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Crouching against the wall, Bette was sitting on her heels as she stared at the door before her, a bunch of keys rattling in her hand to fill the quiet. She had arrived to visit her old apartment, but half an hour later she still hadn’t found enough courage to go inside.
An internal dialogue whispered through her mind as to what kind of experience exactly she wanted to gain out of this occurrence, as to what had tempted her to come here in the beginning. Was it that she had missed her own place that she was here? Or was it her curiosity over the current state of the apartment? Or maybe it was the memories this apartment held? The last felt the most accurate, or else why would she be afraid of coming through that door and face her past? Because that is what her apartment symbolized – her hazardous youth, her past crimes, her past friends, enemies, one-night stands, her self-destructive lifestyle. Her Tina. Her chaotic relationship with Tina, her love for Tina, her passion for Tina, her hate for Tina. Everything that was Tina the apartment personified. Bette feared of getting swallowed by those feelings again, but at the same time she longed for them. Longed for Tina.
After seeing her several days ago, Bette had been trying to fight the thoughts of Tina, to stop them from messing with her head. At this point of her life Bette didn’t need anything that was out of her control. She needed to keep it together all the time, for a single mistake wasn’t an option. She didn’t want emotional, she didn’t want intense, she didn’t want irrational. She wanted calm, sensible and steady.
But as if to spite her, to test her wall of control, Tina had been making attempts to squeeze her way into Bette’s mind nevertheless.
Bette had noticed the uncharacteristic look of exhaustion written all over Tina’s face the moment they had come to stand close together. Even though Tina had clearly tried to hide behind a veil of heavy makeup, her efforts were futile, because Bette had managed to see through her. Tina had aged, which was natural of course, but it seemed her aging hadn’t done her very well. She had grown out of her healthy baby fat and now appeared slightly meager. The lack of spark in her eyes, the anxiety written all over her fatigued face, the shaking of her hands. Where was this girl who had practically glowed with vitality ten years ago? Buried deep, by the looks of it. There were some issues, Bette knew, something was wrong with the blonde.