, decisively. “The first day of kindergarten.”
They were joking, but the words made Willow’s breath hitch. She imagined it: meeting Michelle at just five years old. Their tiny bodies and chubby faces. Playing on the swings together. Deciding to become friends just because that’s what kids did—they had the blessing and curse of not second guessing themselves.
Or perhaps, their meeting at that age would have been destined. If Michelle and Willow’s love for each other now was strong enough to break marital bonds and societal expectations, then at a younger age, when they didn’t know each other yet…they would have gone to each other. Led by the invisible string attached to their hearts, bound together in a knot at the middle.
“I think that’s right,” Willow breathed. “I think I’m supposed to have known you for thirty-five years.”
Michelle didn’t tease. She brushed a hand over Willow’s forehead, taking her time in travelling down her neck, shoulder, wrapping around her waist.
“Know me for the next thirty-five.”
Willow closed her eyes, and she could hear the dragonflies buzzing over the water, taste the sycamore leaves on her tongue, and feel the ruler’s hand on her skin, just as she felt Michelle’s now.
For a brief moment, one that was probably a few minutes even when it felt stretched, they laid there. Willow let herself be held, and in turn, she rested her hands on Michelle, taking in the qualities they shared of being alive: heartbeat, warmth and breath.
Michelle already knew how things were with Nathan.
“Tell me about you and Tony,” Willow said. “…are you?”
Queer? In love with him? Regretting this?
Michelle sighed, traces of guilt on her face, but not much. “It never felt right with Tony. Never feels right with him. Frank came unexpectedly, and the years passed and before I knew it, I had a family.” Michelle took a breath. “He doesn’t make me feel a piece of what you do.”
“How will he react?”
“He’ll look up from his newspaper and say, ‘Oh…you are a raging dyke.’”
“Miki!”
“He won’t care,” Michelle said, answering seriously. “He…doesn’t seem to care about much. Even if he did…does it matter?”
“I mean…” What could Willow say? It wasn’t her marriage. She hardly knew Tony.
“How did you know how to do all that?” Willow asked, changing the subject. “Have you been with other women?”
“No,” Michelle said, blushing sheepishly. “There’s this…website that has so much lesbian erotica.” “It’s really the only thing I bother to figure out how to use the internet for,” Michelle quipped.
Perhaps that answered Willow’s earlier question. There was no need for a straight woman to be perusing lesbian porn if she was married to a man.
Michelle got up from bed, and Willow whined.
“I’m just getting my phone!” Michelle protested, naked body walking off. “I’ll be back.”
Willow wasn’t complaining—she was taking in the view of Michelle’s ass, which swayed as she walked. The place between her thighs, which Willow longed for a taste. “Don’t be too long,” she murmured, making her voice sultry. Sue her—she wanted to be desired!
She expected Michelle to laugh it off, but the woman’s eyes darkened. She licked her lips, and Willow blushed, realising she was naked and laying on Michelle’s bed. Michelle’s eyes were stuck on Willow’s boobs, which, yeah, she knew were her best assets.
“Holy shit, kill me if I’m longer than thirty seconds, okay?”
Willow laughed heartily, her sexy demeanour gone as Michelle ran to the kitchen, and was back with her phone in no less than fifteen seconds. Michelle took a brief moment to squeeze one of Willow’s breasts, making Willow giggle, swatting her hand. Michelle placed a kiss on the skin there, settling in beside her with the website up. “Alright. Here.”
Michelle went through the website, which hosted a variety of fanfiction from various media items. Merlin was included. Within Michelle’s list of saved fanfictions, there was a long line up of extremely graphic lesbian sex. Some of which were Arthur and Merlin just as women instead.
“This one’s interesting: two teenagers,” Willow observed, pointing.
“Mhm,” Michelle nodded. “It’s set in the 80s. There’s a bunch of supernatural forces and trauma bonding.”
“Perfect combination for a gay romance.”
“We can watch the show sometime,” Michelle said. Then, an afterthought. “But, just the first season. Things went to shit after the fourth season—no point going further than season two in my opinion, with the ending considered.”
Willow raised a brow. “Do I want to know what happened?”
Michelle looked onwards, as if she was being transported to a distant place, then shuddered. “Maybe another time. It’s a rather unpleasant tale.”
Willow nodded sagely. “I understand thine peril, madame.”
“Don’t medieval-speak me!” Michelle exclaimed. “How preposterous! The lunacy! The absurdity!”
“Shut up!”
“Have you been with anyone else?”
Willow shook her head. “You’re…sort of my first.”
“Jeez, how are you going to break the news to Cherry?” Michelle asked. “Nothing wrong with being adopted, it’s just a big, life-altering change-”
Willow shoved Michelle, nearly toppling her off the bed. “You fucking- First aside from Nathan-”
“Oh my god, she swore!” Michelle said, unbothered by the fact she had nearly greeted the floor head-first as she pointed at Willow incredulously.
“Cause for once neither of our children are around!” Willow said. “Except you,” she added, cheekily.
Michelle was appropriately offended by this, and she let it show with her jaw open. “Willow Byers.”
“Wheeler-Byers,” Willow corrected.
Michelle raised a brow, and her cheeks tinted red. “I thought it was ‘Byers-Wheeler’.”
Willow rolled her eyes, like this argument was pointless. “Listen—are you accepting my proposal or not?”
Like the secret sap she was, Michelle took Willow’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back, behind the knuckles. “Yes. I do.”
Their humour died down. Michelle held her hand, rubbing over her skin with her fingers.
“We’re…just a little bit screwed, aren’t we?” Willow asked, chuckling nervously.
Michelle inclined her head. “Just the tiniest bit.”
“I don’t regret it,” Willow clarified. “And…you know with Nathan…” Willow struggled for words. How could she perfectly encapsulate a terrible marriage that she’d—for whatever reason—believed was ‘normal’ or ‘what she deserved’ for far too long. The many instances of abuse and violence she’d categorised as a part of marital life. “…a…a cunt!”
Michelle mock gasped. “Oh, my! Willow!”
Willow bit down a rueful smirk. “Sorry, my mind’s just scrambled from the hottest and most eye-opening sex I’ve had in my entire life.” She sighed. “But, yeah. He sucks. And…I let myself settle with him for too long without knowing what I could have had instead.”
She nudged Michelle with her finger, and Michelle went red with the implication. She took a breath. “You deserve so much more, Willow. So much more.” She leaned forward, kissing Willow firmly on the lips.
Holy shit, kissing was nice, Willow thought. It felt like the feeling of fireworks in romance movies. It wasn’t something she had to endure; it was something she craved more of. She let Michelle linger, cupping a hand on her cheek so she wouldn’t stray.
Eventually, Michelle parted. “I want to give it to you.”
“I know. I want you too. Really, Miki.” Willow just shook her head in amazement. “I feel like I’m falling off a cliff, but I’ve never been thinking more clearly. It’s just…” Willow let her hands flop outwards. “How…?”
How?
That was a good question indeed. How could two women in their forties who’d just cheated on their respective husbands to which they both have children with follow their true desires? Such desires that went against all societal bounds. It was 2011, but it wasn’t like it was an alternate reality. It was frowned upon to be in love with those of the same gender. It was certainly frowned upon to have sexual relations with those outside of your marriage.
But, Willow and Michelle deserved love? Didn’t they?
Perhaps the answer was much simpler than they thought. Being: they just had to keep going.
People like Willow and Michelle didn’t belong with the masses. They’d broken rules of society to get to this point so…
…they just had to go further.
*
Michelle had the gun in the shed.
After Willow and Michelle dressed, they ventured out to retrieve it. Willow had used a gun before, and she and Michelle went over it together, neither of them having used firearms in years. Once they were sure they wouldn’t blow their own brains out, they went back inside, Michelle concealing the shotgun within her coat. They found that Tony was on the couch. He must be home early from work since it was two forty-five p.m.
“Hi,” Michelle said.
Willow wondered if the hickeys along their necks were obvious. They might have been to the husbands who looked up from their newspapers.
“Hello,” Tony grumbled back, nose downwards.
Willow and Michelle exchanged a glance.
Michelle cleared her throat.
“Me and Willow had sex,” she said. “It was rather enlightening and pleasurable for us both. I would like a divorce. I’m leaving you with the house. We’re heading off to deal with Nathan, Willow’s husband. We won’t return home. Frank will come with me.” Then, finally, and with the slightest waver in her generally flattened tone: “We drank your gifted wine.”
Willow held her breath. Their hands were gripped together, and they stood as a unit.
Tony adjusted his glasses, turning the page. “The whole bottle?”
“Yes.”
Another moment. Tony still wasn’t looking up.
Willow and Michelle waited.
Then, Tony sighed. Something of acceptance, maybe anger or resentment. Of grief, of despair, of happiness or of annoyance that his cherished beverage had gone to another.
Willow didn’t know what it meant; she and Michelle were out the door, just as Tony was turning the page once more.
*
They arrived at the house at three, parking on the side of the road, seeing Nathan’s car in the driveway. They’d have to make this quick, given Cherry and Frank finished at ten-past. Willow knew the two would find each other, hang around with the other adults and kids, waiting for them.
Nathan was home. Must have also had an early finish, just like Tony, which Willow thought was oddly convenient. Her gaze shifted suspiciously across the garden, almost meeting yours—yes, you!—before Michelle nudged her away from the fourth wall.
“Hey,” she whispered.
Michelle’s eyes were sincere. Her arm was holding the gun to her side, hidden beneath her coat. “You okay to do this?”
Willow met the woman’s eyes, nodding in a soft, firm way. “Yes.” She brushed a hand on Michelle’s arm. “For my family.”
Michelle ducked her head, pleased. She then came closer to Willow, revealing the gun from within her coat.
“All yours, my love.”
Willow smiled, lips twitching with nerves. Yet, she was confident when she took the gun.
They strode towards the front door, entering and finding Nathan watching TV on the couch.
“Hi Nathan,” Willow said, whilst Michelle closed the door behind them.
He grunted, not looking up.
Willow cocked the gun.
The man’s head whipped around and he flinched at the sight of Willow pointing a shotgun straight at his head.
“Willow…?” His hands drifted upwards, a salted chip falling from one of them, onto the floor, which was already covered in crumbs, Willow noticed. Oh, well—she wouldn’t have to clean it this time.
“What’s going on?” Nathan asked. “Who is she?” he added, pointing to Michelle.
“My angel,” Willow said, pecking Michelle on the cheek. “Say hi to her kin when I’m finished with you.”
“Bars,” murmured Michelle.
“Thanks, darling.”
Nathan’s face contorted, and he went to get up from the couch, but Willow just cleared her throat, tapping the gun as a reminder.
“I…why are you doing this, Willow?” His face became rageful. “Are you a fucking dyke now? Has she corrupted you into doing this? Willow,” His tone became pleading. “Come on, this isn’t like you. You wouldn’t do this. She’s making you.” He pointed to Michelle accusingly.
“I’m not making her do anything,” Michelle said, calmly.
“You’re a terrible person,” Willow said. “I don’t want to live with you anymore. And…I have a feeling I was supposed to use a gun at some point—like, again. I did as a child, but I never got to now that I’m grown up. It feels correct.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Nathan was seething with equal parts confusion, anger and begging. The TV droned on in the background and Willow was close to using a bullet to shut that thing up. “You love me. I love you.”
“I don’t.”
“But…Cherry-”
“She’ll be fine,” Willow said. “Better, actually. She has us.”
“But, the cops, you’ll go to jail-”
“Do you really want your last words to be concerned with the law?” Willow questioned. “Domestic abuse to one’s partner is also illegal, but you weren’t concerned with the ramifications when it came to hurting me.”
“I’ll do better,” Nathan said. “Seriously, I don’t care about the car, I was just dru-”
“Shut up, fucktard,” Michelle said. “Willow, I think our conversation is finished…?”
Willow nodded, raising the shotgun from where she’d subconsciously lowered it.
“Wait, you can’t kill me!” Nathan shouted.
“Why not?” Willow asked.
“I have a life?”
“No one cares about that,” Michelle said.
Nathan looked at Willow, who didn’t move to defend the notion.
“Well…what about the plot? For the readers?” Nathan asked, and you felt an uncomfortable twitching at being addressed by such a man. “You…if you kill me, then there won’t be any storyline left.”
“Storyline? Plot? What are you talking about?” Michelle was typically oblivious, as demonstrated multitudes of times by her male-counterpart from your world. Thus, she did not understand what Nathan was referring to, despite being a writer herself, and being very familiar with narrative structure.
Willow did, and she found you, sending a wink your way, before realigning her features to face Nathan head-on. “We don’t need you for that. I don’t need you for anything.”
With that, Willow pulled the trigger—bang!—and the bullet sailed straight into Nathan’s skull.
You cheered! —“Wait,” Michelle said, looking around the room. “Willow, can you hear something?”—
Willow dipped her head in acknowledgement, thinking that this should have happened a long time ago. It didn’t matter now. She had plenty of time to live the life she wanted.
Nathan was rather hideous to begin with, but with his brains coming out his splattered-red skull, body sunken in its spot on the couch, eyes open wide, a last plea for survival, he was downright ghastly. He’d made a lot of choking and wounded sounds as he’d died—rest assured, reader, he did suffer.
Willow wiped the gun, placing it next to Nathan on the couch. A suicide—the police in Hawkins were generally stupid when it came to crime. Especially when such a crime involved a side character, rather than a protagonist. And when it was plot convenient.
— Michelle was stressed. “Willow, seriously, I can hear something.” —
Willow just shook her head, placing a comforting hand on Michelle’s wrist. “Don’t worry about it—we gotta get the kids now, right?”
“Yeah.” Michelle took a few breaths. “Okay, yeah. You need anything from here?”
Willow gazed around the house, looking at the…well, I’ve never bothered describing anything within the house—lazy author alert—so, how have you been imagining it? Nothing I describe would be too far off what you’re thinking of. To be honest, I’ve been imagining Willow to live in the Byers house. As in the Byers house. So…just imagine that. Except far less homely and comforting. Cool? Cool. Honestly, I don’t think it matters what I say from this point because I’ve certainly lost all my readers.
“Nothing I can’t replace,” Willow said.
And they held hands, heading back to the car.
— Michelle was frantically explaining with gestures. “Something is following us. Something. I don’t know how long it’s been there, and I don’t think it’s malicious. I can sort of sense its emotions, like- wait. I think it’s laughing? Hold on, it’s laughing at me? Willow, please tell me you can feel what I’m feeling? This is super crazy, but we’ll go crazy together, right? Oh my God, now they’re crying and there’s nostalgic sentimentality too? Willow, seriously-” —
*
They arrived at the school at three fifteen. Just five minutes past home time, and Hawkin’s latest criminals filtered amongst the parents, finding Cherry and Frank together, who were approaching them as a pair in such a lovely, convenient way.
—You squish Michelle’s mouth shut. We’ve had enough of that joke—
“Hi, darlings,” Willow said, addressing both of them. “Are either of you up for a road trip?”
Of course they were. They were eight years old and really didn’t serve any other purpose other than to be loveable children to our homosexual criminal protagonists. For more realistic scenarios of a child’s reaction to a road trip, see the Diary of A Wimpy Kid movie. Yes, I’m talking about The Long Haul—you know what, maybe just do yourself a favour and watch the originals instead. Plus, the first and second instalments are currently out within this universe. Holy shit, why am I talking about Diary Of A Wimpy Kid in a Byler fanfic-?
So, the Byers-Wheeler’s, or the Wheeler-Byers’—they’ll decide in 2015—all got into Michelle’s soon-to-be ex-husband’s car.
Michelle drove, tapping her fingers on the wheel and smiling. Willow was right next to her, putting on The Cure’s Just Like Heaven into the car’s CD player.
Frank and Cherry were chattering away in the back, just being adorable little munchkins within whatever-the-fuck alternate universe they occupy.
And they drove out of Hawkins, never to return. Happy and in love, what a family should be.
***
***
***
…you know three asterisks means the story’s finished, right?
“Well, how the fuck are they supposed to go on with their day after reading that bullshit ending?” Willow said, locking eyes with you and looking rather sympathetic for your position.
Jesus, Willow! Who would have thought you’d get that aggressive. Someone has to; Michelle was still rather confused.
“Willow, what are you talking about? Wait…” Finally, Michelle had found you. Her eyes squinted and then flashed in horror. “What the fuck? What is that- is that thing watching us?”
“Yes, Miki, the fourth wall was broken ages ago when the story went to complete shit, keep up,” Willow said, very uncharacteristically of her, might I add.
“Well, what’s wrong with that ending?” Michelle defended me. Oh, thanks, Michelle! “The bad guys were dealt with—killed by our protagonist. And the other was ditched—killed in a different manner. We’re off to New York, of course. It’s 2011, but the gay scene still sucks in Indiana.” —You tell me, Michelle, I’m not American—“We’ll find an apartment, get a nice school for Frank and Cherry to go to. Cherry and you talk about domestic abuse and the cycle of trauma that passes down generations—just everyday stuff that any eight-year-old should be aware of. I’ll get back into writing, and you will get back into art. We’ll become successful, and perhaps make a comic book together.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t know that was going to happen,” Willow said, gesturing to you. “What if this is their first Byler fic and they don’t know about the Commonly Accepted Fanon Endings for Byler?”
“That’s their problem for not knowing how to sort by bookmarks!” Michelle argued. “You remember when I showed you how to do that? It’s quite simple, Willow.”
“True,” Willow admitted, recalling Michelle’s ball knowledge on ao3. “Okay, but it’s all quite abrupt? Even if it’s what the reader could have assumed would be a logical, happy ending, there needs to be a better structure.”
“Oh my God, you’re not agreeing with your dead shit ex-husband, Willow?” Michelle said, horrified.
“Well, no-”
“Here’s what I think,” Michelle said. “There was adequate setup and sexual tension built between the protagonists.” —Jeez, thanks, Michelle, you’re a real one—“Which allowed for the reader to get invested. Lesbyler is popular within the fandom, but there is a severe lacking of fanfics.” —That’s exactly why you exist, Michelle! That’s why I made this version of you and Willow—“So, a storyline where the two secretly closeted wives married to their abusive husbands, finding love and true purpose within each other and starting a new family is a good recipe for a solid fanfiction.”
“Now, you’re just flattering them,” Willow said, talking about me. Hi Willow, I love you!
“They created me, what else can I do?” Michelle argued. “I’m showing appreciation!”
“Watch this get 4 hits,” Willow said, rather truthfully and rudely.
“Just you wait,” Michelle said, defending me, because I’m making her do so.
“Anyways,” Michelle continued, because not a soul is reading this except for me when my perfectionism makes me proofread this slop. “The proper storyline was completed after we had sex. There was the buildup of emotional, physical and sexual tension, which was all released in a single moment of steamy passion. There was nothing left that needed to happen—that scene was what the entire story was building towards!”
“Or the author’s lazy,” Willow countered.
“Does it matter when we’re driving into the sunset and our OC children are happy in the back? And that we’re together, as we should be in every universe? When we’re exactly where we need to be?”
At that, Willow softened, and you were forgotten—don’t be offended, dear reader. Love is quite consuming for both Willow and Michelle.
Willow held out a hand, and Michelle left one hand on the wheel to clasp Willow’s hand with her other.
“You’re right, Miki,” she said, smiling, and leaning her head on the seat. She looked out the window at all the grass and trees they were passing, at the beautiful golden light spilling out over the greenery. “Why should we worry about anything else? We’ll be alright.”
With the elephant in the room addressed—you should be pleased, my reader, I understand that things being left unaddressed is a trigger topic for you—Willow and Michelle held hands and drove away from their past, excited to spend the rest of their lives. Together and in love.
***