begot | SALTBURNT

I hadn't really thought about that, though. That it can hurt more when you don't know someone well. Or when you think you don't have any expectations and get surprised by it.

Maybe because there's no foundation there. Or it just makes me mad when guys treat girls like they're disposable. Probably both.

i think "disposable" is answering all the questions i'd normally ask — he's either not worth your time, or the type to need a lot of elbow grease, and it sounds like peter might be a bit more deserving — in a good way.

can you keep a secret? it's not anything terrible, just something i'm figuring out, here.

Edited 2025-11-27 03:35 (UTC)

Can I tell you what happened? I don't think I did anything wrong, when I reflect on it. Or at least not anything I need to apologize for. But it's easy to get in my head about it.

Anyway, god, sorry, enough about me. I can absolutely keep a secret, cross my heart. 🩷

please! all we have here is each other, and i want you to be able to rely on me.

okay: technically, i'm a married woman. but things were ... rocky, kind of, before i arrived here.

he's not here, obviously, or you'd know.

Thanks, Amy. I'd say I owe you a coffee if everything wasn't already free here, but...you know what I mean.

You know Elias, from the gym? We matched on that Voyeur app. I don't have a ton of experience on apps, either, since Peter and I met through school.

Maybe having pictures stolen for it made me want to...I don't know, reclaim some agency sending them of my own volition? Maybe that was stupid. I sent him a couple.

And he was, you know, Elias about it, but still flirting. Until he was like "do you send these to all of your students" and I was like "I'm test-running how well it works on you" and he freaked out.

Oh, wow. I'm really sorry to hear that--that things were rocky, I mean.

Do you wish he was here, to work it out? Or is it better that he's not?

i'll hold you to a coffee date, anyway.

elias, huh?

[ Amy pauses, thinking it over. He's— not, frankly, the type of guy she'd recommend to a young girl just getting her bearings in the dating pool. ]

you didn't do anything wrong, besides being too generous. good rule of thumb, don't send a boy any pictures of you until he's earned them.

maybe he's the jealous type? but he kind of set himself up for your answer, as far as i'm concerned.

i don't.

i was

[ The texts comes through, half-composed, as though sent by accident. ]

"rocky" might be the nice way of putting it.
i was afraid of him.

[ Gwen does have a follow-up ready, about Elias: the thing about not being a test subject, telling her he'd cash in on a photo later, ignoring her attempt to apologize.

But all of that feels petty and unimportant in the face of what Amy's just sent her. Gwen knows a little of what it's like to fear a man she once trusted, even if he wasn't her boyfriend. Certainly nothing like the betrayal of a husband. ]

Oh, Amy. That's awful.

Do you want to talk about it? We don't have to. But I'm happy to listen.

[ On the other end of the line, Amy looks at her phone — and smiles.

She types and deletes a string of nonsense, just enough text to ensure a set of ellipses pop up and then disappear on Gwen's screen.

Then: ]

do you want to come over to my room?
it might be easier to talk about this in person.

Of course. I can be right there.

Can I get you coffee or tea on the way up?

i'll have a little tea, if you'll have some with me?
i'll leave the door open, just come in when you get here.

[ And she does as promised — the door to her room is cracked open just so, opening into a room that's been tastefully appointed, off-white walls transitioning into wood paneling and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Amy sits in the middle of it all, knees tucked up to her chest on a broad coach. She brightens as soon as she spots Gwen, getting up and crossing the room to pull the girl into a hug. ]

Gwen! Thanks for coming.

[ As she steps back, she lets her hands fall, careful not to jostle the tea the young woman's carrying. ]

Sorry, I just— it felt like it maybe wasn't quite a conversation to have over text.

[ Gwen's never really thought about how easy it is for her to navigate her older coworkers and supervisors--or maybe easy isn't the word, but she understands how it works. Knows she has to work harder to be taken seriously, knows there's often resentment. Even the weirdness with Elias is, she thinks, at least in part because of her age. He's not taking her seriously, either.

But she's not used to having older girlfriends. Greer was the first, and that's its own exciting tangle of new feelings. With Amy... Gwen's touched she's being treated like an equal, really. That's not a given, even in a place like this.

She has the tea in a takeaway tray, so she manages a half-hug back without spilling. ]

No, I totally understand. [ Gwen pulls Amy's cup out first, pressing it into her hands. ]

Thanks for trusting me. [ Earnest, serious. ] I know it's...weird, to be surrounded by strangers here. But I do think of you as a friend.

[ Amy, on the other hand, can't really say she'd ever gone out of her way to makes friends outside of her peer group — when was the last time she'd talked to a teenager before this? But age is less of a factor, here — except for the grown men fucking girls young enough to be their daughters, judgment she'll pass in private — and Gwen is sweet, smart, old and young in varying measure. Someone people would like. So— ]

Oh, Gwen. [ Amy's voice wobbles on the vowel in Gwen's name. ] Me, too.

[ She takes the proffered cup gladly, nudging the door to her room closed before nodding toward the sofa. ]

I was an only child, [ she says, as she takes her own seat, tucking one leg underneath her. ] But — I always wanted a sister. I guess that's part of why I—

[ The words break into a shaky laugh — like she thinks she's being silly, like she's feeling a little more vulnerable than usual because of what they're about to talk about. ]

Thank you for listening. I, um — you're sure it's okay? I know it's— it's not really a fun story.

[ Gwen sits beside Amy on the sofa, hands warmed on her own cup of tea, knees turned toward her so she can really listen. A small quiver of a smile, feeling the effect of Amy's tenderness between them. ]

I have two younger brothers. I love them, but-- I always wanted an older sister, growing up.

[ Gwen shakes her head quickly, at the question. ]

I promise it's okay. Whatever you're comfortable sharing, I'm happy to listen.

[ I always wanted an older sister. Light, for a moment, in Amy's eyes. Gladness.

It doesn't disappear, not completely, when she twists, resting one elbow on the back of the seat, her hand hanging down, just waiting to be called into articulating motion. ]

Is— is Peter your first boyfriend?

[ She sounds a little apologetic, quickly clarifying, ] Have you ever broken up with a boyfriend before?

[ Gwen takes a sip of her tea, considering. ]

Peter's my first serious boyfriend. I broke up with my middle school boyfriend freshman year, but-- [ That particular gap in experience does embarrass her, just a little, the tip of her nose going pink. ] Definitely not the same.

Then I hope you'll never have to know the feeling I'm about to describe to you.

[ Frank and earnest — not at all judgmental of Gwen's inexperience, instead glad that she has someone she cares for and who cares for her in turn, that she hasn't been hurt this badly before. ]

It was good, for a while. But I guess I was ... standing on an ice floe. When I couldn't see the edges of it, life was beautiful. But every day, it was melting a little bit. He saw me less and less. Nick. He—

[ Amy pauses, her gaze falling to the cup in her hands. ]

We moved to take care of his mom. Do you know, he never even asked me what I thought? Of course I'd go with him, but— I wanted him to ask. To care about what I thought. I even used the last of my savings to buy him a bar. But he still didn't really see me. And, away from my family, my friends, the place I'd grown up, I felt like I was just getting smaller and smaller and smaller. Like I was disappearing.

[ Here, she looks back up, her blue eyes red-rimmed. The perfect picture of sadness, of a woman made so small when her presence here in this house — away from him — is warm, lively, vibrant. ]

I wanted to work on it. On us. But when I tried to talk to him— [ her voice breaks as she elides the point — he put his hands on me ] —I hit my head so hard, I could see stars. And I could see it in his eyes, that he—

[ The tears that well in her eyes finally spill over, and her breath stutters. She seems as scared, now, recollecting what had happened, as she must have been in that moment. ]

—he wanted to hurt me more.

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