Chapter Text
It’s not that she doesn’t think about it, it’s that she doesn’t know how to address it. It’s laced with a history of shame and embarrassment, punishment even. Lesbianism within itself isn’t an issue, it’s the associations Beatrice has with it that have branded being gay as sinful.
She didn’t always used to feel this way about herself, her attraction. It used to not have a word, it used to simply be love or affection- holding a friend’s hand, giving a friend a jacket when it's cold, wiping a friend’s tears when they cry. As Beatrice grew older she couldn’t help but take the words of her peers and parents to heart.
“Homosexuality is sinful under the eyes of God. It subverts God’s will and divine pairing: one man and one woman.”
“You’re not a dyke, are you? That’s disgusting.”
“Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is an abomination.”
An abomination.
Is that what she was?
Were the feelings of care and protection over her friends and crushes so unclean, so dirty, even in her adolescence?
Beatrice didn’t question it; in fact, she internalized it. She sought to excel at every aspect of her academic and athletic life, adamant in the belief that the more glowing her achievements, the less likely people would put her character under a microscope. Captain of the winter fencing team and star spring swimmer, student body president, on track to be valedictorian of her high school class- an exemplar of the Catholic faith, despite her academy having secular leanings. Anything to divert any sort of question or doubt of her character or affinities, Beatrice committed herself to it. Anything to repress and distract herself from the part of her she was determined to lock away.
And then Naomi Alvarez happened.
It was the quirky smile, wasn’t it?
Eyes sparkling, a voice of a foreign exchange student that carried a warmth that was unknown to Beatrice during her upbringing in London. She didn’t have the same sharp, snobby personality as the other girls in Beatrice’s class; she was kind, open; laid back. She moved with the same flow and ease as the wind, her accent reminiscent of those Beatrice recalled from her family’s holidays to Miami; uniquely American. She was unlike anything Beatrice had ever experienced before.
It was terrifying.
Beatrice could feel her carefully crafted composure come undone thread by thread each additional moment spent in Naomi’s presence over the following months: during lunch period, during walks around campus, at Beatrice’s home. Of course, Naomi found Beatrice fascinating over the time she took to get to know her, playfully probing her with questions about how she manages to balance academics, extracurriculars, and a social life.
{4 years ago}
“I don’t see the need for a social life outside of the academy walls. I have plenty of interactions with people my age during my weeks here, and frankly, some days it feels to be too much.” Beatrice replied.
Naomi chuckled, shaking her head slightly, “Sounds like I won’t be able to convince you to come to Bonfire night, then. Charles and Ethan are putting on quite the party and I’d love for you to join me- but if you insist, I’ll just have to find someone else to entertain myself with.”
Beatrice’s hand stalled upon hearing the hosts’ names, her heart rate picking up.
“Charles and Ethan? The two year thirteen boys rumored to be-”
“Gay?” Naomi proposed, one eyebrow slightly cocked, “Yeah, those two.” she rested her head on her fist, a faint smirk gracing her features, “Is that a problem?”
Beatrice blinked, her mouth suddenly dry. She peeked at Naomi through the mirror on the vanity, reading her relaxed, confident position- a rush of heat coloring her ears red.
She shook her head gently, “No, not at all.”
Naomi’s smirk widened into a smile, her eyes shimmering from the fairy lights around the room.
“It’s a date, then.”
~
November 5th was a particularly chilly night, even more so for Beatrice, all things considered.
Three weeks ago she was frozen in her own bedroom under an invitation for this night, and the very person who insisted on her attendance is currently covering the cab charge for the both of them, despite Beatrice’s insistence.
Naomi bid the driver a good night and sauntered over to Beatrice’s side. She was clad in tight jeans, leather boots, and a hoodie that looked at least two sizes too big. It was a welcome contrast to her normal academy uniform, all starched and pressed.
Beatrice, in her mess of nerves, underdressed just enough to let the windchill go through her cashmere sweater. Her shivering did not go unnoticed, and Naomi snaked her arm around Beatrice’s waist.
“Chilly?” she asked, a hint of humor in her voice.
Beatrice nodded, swallowing down any potential tongue ties from the way Naomi was touching her, “Yes, I suppose I didn’t think this outfit through enough.” she replied with a breathy laugh.
Naomi chuckled, gently pulling Beatrice closer to her side.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep you close tonight.”
~
A couple hours passed of more touches, alcohol, and fireworks.
While some of the party guests lit the sky alight, Beatrice and Naomi settled around the fire, ale in hand. Naomi laid back into the large hammock they occupied and took a swig, sparkling eyes settling on Beatrice beside her.
Beatrice turned to glance at Naomi, but found her vision fixed on the girl before her. Exposed, relaxed, soaking in the calm and chaotic energy of their classmates, not a single worry etched into her features, opposing feelings apparent on her lips.
“What is it?” Beatrice asked.
Naomi sluggishly shook her head and smiled lightly, “Nothing.”
Beatrice felt the corners of her mouth twitch before turning back to the fire.
Naomi hummed and sat up, “No, something.”
Beatrice turned to look at her, eyes asking.
Naomi examined her features, “Your freckles are like specks of gold in the firelight,” she paused, turning her head slightly, “... and your eyes are like the embers that melted the ore.”
Beatrice felt the air thicken between them, and Naomi’s lidded eyes flicked to Beatrice’s lips and back, leaning in.
It was a featherlight touch, and Beatrice hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until Naomi pulled away.
For a moment they just breathed, taking in each other’s breath and the fire smoke. Beatrice’s thoughts kicked in, and her breath hitched.
“Someone will see us.” she whispered, eyes widening at her own realization, but Naomi shook her head.
“This place is safe, Charles and Ethan wouldn’t do that to themselves or anyone else,” she whispered back, slowly reaching up to brush a strand of Beatrice’s hair behind her ear, “Do you trust me?”
It was nearly inaudible in their environment, yet Beatrice nodded into Naomi’s touch as they leaned back in the hammock.
This time, Naomi wrapped her other arm around Beatrice’s waist, pulling their bodies flush as their kiss deepened. It was slow and gentle, Naomi’s hold on Beatrice secure, safe. Beatrice picked up on the familiar scent of patchouli and sandalwood that always seemed to linger on Naomi’s skin.
She felt warm, her nerve endings extra sensitive to every move, breath, squeeze, or shift. Naomi’s hand slid lower, traveling down Beatrice’s side down to her thigh, hand hooking behind her knee, pulling her leg across her own.
The new position earned a gasp from Beatrice, who immediately placed a hand on Naomi’s chest, pushing enough to communicate a pause.
“W-we have to stop,” she whispered, her forehead pressed to Naomi’s, her hand feeling the increased rate of Naomi’s heart, “I can’t- My faith- I made a promise to-”
“Hey, breathe, it's okay. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” Naomi responded, releasing Beatrice’s leg from her grasp and reaching up to soothe the worry lines forming on Beatrice’s face, “We can stop. Do you want to just relax here?” she asked, her opposing hand tracing patterns on Beatrice’s clothed back.
Beatrice looked between both of Naomi’s eyes and nodded, “Yes, I’d like that.”
Naomi smiled and stretched to place a soft kiss on Beatrice’s forehead, “Alright. I’ll set an alarm for when we should head back.”
Beatrice settled her head onto Naomi’s chest as she fiddled with her phone, nodding against the steady beat beneath her ear, a smile gracing her lips, “Sounds good to me.”
~
It was midnight when Naomi’s phone alarm sounded, waking Beatrice from a shallow sleep. She blinked herself awake, trying not to move too much as she looked up at Naomi, who was already awake, looking at her with an emotion Beatrice couldn’t quite place. Beatrice smiled regardless.
“Hello.”
“Hey there.” Naomi smiled back before her eyes moved to a destination beyond Beatrice.
Beatrice turned slightly, shifting the hammock enough to see that Naomi was watching none other than Charles and Ethan.
Charles is reclined back on an old sofa- which is specifically used for outdoor parties- one hand grasping a polaroid and the other threaded through Ethan’s dark curls, his thumb idly swiping back and forth on Ethan’s temple. Ethan is lying on top of Charles, his hands along the length of Charles’ torso, his head resting on Charles’ chest, their legs tangled. The fire and shadows dance across their bodies in the late night hour.
Charles shifts his gaze enough to catch the girls staring at them; he smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, serene- albeit drunk, but serene.
“Enjoy the party, ladies?” he asked softly, so as not to disturb his companion.
Beatrice half smiled and nodded, “I did, thank you.”
Naomi nodded in kind, “What she said.”
Charles’ smile grew and he nodded softly, “Good, I’m glad.” he responded, holding up the polaroid, “Mind?”
Naomi looked at Beatrice in question, who nodded her approval as she laid her head back down on Naomi’s chest, her hand settled on her stomach. Naomi hugged her shoulders, turning her head to rest on top of Beatrice’s and facing Charles.
Charles grinned and snapped a picture of them, the camera whirring as the little photograph printed. He took the photograph and shook it gently so as not to disturb Ethan, observing the oncoming image.
“It’s good, you’ll like it.” he tells them, placing the polaroid down and giving half of his attention to the picture as his other half was still devoted to Ethan.
Beatrice paused, shifting more onto her back so she could rest her head on Naomi’s shoulder and face Charles.
“How do you handle it?” she asked quietly.
Charles tipped his head to the side slightly, “Handle what, darling?”
Beatrice exhaled, the arm around her shoulders giving a reassuring squeeze, already feeling her eyes betray her, “The looks… the talks. The gossip.”
Charles blinked and looked down at Ethan, still slumbering against his chest, undisturbed. He smiled sadly.
“When you find a love that you know, in your bones, is a once in a lifetime experience, you tend to let people carry on as they do,” he looked back at Beatrice, emotion swimming in his eyes, “even if it could harm you, because you know that you’ve found your true love. Knowing that I have him, knowing that I love him, makes me resilient to even the most venomous of words or the sharpest of stares. Their sneers don’t matter to me, only he does.”
Beatrice’s breath caught in her throat at his declaration, tears on the brink of falling. She closes her eyes and lets them, turning into Naomi’s chest as Naomi’s arms embrace her. Naomi’s hands rub circles on Beatrice’s back, and she looks up at Charles.
‘Thank you.’ she mouths, continuing to comfort Beatrice as she mumbles something into Naomi’s chest.
Charles looks between them, “What was that, dear?”
Naomi gives him a sad smile, “She said she wishes she had your strength.”
Charles’ shiny gaze shifted to the crying girl, moved by the intensity of his love, smiling softly, “You will, dear, you will,” he responded as Ethan shifted on his chest, his hands lightly gripping Charles’ shirt as though he were his anchor in a dream, and Charles allowed a tear of his own to escape, “We all do at some point.”
~
Naomi had a hook in Beatrice after that night. Every touch or graze on Beatrice’s skin felt like crackling electricity, energetic. Exciting.
They would steal away into bathrooms or closets when nobody was around, taking the opportunity to indulge in one another.
Beatrice’s resolve to remain abstinent was slowly wearing thin on account that each kiss Naomi gave her made her increasingly hungry for something more fulfilling, but she knew in her mind that it would go against everything she had learned and cherished thus far in her Catholic faith.
So she persisted.
Naomi didn’t push her, she understood how much weight faith carried for Beatrice, how important it was to be connected to God. Her faith served her as much as she served it, giving her prudence and strength, showing her that kindness and love prevail. Naomi wanted anything that happened between them to be Beatrice’s doing- she could occupy herself just fine if she needed.
One night, though, Beatrice’s resolve cracked.
Beatrice’s parents were out for a date night, which on average kept them out to 1am at the latest with an 8pm start.
Beatrice invited Naomi over to study for their Advanced Biology exam, though plans shifted when Naomi gave her a look that was all too mischievous and inviting.
8:48pm:
Naomi was propped up against the pillow-laden headboard of Beatrice’s grand four-post bed, Beatrice herself straddling Naomi’s lap, fingers brushing the nape of her neck. Naomi’s hands were ghosting along Beatrice’s back, one hand situated underneath her sweater, caressing the small of her back, the other between Beatrice’s shoulder blades, holding her close.
Their kisses were slow but heavy, the air around them growing thick with anticipation. Beatrice let the mood go to her head, her hips rolling forward, earning a groan from Naomi, who placed a hand on Beatrice’s side, stilling her and sitting up more upright.
“Hey, breathe,” she said, catching her own breath, “Lets slow down a bit.” she added, despite her pupils’ dilation.
Millions of thoughts ran through Beatrice’s head before one slipped past her lips, “I want-”, she cut herself off, attempting to swallow her nerves as her hands at the base of Naomi’s neck tensed slightly, “I want you to touch me.”
Naomi blinked, her eyes widening ever so slightly at the full realization of the request. She squeezed Beatrice’s side lightly, a physical question.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
Beatrice’s thumbs swiped Naomi’s skin absentmindedly; she nodded, “I’m sure.”
Naomi’s eyes sparkled, just like a month ago when she asked Beatrice to Bonfire night, and she smiled.
“Okay.”
Their next kiss was deep, engrossing Beatrice in every way imaginable. Every touch Naomi bestowed upon her felt like a glorious burn. It felt real.
‘How can something so patient, so warm such as this, be sinful?’ she thought.
Naomi’s hand that was formerly placed to steady Beatrice slid up beneath her oversized sweater, her hand settling just below Beatrice’s breast, knuckles grazing the sensitive skin there.
‘No bra,’ she thought.
Beatrice shivered, her hips mimicking her past actions and rolling into Naomi’s.
“Off,” she said between a kiss, her voice quivering almost imperceptibly. Beatrice needed to feel Naomi’s fingertips on her skin, unhindered by the binds of her sleepwear. Naomi’s hands made quick work of the sweater, pulling it over and off. She froze for a moment, her hands hovering at Beatrice’s sides, taking in the sight of her nude form. No bra, no makeup, hair falling down her shoulders like cascading satin. Unreal, yet here in front of her, on top of her, asking her.
Beautiful.
Beatrice cupped Naomi’s cheek, pulling her gaze up to match her own, “Are you alright?” she breathed.
Naomi exhaled, her lips quirked up slightly, “I should be asking you that,” she replied, hands settling on the smooth expanse of Beatrice’s back, “You’re gorgeous.”
Beatrice released a shaky breath, grabbing the hem of Naomi’s shirt in question and lifting upward when met with a nod. Once discarded, she leaned in to capture Naomi’s lips in a fiery kiss, Naomi pulling Beatrice flush against her now bare abdomen; where Naomi’s breasts pressed against her, goosebumps formed.
Beatrice’s eyes squeezed shut as Naomi palmed one of her breasts, brushing her taut nipple with her thumb. Beatrice groaned, hips rolling to meet Naomi’s again. Her hands moved to grasp Beatrice’s thighs as she sat up, switching their positions and lowering Beatrice down to the bed.
Beatrice, now lying underneath, let her hands wander across Naomi’s back, feeling the small yet sinewy muscles contract and relax through every movement.
Naomi’s hold behind one of Beatrice’s knees loosened as her hand shifted downward, reaching Beatrice’s ass. She squeezed the flesh there as she bucked her hips into her, groaning at the long-awaited friction. Naomi took hold of Beatrice’s bottom lip, opening her eyes to watch her reaction as she released it with a subtle pop.
The air tensed as they stilled, staring, breathing. Naomi’s head dipped down, her eyes focusing on her own thumbs which had hooked at the waistband of Beatrice’s shorts; her eyes flicked back up to the dark pools watching her every move.
“May I?” she breathed.
Beatrice nodded slowly, drawing her own bottom lip between her teeth as Naomi achingly slid her shorts down.
Naomi sat back, marveling at the body before her. Subtle muscular definition in Beatrice’s stomach and legs from swimming and fencing, soft curves at her hips; her hair splayed out on the surface of the bed like a halo. Arms lazily posed above her tilted head, Beatrice’s eyes drank in the sight of Naomi’s lean body with the same intensity as Naomi viewed her own.
The heady scent of Beatrice’s desire flooded Naomi’s senses, her eyes closing as she breathed in what was irrevocably Beatrice. Her head swam as she looked back down at her, eyes filled with a hunger that she felt coursing through her veins like a drug, relieving her of any anxiety she may have previously had.
Naomi dove forward and caught Beatrice’s lips with a ferocity she didn’t know she possessed, hands suddenly everywhere; touching, searching, exploring.
Beatrice’s heart hammered in her chest, her pulse reverberating through her whole body, settling deep within her core. Direct exposure to open air made her more sensitive than she thought possible, every twitch of Naomi’s hips against her own- despite their unequally clothed state- setting her whole body ablaze again, and again, and again.
Beatrice succumbed to her most natural of desires as Naomi’s hand slid impossibly lower, lower, her fingertips eventually grazing the mound at the apex of Beatrice’s legs.
Beatrice threw her head back, hands grasping at Naomi’s neck, shoulders, back, arms- anywhere and everywhere.
‘If this is what the fires of Hell feel like, let me burn.’
~
12:03 am:
Beatrice didn’t recall retrieving her sweater, nor did she recall falling asleep against Naomi’s bare chest, legs curled between one another, Naomi’s arms wrapped around her frame, protective.
Safe.
She also didn’t recall hearing her parents arriving home.
Half awake, Beatrice heard the familiar sound of her father’s dress shoes stepping along the hardwood, her eyes widening at the realization of the direction he was heading as the steps got louder.
She sat up swiftly, jostling Naomi anxiously.
“Naomi, wake up. Wake up, my parents are home.” she whispered hastily, handing a groggy girl her previously discarded t-shirt.
Tap. Tap.
Naomi sat up quickly, blinking rapidly as to correct her sleep-hazed vision, holding her crumpled t-shirt against her bare chest, “What-?”
The door crept open.
Tap.
“Beatrice, darling?”
Beatrice’s heart hammered, her stomach dropped as her father’s gaze shifted from loving inquiry to horror.
The door pushed open, Mr. Edwards’ eyes widened at the scene before him as he slowly stepped into the room.
Tap.
Tap.
“Father, it’s not what it looks-”
“You,” Phillip said, hand trembling with a combination of rage and embarrassment as he pointed at Naomi, “have two minutes to gather your things and leave this house. If I ever catch you here again I will contact the dean and have you expelled.”
“Mr. Edwards I can ex-”
“And you,” he said, his steely gaze shifting to Beatrice, “are to be in my study in the same two minutes.”
Beatrice froze, terror apparent on her face as her father turned and left the room without another word, leaving the door ajar.
She could hear her parents conversing down the long hallway outside her door in harsh whispers as her breaths became erratic, her eyes filling with tears.
“I’m-m so sorry, I- I-” she stuttered, shaking her head as she stepped off the bed, relocating her shorts. Her sweater became stained with each fallen tear while Naomi collected her belongings, “I lost track of time, I- I didn’t set an alarm, I’m so-” she gasped, a sob wracking her body as Naomi’s hands reached to caress her distressed face, her composure too confident, too strong in the midst of what just transpired.
“Listen to me, okay? You did nothing wrong- we did nothing wrong. We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll figure this out together.” she declared in a hushed tone, dashing in to give Beatrice a reassuring kiss before fixing her with a gaze packed with too many emotions to describe.
Beatrice shook her head, grasping Naomi’s forearm with her trembling hand, “How?” she breathed.
Naomi cracked a sad half smile and stroked away the tears falling from Beatrice’s beautiful wide eyes.
“Because love always finds a way.”
Beatrice choked on the next sob, pulling Naomi into a tight embrace, leaving desperate kisses on her neck, jaw, lips, the salt from her tears invading her sweet affection.
“One minute!”
Mr. Edwards bellowed coldly from the first floor, the acoustics of the wood paneling making his human voice sound like a monstrous roar; Beatrice tensed, her tears falling harder as she gripped Naomi tighter.
Naomi ran her thumb across Beatrice’s bottom lip as tears formed in her own eyes, “I’ll see you soon, okay? Promise me.”
Beatrice nodded hastily, choking back a whimper, “I promise,” she managed, a sharp exhale following, “I love you.”
Naomi grasped the back of Beatrice’s head and smiled at her, tears on the verge now free falling as she closed her eyes and pressed a firm kiss to Beatrice’s forehead in farewell.
“I love you.”
~
Tap. Tap.
Tap. Tap.
“Phillip, dear, don’t you think-”
“Claudia.”
Mr. Edwards flashed his wife a warning look before fixing his eyes back onto his daughter as he slowly paced back and forth across the study floor.
Beatrice was sitting too upright in the velvet lined cherry wood chair, her head bowed and her hands folded- her face red from tears shed but expression otherwise neutral.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done, Beatrice?” Mr. Edwards asked, an inherent edge to his voice.
Beatrice nodded once, “I have an idea of what, father.”
“And what is that, daughter?”
Beatrice bristled at the venom laced enunciation of the formal address, shifting slightly in her seat, “I’ve committed a sin.”
Mr. Edwards nodded, a condescending look crossed his face, “What- specifically- was that sin, Beatrice?”
Beatrice’s hands twitched as the word dug its way up from the recesses of her mind, clawing at her. Something that had only been uttered in disgust or anger, spit out of the mouths of those seeking to cause harm. A word- a mere descriptor- tainted by the people who hate it most crept up Beatrice’s throat onto the tip of her tongue like bile.
“Homosexuality.”
Mr. Edwards slapped his desk, the rings on his fingers causing the noise to be extra jarring- Beatrice flinched.
“That’s right, Beatrice. Can you tell me what this could mean should word get out about your,” Phillip paused, a scowl briefly settling on his lips, “transgressions?”
Beatrice risked a glance at her mother, looking for any form of reassurance or support; she was met with the image of her mother with her head down, eyes fixed on the floor, hands clasped behind her back. Silent. Passive.
Beatrice swallowed the lump in her throat, “Bad publicity, a stain on our family name.”
Mr. Edwards nodded slowly, “Precisely, my dear,” he responded, walking closer to his daughter and stopping short a few feet, “Look at me.”
Beatrice looked up slowly, eyes red from the strain of crying, the corners of her mouth downturned, waiting.
“Tonight,” Phillip said, punctuated with a finger pointed to the ground, “cannot be repeated. It will not be discussed past these office walls. Am I understood?”
Beatrice nodded.
“Nowhere, with no one, will you speak of this. If the rumor mill gets ahold of this-”
“It won’t.”
Phillip fixed his daughter with a sharp look, “-and it makes its way to the press, we will never recover. Furthermore,” he continued, resuming his previous slow pacing, “due to your actions, I have decided to look into other schools for you to attend the remainder of your twelfth year as well as your thirteenth year- a Catholic boarding school.”
Beatrice felt as though her spirit left her body, fully aware that her face dropped- any shred of composure she attempted to maintain fell away.
“I’ve been hearing good things about College et Lycee Saint-Charles, Porrentruy is supposed to be a beautiful location.” he added all too sweetly, the poison dripping off of his words like toxic sugar syrup.
Beatrice’s eyes searched her father’s face, finding nothing but scrutiny, “You want to send me to Switzerland?” she whispered shakily, devastation clear in her voice. She turned to her mother, pleading, “Mother?”
Claudia Edwards looked up at her daughter, her eyes nearly overflowing with tears, feeling as though she had a knife in her chest, “We only want what is best for you, darling.”
Beatrice ripped her eyes away from her mother, gaze now cast down to the floor as her hand cupped her mouth in shock. This cannot be happening.
Phillip tapped his foot once, turning slightly away from his daughter to lean against his desk, “Your mother is right, Beatrice. We only want you to be successful, garner a good reputation- to foster a strong relationship with God, not sin.”
Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut, the room suddenly too small for three people. She let out a shaky breath before looking up at her father, “This didn’t feel like sin.” she whispered, scraping up any remaining courage from Naomi’s recent presence, “This felt so much more divine than anything I’ve ever known. It feels holy.”
She didn’t care if that was blasphemous: it was the truth. God be damned before she lied about her love.
Claudia’s hand swiftly covered her mouth as her opposing arm wrapped around her middle, turning away from Beatrice.
Phillip closed his eyes and gripped the lip of his desk tighter, knuckles nearly white as he dropped his head and took a slow breath, uncrossing his feet to stand upright.
“I will begin the research process starting tomorrow morning. You will have until the end of the semester to say your goodbyes to your classmates and teachers, as well as prepare yourself for your move. You are not to see that girl again.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened, “The semester ends in a week.” she stated, voice trembling as reality set in all too harshly. The only response her father gave was a shrug.
Beatrice whimpered, feeling another sob bubbling up from her hollow chest. She dipped her head down, managing one final request, “May I please go to bed now?”
Phillip stared at his daughter before nodding once, and Beatrice fled from the study, slamming her door shut, locked.
She leaned against the heavy oak, sliding down to the floor, and cried. For how long, she wasn’t sure.
She cried for her parents, ashamed of herself despite what she felt in her heart.
She cried for Naomi, ashamed of herself for not being stronger.
Most of all, she cried for herself. For her authenticity that had been so fatally wounded.
She got up shakily and padded over to the bed, lifting up the covers to burrow into the sheets that still smelled like her lover.
She doesn’t know when she falls asleep.
~
It had been six days since that eventful night, and Beatrice threw herself into her final week at the academy.
Each day was either filled with studying for or taking final exams or honing her fencing skills.
She managed to avoid any close encounters with Naomi, feeling as though eyes were watching her everywhere- as though God and her parents were voyeurs within her own mind, all seeing, omniscient.
That fear only grew when Naomi found her in one of the less traveled restrooms on campus, locking the door behind her.
Naomi turned, sadness etched onto her face.
“Hey.”
Beatrice froze, her throat tight. She had been so careful to keep her distance from this girl who turned her world upside down; now she’s a few feet away and it feels like a thousand miles.
Beatrice braced herself against the sink, knowing that she is one word away from falling apart.
“Hello.”
“Can we talk?”
Beatrice’s hands went clammy, her mouth dry. She attempted to respond but all that came out was a choked whine. Her eyes began to well with tears, her breathing becoming irregular. She let out a pained sob.
Naomi strode over to hear, gently ushering her shaking form into her arms.
Beatrice grasped at her blazer, wishing it were that too-large hoodie she wore to Charles and Ethan’s get together, wishing she could go back and live in that moment forever. Her tears stained the woolen fabric, squeezing her tight.
“They’re sending me away.”
Naomi tensed momentarily, her hand on Beatrice’s back stilling.
“What?”
Beatrice exhaled shakily, pulling back to look Naomi in the eyes, smiling bitterly, “My parents are making arrangements to send me to a Catholic secondary school in Switzerland. I’ll finish the second half of my twelfth and thirteenth year there.”
Naomi’s hands loosened, her face falling at the news, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Beatrice tilted her head to the side and gave a sad laugh, “How do I even begin to tell someone that I love that I’ll never see them again?” she responded, one hand coming up to cup Naomi’s cheek.
Naomi just stared, unblinking, eyes shifting between Beatrice’s, “The semester ends tomorrow.” she breathed.
Beatrice’s chin quivered, she nodded, “I know.” she whispered.
Naomi exhaled and turned into Beatrice’s touch, lips grazing a gentle kiss onto her palm.
Beatrice leaned forward, inviting Naomi closer.
Naomi took it.
The kiss was melancholy as they held each other close, Beatrice needing to feel Naomi against her one last time. Their tears mingled on their lips, whispers of sweet nothings passing between them in the isolation of the tile room they’ve exclusively occupied.
It was a bittersweet shared moment as they breathed each other in, exchanging warmth, air, love.
“This is the last time I can see you.”
Naomi pulled back just enough to see Beatrice’s full face, cheeks and eyes red with crying strain, eyebrows knit together, “Why is that?” she asked gently, brushing a strand of hair behind Beatrice’s ear, thumb stroking her cheek.
Beatrice closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, “Because seeing you and being incapable of having you is too much to bear.”
Naomi looked between Beatrice’s eyes and leaned her forehead against her own, taking a deep breath, “I want you to have something.”
Beatrice nodded faintly as Naomi reached into her bookbag, pulling out a photograph. Beatrice exhaled harshly, begging herself to stay composed.
“The one that Charles took of us on Bonfire night.” Naomi said softly, examining the picture and smiling sadly, reminiscing. She placed the photograph into Beatrice’s open palm, but Beatrice hesitated.
“I have nothing to give you- what will you have to remember me- us- by?”
Naomi laughed sadly, the pad of her thumb running across Beatrice’s lips.
“I’ll always remember you.”
~
Since the day she left for Switzerland, Beatrice’s entire outlook changed.
Day by day, week by week, she focused less on herself and more on her work, her skills, how much and how often she gave back. She sought out selflessness to make up for her past actions, for giving in to temptation. For causing someone hurt.
She dove head first into her faith, studying passages on love and strength. She channeled God through her everyday actions, praying to Him, asking for guidance, for perseverance. If she can push past the part of herself that only brought her pain, she could make it. If she could put out the ember that thrives on companionship, she could make it.
She could be happy, alone.
When she joined the Order of the Cruciform Sword, fencing and swimming turned into weapons & combat training, aikido being an 'extracurricular' to add to her skillset. She honed in on her strategic skills, applying aspects of fencing to combat, how and when to predict her opponent's move. Her intense focus and determination during the first two years earned her the attention of Mother Superion and Father Vincent, who gave her the acting role of OCS mission strategist.
The responsibility of planning out seamless operations weighed heavily on Beatrice’s shoulders- it wasn’t just her life on the line, it was her sisters’ lives, the OCS sect itself.
She was a brilliant strategist, guiding her sister-warriors through artifact rescue missions without issue, her focus and dedication to her duty a reflection on how much she placed others before herself, embodying the mirror image of a perfect sister-warrior. This pattern repeated, mission after mission; Beatrice plans and guides, Shannon leads, Mary follows.
One night, though, could not have been planned any other way, nor could fate be avoided when Shannon took a fatal amount of divinium shards through her armor.
The team of sister-warriors managed to get Shannon to a safe location inside a nearby church, but the damage had been done. The shrapnel couldn’t be removed without risking injury to her other organs. Despite Mary’s teary protest, the priest and accompanying nun proceeded to remove the halo from Shannon’s back, quickly ending her suffering.
Beatrice watched as her leader- her friend- died before her eyes, and she watched as it destroyed Mary.
Mary, who clutched Shannon to her in her final minutes; Mary, who pleaded for any other intervention to potentially save both Shannon and the halo; Mary, who let all too silent tears fall as she watched Shannon leave their shared realm. Mary, who would have thrown herself into oncoming danger to protect Shannon.
Beatrice knew that they were closer than friends- all of the sister-warriors knew. They all saw Mary clutch the pendant Shannon wore until her knuckles turned light and her fingernails cut into her skin. They saw the plethora of emotions swimming in Mary’s eyes as her companion left her side.
Beatrice knew that when Mary didn’t show up around Cat’s Cradle the month following Shannon’s death that a part of Mary died with her.
~
Beatrice wasn’t sure of what exactly happened the minutes following the Vatican’s explosion. All she was able to decipher was being overrun with wraiths, Mary being dog-piled by possessed citizens, and Adriel at the center of the chaos.
She remembers fighting off the possessed; she remembers Lilith’s eyes glowing hellfire red and the glint of her claws; she remembers Camila rapid firing into the crowd out of panic; she remembers the bright glow of a curved divinium dagger out of the corner of her eye, assumedly aiming right for her.
She remembers hearing a yell; a body floating above her; a light so blinding that no shadow could escape.
She remembers silence.
A wind whistling through the rubble of the pillars that once stood; shattered street lamps; the moon dimly illuminating the scene before her.
Camila groaned, pushing herself up from the ground onto her hands and knees. Lilith awakening with a wince with Mary strewn over her legs, clothing ripped and sliced from the battle prior.
Someone was missing.
Beatrice’s eyes strained under the light of the moon, searching for a small body and golden hair.
There, under the rubble, a hand.
Beatrice limped over to the pile of shattered stone and began uncovering the body, recognizing the material of the armor underneath. She turned to Camila, who had since managed to stand upright.
“Help me.” she rasped, her usual level-headed demeanor not coming through under current circumstances. Camila ran over, discarding the chunks of rock on her side. Quickly, the body became whole and Beatrice’s anxiety spiked.
“Ava,” she whispered desperately, grasping her by the shoulders, “Ava please wake up.”
Her voice shook and Camila placed a hand on her arm. Beatrice looked up at Camila, turning to Mary and Lilith who were now standing.
Lilith’s right arm is slung over Mary’s shoulders, left leg bloody with a gash that was almost surprisingly grotesque. Mary, who is currently supporting Lilith’s weight, is nursing an injured right arm, her left arm wrapped around Lilith’s waist to keep her steady.
Beatrice swallowed and looked back at Ava, who, aside from a particularly nasty cut on her forehead, looks otherwise untouched.
Except she’s not moving.
“Ava, are you there? Please say something to me.” Beatrice asked louder, glancing over to Camila, “Help me pick her up.”
Camila nodded, positioning her hands at two points on Ava’s arm just like Beatrice, and pulling. They both drape their designated arm over their shoulders, each wrapping their own arms around Ava’s middle to keep her as upright as possible.
Beatrice internally instructs herself to stay composed, her jaw clenched, as she turns to Mary.
“We have to get her to the van.”
~
That was three hours ago.
As soon as they were all inside, Mary took off, destination unknown. Camila was in the passenger’s seat researching any hole-in-the-wall road-stops or hideouts on the OCS tablet, having yet to speak at all. Lilith was seated against the passenger’s-side door, her uninjured leg bent to allow her elbow a place to rest as she watched, hour by hour, her flesh knit back together via little embers.
Beatrice was seated against the driver’s-side door, legs splayed out in front of her, Ava’s head laid across her lap.
She hasn’t moved from when she first got in the van, afraid that jostling Ava’s unconscious body could cause any additional damage after the structural collapse she already endured. She can feel Ava’s heartbeat through her chest, so she knows she’s alive; that box is checked. She knows Ava’s safe, here, with her- her sisters; that box is checked too. What she doesn’t know is why Ava’s head injury wasn’t healing.
What she doesn’t know is why Ava wasn’t waking up.
She didn’t dare verbalize any concerns out loud, she didn’t want to invite any of those thoughts to come to fruition. So she stayed silent, lost in thought as she stared down at Ava’s relaxed features, one hand resting featherlight against Ava’s hair, the other placed carefully on top of her heart.
She thought about loss; lost opportunities, lost people, good and bad.
She thought about the loss of Vincent, how they all felt used and betrayed by his lies and false promises.
She thought back to the loss of Shannon, how she watched as Mary lost a part of herself.
She thought about her own losses.
She thought about the lost opportunity for a normal life, how she could be finishing college if she wished, hanging out with friends and meeting new people, unaffected by the divine and supernatural.
She thought about the loss of her parents’ trust after that one fateful night.
She thought about her first love, so alight with hope and happiness that her soul felt like a roaring fire.
She thought about how that fire was reduced to ash in mere seconds, eliminating the fervent light that used to be so alive within her.
What she didn’t dare think about was the ever-growing possibility that there could be a glowing ember underneath the ashes of all she’s lost.
She didn’t think about that ember, splayed out on top of her and unconscious, bearing the halo.