Post by Ana Somnia on Jul 7, 2021 15:12:30 GMT -5
In the sinful, gooey caramel center of Miami, Florida, there is a bar called the Hard Times.
But for Sara Daniels, the ensuing hangover from a long night of drinking wasn’t the only bout of Hard Times she’d have to go through. She stepped out into the warm summer night, and felt a familiar thrum-thrum-thrum vibration of her phone in her pocket. She fished it out, stumbling into a wall and sticking a cigarette between her teeth as the reflection of her muse, Anastasia Westen, stared back at her from the contact screen. She tried to light the cigarette with a free, yet still drunken hand, while trying her best to ignore the call coming in.
Daniels knew, at some point, she’d have to exit the cave of shame she’d buried herself in. She was rapidly draining her travel funding moving from hotel room to hotel room, AirBNB to AirBNB night after night to avoid returning to the home that she and Somnia shared in Miami. She tacked on her bar expenses with it, as well-and the potential lift she’d have to call to get herself back to some semblance of home if her wasted legs couldn’t carry her there. She tried to click the ‘decline’ button on the phone just as she’d imagined the third-or-fourth ring, shutting the stone over the door to her hide-away for yet another day.
She’d have to exit, but tonight wasn’t the night, she hoped.
Fate had other plans as her thumb slid over the ‘accept’, and a grim silence greeted her on the other line. Expectant, but not vibrant. Full, but not warm. Daniels sighed, mouthed a curse, and pulled the lit cigarette from her mouth as she leaned against the Hard Times’ brick exterior. She sighed.
“Hi, Ana.” Two words to make up for two weeks of absence wasn’t the best-but for the moment, it would have to do. Daniels braced herself for an onslaught from the other line.
Silence.
After a moment of a disquieting lack of response from Sara’s interlocutor, the Dallas native on the other end offers her greeting.
“Dani,” she begins, a small hitch in her voice as it trails off. The hesitation in Ana’s tone is completely uncharacteristic but after the last two or so years of their relationship, Ana finds herself acting outside of her personality more and more.
“Are you… You comin’ home tonight?”
The silence in return speaks volumes. Daniels, close to too-inebriated-to-make-it-home, hedges her bets.
“…nah. Not tonight. Had a bit too much to drink, Ana…but probably tomorrow. First thing. I promise.” Daniels lies through her teeth before she sets herself forward on the sidewalk. One step after the other. “Figured you might enjoy havin’ the bed to yourself, right?”
The attempted levity and half-hearted giggle from Daniels’ mouth fall flat. She can hear a sigh passing through Ana’s nose before the sound of Ana walking somewhere on the other end of the line permeates Sara’s ear.
“Truth be told, моя муза? After a year of spendin’ damn near every night in it with you, I ain’t been enjoyin’ how empty it’s been. I just… I don’t understand what’s happenin’. Where you’ve been or what you’ve been doin’. I ain’t gonna’ sit here an’ tell ya’ you owe me an explanation or anythin’ like that but… We spent all that time makin’ this place our home an’ it seems like you ain’t been livin’ here.”
Another pause. Daniels sighs. She wants to let it out, wants to spill her guts to Westen, wants to let forth a torrent of rage and fury, but it would accomplish less than the energy to expend it would be worth. A fool screaming, sound and fury, signifying nothing. Instead…
“I just…I needed to get away. It’s nothin’ against you, Ana, I promise. I still love you, I still want all of…this, but I needed a few days. I’ve been clingin’ to your shadow since we got back, one way or another, and I needed some space. Needed some time to breathe and figure out who Sara Daniels was if she couldn’t stay tied at the hip to Ana Somnia. Hittin’ you at GAU was part of that, and I’m sorry, honestly. I just needed to escape for a bit, and I couldn’t bare to look at ya after I did it. Couldn’t bare to come home.”
Sara Daniels was, unfortunately, crafting a precarious tower of half-truths and partial-reveals. Eventually, it would crumble…but not today, she hoped.
“But I’m almost there. Battle royale was a fluke, but I just gotta beat Malia, get to Hayley, you know the drill. Gotta look to Wednesday and…make it there. Then, I’ll be home.”
If ever there were a living iteration of an ellipsis, it is in Westen’s silence at the moment. Sara can hear as the Russian takes a deep breath and offers her own response to the sentiments Sara had expressed.
“So you ain’t comin’ home tomorrow morning...”
Sara opens her mouth to reply but Westen’s half-groan, half-sigh interrupts her. Somnia then furthers her verbalization of her thoughts.
“Look... I ain’t gonna’ pretend I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout. I ain’t got any control over that shadow, so I don’t know if you want me to apologize for it or somethin’. I don’t know. That bein’ said, Dani? You ain’t gotta’ worry ‘bout what happened at Gods. What ya’ did— I’m proud of you. Always have been an’ always will be. Hell, I was lookin’ forward to talkin’ ‘bout it when you got home that night but I ain’t see ya’ again ‘til that Battle Royale, did I? I ain’t lookin’ for an apology for what happened in Inglewood, Dani.”
Even though Daniels cannot see her at the moment, it is fairly clear Westen is shaking her head for emphasis. Before Daniels can respond again, Westen continues onward.
“We ain’t ever have any issues beatin’ the ссать outta’ one another before. In fact we’ve always found pleasure in doin’ so, right? Whatever’s changed, whatever made it so you ain’t willin’ to look me in the eye after doin’ to me what I would’ve done to you had I had the chance? After all of these years together, you can’t bear to talk to me? You can’t even bear fightin’ it out ‘til we’re bloody an’ bruised an’ back to normal?”
Sara takes a moment to pause and lean against the brick wall of one of the buildings on her wall back to the hotel. She lets Westen’s last words hang in the air as she spots a couple trying a few bars for last call, hanging off one another in a form of saccharine-sweet symbiosis that Daniels could only hope to achieve. She sighs and lets out a muffled curse.
“Honestly, Ana…I don’t know what’s happened, but things ain’t felt the same recently. Things ain’t felt as vibrant as they used to. I don’t know if I’m rattlin’ my own cage or if some of those hits I’ve taken lately have come back to bite me, but here I am, unsure of myself. Unsure of us. I dunno if fightin’ this one out is the right thing to do, really. I dunno if tradin’ blows is gonna save us this time around. The times I’ve hit you before didn’t feel like Inglewood, that shit felt different. Felt more charged, I guess, and I was worried you were mad, that I’d rattled you out of another accolade for the fuckin’ trophy case. I’d understand if you were, too, but you ain’t. And here I’ve gone and fuckin’…hid my head in the sand.”
Daniels lets a few tears loose as she continues.
“So I dunno what to do. I’m afraid to come home too early and blow up and lose it. Throw this shit away. I miss you, I just…I need time. I dunno what I want from you. I dunno what I need to do, Ana. And I’m sorry, I just…I had to be alone.”
Again, Westen takes a deep breath inward. Her trepidation regarding the conversation is, like the earlier hesitation, completely uncharacteristic. As such, the 29-year-old woman lets out a small half-chuckle, half-scoff. It is neither sarcastic nor aggressive in nature; it sounds far more contemplative to Sara than anything else.
“I ain’t got the first clue of what to say. That’s not somethin’ naturally occurrin’ for me, as ya’ know… An’ apparently I ain’t even got the first clue ‘bout what’s goin’ on in my own relationship. I didn’t even know we needed ‘savin’’.”
Daniels feels a wave of hot, intense frustration wash over her as she swallows her temporary anger, before it bubbles back up.
“Then maybe you shoulda opened your goddamn eyes and seen me strugglin’ for air. I…I’m sorry, Ana. I can’t do this right now.” She chokes back another word. “I’ll see you Wednesday, I promise.”
And with that, she clicks the red ‘end call’ circle, silencing the other line and any of the horrors that could come with it. Her eyes wash over with tears, and Daniels closes them, forces them back. She can only imagine the fury on the other end, the frustration…if she felt this way, she could only imagine how much more magnified it was for Ana. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ahead of some non-descript bar with neons flashing. She looked at her phone, and then to the door ahead, enough time remaining to wash away the last few minutes.
Her phone buzzed again. Ana’s name appeared, and Sara took the phone and smashed it to the ground. It skittered as it hit, bouncing once, twice, leaving shards of glass before coming to a rest in the road, soon to be crushed by the tire of a vehicle passing by, and she headed into the neons once again. A valuable lesson boiled up in her head;
That she might’ve left the Hard Times, but the Hard Times weren’t ready to leave her, just yet.
But for Sara Daniels, the ensuing hangover from a long night of drinking wasn’t the only bout of Hard Times she’d have to go through. She stepped out into the warm summer night, and felt a familiar thrum-thrum-thrum vibration of her phone in her pocket. She fished it out, stumbling into a wall and sticking a cigarette between her teeth as the reflection of her muse, Anastasia Westen, stared back at her from the contact screen. She tried to light the cigarette with a free, yet still drunken hand, while trying her best to ignore the call coming in.
Daniels knew, at some point, she’d have to exit the cave of shame she’d buried herself in. She was rapidly draining her travel funding moving from hotel room to hotel room, AirBNB to AirBNB night after night to avoid returning to the home that she and Somnia shared in Miami. She tacked on her bar expenses with it, as well-and the potential lift she’d have to call to get herself back to some semblance of home if her wasted legs couldn’t carry her there. She tried to click the ‘decline’ button on the phone just as she’d imagined the third-or-fourth ring, shutting the stone over the door to her hide-away for yet another day.
She’d have to exit, but tonight wasn’t the night, she hoped.
Fate had other plans as her thumb slid over the ‘accept’, and a grim silence greeted her on the other line. Expectant, but not vibrant. Full, but not warm. Daniels sighed, mouthed a curse, and pulled the lit cigarette from her mouth as she leaned against the Hard Times’ brick exterior. She sighed.
“Hi, Ana.” Two words to make up for two weeks of absence wasn’t the best-but for the moment, it would have to do. Daniels braced herself for an onslaught from the other line.
Silence.
After a moment of a disquieting lack of response from Sara’s interlocutor, the Dallas native on the other end offers her greeting.
“Dani,” she begins, a small hitch in her voice as it trails off. The hesitation in Ana’s tone is completely uncharacteristic but after the last two or so years of their relationship, Ana finds herself acting outside of her personality more and more.
“Are you… You comin’ home tonight?”
The silence in return speaks volumes. Daniels, close to too-inebriated-to-make-it-home, hedges her bets.
“…nah. Not tonight. Had a bit too much to drink, Ana…but probably tomorrow. First thing. I promise.” Daniels lies through her teeth before she sets herself forward on the sidewalk. One step after the other. “Figured you might enjoy havin’ the bed to yourself, right?”
The attempted levity and half-hearted giggle from Daniels’ mouth fall flat. She can hear a sigh passing through Ana’s nose before the sound of Ana walking somewhere on the other end of the line permeates Sara’s ear.
“Truth be told, моя муза? After a year of spendin’ damn near every night in it with you, I ain’t been enjoyin’ how empty it’s been. I just… I don’t understand what’s happenin’. Where you’ve been or what you’ve been doin’. I ain’t gonna’ sit here an’ tell ya’ you owe me an explanation or anythin’ like that but… We spent all that time makin’ this place our home an’ it seems like you ain’t been livin’ here.”
Another pause. Daniels sighs. She wants to let it out, wants to spill her guts to Westen, wants to let forth a torrent of rage and fury, but it would accomplish less than the energy to expend it would be worth. A fool screaming, sound and fury, signifying nothing. Instead…
“I just…I needed to get away. It’s nothin’ against you, Ana, I promise. I still love you, I still want all of…this, but I needed a few days. I’ve been clingin’ to your shadow since we got back, one way or another, and I needed some space. Needed some time to breathe and figure out who Sara Daniels was if she couldn’t stay tied at the hip to Ana Somnia. Hittin’ you at GAU was part of that, and I’m sorry, honestly. I just needed to escape for a bit, and I couldn’t bare to look at ya after I did it. Couldn’t bare to come home.”
Sara Daniels was, unfortunately, crafting a precarious tower of half-truths and partial-reveals. Eventually, it would crumble…but not today, she hoped.
“But I’m almost there. Battle royale was a fluke, but I just gotta beat Malia, get to Hayley, you know the drill. Gotta look to Wednesday and…make it there. Then, I’ll be home.”
If ever there were a living iteration of an ellipsis, it is in Westen’s silence at the moment. Sara can hear as the Russian takes a deep breath and offers her own response to the sentiments Sara had expressed.
“So you ain’t comin’ home tomorrow morning...”
Sara opens her mouth to reply but Westen’s half-groan, half-sigh interrupts her. Somnia then furthers her verbalization of her thoughts.
“Look... I ain’t gonna’ pretend I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout. I ain’t got any control over that shadow, so I don’t know if you want me to apologize for it or somethin’. I don’t know. That bein’ said, Dani? You ain’t gotta’ worry ‘bout what happened at Gods. What ya’ did— I’m proud of you. Always have been an’ always will be. Hell, I was lookin’ forward to talkin’ ‘bout it when you got home that night but I ain’t see ya’ again ‘til that Battle Royale, did I? I ain’t lookin’ for an apology for what happened in Inglewood, Dani.”
Even though Daniels cannot see her at the moment, it is fairly clear Westen is shaking her head for emphasis. Before Daniels can respond again, Westen continues onward.
“We ain’t ever have any issues beatin’ the ссать outta’ one another before. In fact we’ve always found pleasure in doin’ so, right? Whatever’s changed, whatever made it so you ain’t willin’ to look me in the eye after doin’ to me what I would’ve done to you had I had the chance? After all of these years together, you can’t bear to talk to me? You can’t even bear fightin’ it out ‘til we’re bloody an’ bruised an’ back to normal?”
Sara takes a moment to pause and lean against the brick wall of one of the buildings on her wall back to the hotel. She lets Westen’s last words hang in the air as she spots a couple trying a few bars for last call, hanging off one another in a form of saccharine-sweet symbiosis that Daniels could only hope to achieve. She sighs and lets out a muffled curse.
“Honestly, Ana…I don’t know what’s happened, but things ain’t felt the same recently. Things ain’t felt as vibrant as they used to. I don’t know if I’m rattlin’ my own cage or if some of those hits I’ve taken lately have come back to bite me, but here I am, unsure of myself. Unsure of us. I dunno if fightin’ this one out is the right thing to do, really. I dunno if tradin’ blows is gonna save us this time around. The times I’ve hit you before didn’t feel like Inglewood, that shit felt different. Felt more charged, I guess, and I was worried you were mad, that I’d rattled you out of another accolade for the fuckin’ trophy case. I’d understand if you were, too, but you ain’t. And here I’ve gone and fuckin’…hid my head in the sand.”
Daniels lets a few tears loose as she continues.
“So I dunno what to do. I’m afraid to come home too early and blow up and lose it. Throw this shit away. I miss you, I just…I need time. I dunno what I want from you. I dunno what I need to do, Ana. And I’m sorry, I just…I had to be alone.”
Again, Westen takes a deep breath inward. Her trepidation regarding the conversation is, like the earlier hesitation, completely uncharacteristic. As such, the 29-year-old woman lets out a small half-chuckle, half-scoff. It is neither sarcastic nor aggressive in nature; it sounds far more contemplative to Sara than anything else.
“I ain’t got the first clue of what to say. That’s not somethin’ naturally occurrin’ for me, as ya’ know… An’ apparently I ain’t even got the first clue ‘bout what’s goin’ on in my own relationship. I didn’t even know we needed ‘savin’’.”
Daniels feels a wave of hot, intense frustration wash over her as she swallows her temporary anger, before it bubbles back up.
“Then maybe you shoulda opened your goddamn eyes and seen me strugglin’ for air. I…I’m sorry, Ana. I can’t do this right now.” She chokes back another word. “I’ll see you Wednesday, I promise.”
And with that, she clicks the red ‘end call’ circle, silencing the other line and any of the horrors that could come with it. Her eyes wash over with tears, and Daniels closes them, forces them back. She can only imagine the fury on the other end, the frustration…if she felt this way, she could only imagine how much more magnified it was for Ana. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ahead of some non-descript bar with neons flashing. She looked at her phone, and then to the door ahead, enough time remaining to wash away the last few minutes.
Her phone buzzed again. Ana’s name appeared, and Sara took the phone and smashed it to the ground. It skittered as it hit, bouncing once, twice, leaving shards of glass before coming to a rest in the road, soon to be crushed by the tire of a vehicle passing by, and she headed into the neons once again. A valuable lesson boiled up in her head;
That she might’ve left the Hard Times, but the Hard Times weren’t ready to leave her, just yet.
