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Gwen's house is cozy, and nobody else in their year knows the address—besides Trent and Noah, of all people—, which makes it the perfect place for Heather to retreat to whenever she gets fed up with her siblings and her parents.
Over time, it's become a weekly habit, one that Heather doesn't look forward to, but follows anyway, because it's a habit. A simple habit that she could easily break, or at least that what she tells herself as she makes the drive to Gwen's house once again.
The driveway only has one car in it, the car belonging to the goth girl, and if Heather's memory serves her right, which it usually does, Gwen's younger brother is at baseball practice, which leaves Gwen to be home alone. After all, her mom has picked up longer shifts ever since the divorce to bring in more money. Gwen had told her that the first time Heather came over.
The shorter girl greets Heather at the door, dressed in an oversized tee and a pair of sweatpants that have seen better days. Her hair is messy, her roots showing big time, and if Heather were in a slightly better mood, she would tease Gwen about it, but she doesn't. She's here for a reason, after all.
Gwen opens the door wider and Heather quickly steps inside, sliding her wedge heels off and sitting them down beside platform boots. The hardwood floors are cold beneath her feet, but she needs the distraction—craves it, really.
"Long day?" Gwen asks when the silence starts to become loud, hand on her hip as she looks over the taller girl. Heather looks as she usually does; pretty in a get-scouted-for-modeling-while-at-the-mall kind of way, the kind of pretty that boys drool over and girls scoff over in jealousy.
Gwen once told Heather that she reminds her of a swan. Heather hadn't been too amused, though when was she ever amused? Only when there was drama that didn't involve her, it seems.
Heather takes a few seconds to answer, her tone clipped as she speaks. "Obviously. Why else would I be here?"
The answer is expected, because she nearly says the same thing every time Gwen asks. Hell, she doesn't even know why she asks Heather anymore. Force of habit, she guesses.
In a blur, the two make their way over to the sofa in the living room, sitting on opposite ends. Gwen has her legs thrown over the arm of the couch, staring at the black screen on the TV like it will somehow solve their awkward tension. It doesn't.
Heather sits with her long legs crossed, hands in her lap, all prim and proper. She has grace, Gwen will give her that. The grace of a swan and the personality of a bitch.
They sit in silence, like they do weekly whenever Heather comes over. Gwen once made the comment that this isn't much of an escape, but Heather had told her to shut up. Gwen had listened, to the shock of both of them.
Deep down, Gwen wonders what the deal is between the two of them. She knows for sure that they're not codependent, because they barely get along any other time, and they're not really friends either. Their relationship is something indescribable, a connection only the two of them share. Not quite friends, but not quite the enemies they make themselves out to be in front of everyone either.
Eventually, Gwen has to piss, and she tells Heather so before heading to the bathroom, her sock covered feet making soft noises against the floor. Once she shuts the door and sits on the toilet seat, she lets her mind wander even more, glancing around the room boredly.
Her thoughts are cut off by the sight of the boxes of teal hair dye she had bought a week ago sitting on the bathroom counter, unopened. She'd been meaning to redye the streaks in her hair, but she's been busy with school, trying to survive the last year of high school until she can escape to university.
The hair dye stares at Gwen, and she stares right back at it, a thought creeping in the back of her mind. While she could dye her hair herself, like she always had, Heather's here. Maybe if she asks kindly enough, Heather would agree to help her dye her hair.
She decides to try anyways. Gwen gathers the boxes into her arms after she flushes, stepping out of the room and heading back to where Heather sits, having not moved an inch since Gwen left. She does, however, look up whenever Gwen returns, eyeing the boxes in her arms warily.
"Is that your shitty box dye?" she asks, pointing a burgundy painted fingernail at Gwen. The goth nods, dumping the boxes onto the couch beside the other girl.
"Yep. Usually I dye my hair myself, but since you're here, you can help." Gwen fights the urge to grin as Heather's eyes narrow, clearly not happy with the idea.
"And why would I do that?" Heather snaps, fully glaring up at Gwen now. Her lips are curled in a snarl, and she's starting to regret ever coming over.
Not really though. She never regretted coming over to Gwen's, despite how she acted. Deep down, she knew this house was the closest thing to a safe haven that she'd get.
Gwen shrugs, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants, lint under her nails. "Because you have nothing better to do," she answers, and when she looks at Heather, the taller girl swears she stares into her soul.
The two find themselves in the bathroom, Heather spreading hair dye across Gwen's roots. She's done this before with Lindsay, though back then, the smell of bleach burned her nose. Gwen either doesn't care about getting the full effect of the color, or just doesn't bother with bleach, because she doesn't bring out any.
They're quiet, the only sounds being made coming from the gloves Heather wears because God forbid she stains her skin. It's bad enough that she's even dyeing Gwen's hair; she doesn't need a reminder of it.
It doesn't take too long to get the roots covered in dye, and they have twenty minutes to kill until Gwen can rinse her hair out, so they pad back into the living room, the shorter girl turning on the TV. Some reality TV show is playing, something mind numbing. The perfect show for them.
"Thanks for dyeing my hair," Gwen says during a commercial break, careful not to get any hair dye on the couch. There's already paint stains from the living room renovation they'd done years prior, and the couch didn't deserve anymore long term stains.
Heather merely huffs, choosing to look at the TV screen rather than Gwen. "It's whatever," she responds quietly, though Gwen notices she doesn't look as tense as before.
Hours later, when Gwen's hair is rinsed and dried and her mom and brother are on their way home, Heather decides to leave, waving a quick goodbye before slipping her heels on and heading out. Once she's in her car, hands gripping the steering wheel, she realizes the tips of her fingers are stained teal, and she hits her head on the steering wheel, her car horn blaring.
She only stops whenever Gwen steps out on her porch, looking worried for her. Heather immediately drives off, wanting those dark concerned eyes anywhere but on her.
Every time she stops at a stop sign on her way home, Heather stares down at her fingers, an unfamiliar feeling blooming in her chest.