E I G H T E E N

peg the patriarchy.

"I know I'm a terrible person, bu—" I try and get the word vomit going because Sarah told me that seems to be the only way I'll talk about my feelings.

"I never said that, and I don't think that." He shakes his head. Leant back in a stained sofa that was dragged outside, he looks comfortable, but not overly stoned. It's probably his first of the day.

I take a shaky breath, he can probably see my heart beating through my temple. "Sorry, the whole thing blurred together a little," I mumble. Trying to find a good place to start that doesn't immediately get me cut off.

My mind goes blank.

"I'm sorry, I can't figure out where I started with Sarah," I scrunch my eyebrows together, racking through the conversation I had all of half an hour ago.

"Don't freak out, you look like you're freaking out," he tells me bluntly. He sounds mad, I think? I don't know why I took the damm Xanax, I'm now anxiously relaxed. "You don't need to explain yourself."

I shake my head and sit up, "No. I do. Because the general consensus is that I fucked up, and I don't want to fuck it all up irreparably and then die sad and alone with forty dogs because I never figured out how to tell someone I like them, because that's ridiculous. And I shouldn't let awful men dictate the way I act around men who aren't awful, because that only gives them more power. Does that make sense? Because I'm confused. I don't think that makes any sense. Should I go over that bit again?"

"It makes sense, you're good." He nods.

"Okay, yep. Good. So, back to the main points—I should've written them down, but I can't remember them. Fuck." I look down at my phone, "Can I call Sarah? She has an awful memory but she seemed to like m—"

"You're freaking out again," he stops me.

I stop trying to go for my phone, "Yes. I am. I cried a lot—"

"I didn't mean to make you cry, that was really not the point," he runs a stressed hand through his hair. This really isn't going well.

"No, no. It's okay, it was good crying, like, productive I think. I don't mean to be mean to you, I just get a little defensive and it tends to happen to people that make me nervous. And you make me very nervous when you try and change things because I'm not good at change. When I finally spat out that I liked Rafe, he went from being genuinely nice—in hindsight, it was more love bombing, but I digress—he flipped and turned into the Rafe we now know." I feel my eyes burning, but I so desperately do not want to cry, so some manic blinking wards the tears away.

"So I didn't want to admit anything to you because I don't want things to change. I really like you, I think you're funny and while the initial portion of us knowing each other wasn't great; the habitual cheating and all that. Right now, well, before yesterday afternoon, it felt good. Like actually good, not me trying to convince myself it felt good because my family is in debt. Because you're not someone who's going to benefit my family monetarily—that's offensive, I'm not trying to be," I stop myself.

"You're fine, I get what you mean."

I nod and tuck all the hair that's fallen out of my ponytail behind my ears, "Right. And all the people in my life with good taste—including you—hated Rafe, Rake, whatever you want to call him. But my brother convinced my Mum that despite you getting arrested, you're a good person. So, all this tangent to say, I do like you and I'm sorry I'm emotionally stunted. And kinda fucked up. And scared of men getting close to me which poses difficulties."

A tear falls on my hand which grabs the strap of my bag like an anchor. Or so I can escape quickly.

"Mabel, if it makes you cry we don't have to talk about it," he says gently.

"I'm on my period, someone looking at me too hard makes me cry. It's the plight of being a woman," I smile sadly and wipe off the tears.

He smiles back, "I don't know what that means."

"Periods?" I mock him, a genuine smile forming on my face.

"No, I understand what that is. Plight. Unless you said flight, but that makes no sense."

"I can't define it, I just am pretty sure I know how to use it," I explain as I wipe the dropped tears off my hands. "So, there's my word vomit. And constructive criticism?" I ask, only half joking.

"I don't want you to be scared of me. That's pretty much it," he nods.

"I'm also meant to say that change doesn't happen overnight, this isn't going to fix anything. It's going to take me a second to realise I can relax and not give myself a stomach ulcer around you, but I'm going to really try and work on myself. But if you don't want to wait then that's okay," I add something Sarah told me to say.

He nods, "I'm notoriously patient." I roll my eyes and sink into the sofa, relief washing over me after the weight of the conversation has been lifted. "Are you going to take a nap?"

"Perhaps. It's a nice temperature," I mumble.

He shuffles down the sofa, "Come here," he taps the space next to him. I pull myself to standing, the world waves for a second, but I wall over and sit next to him and lay my head in his lap. "I'm not going to kill you, you don't have to be scared."

I sit back up. "That's the least comforting sentence I have ever heard." I laugh.

I watch the confusion on his face, "So you don't think I'm going to kill you?" He asks.

"No, that hadn't crossed my mind. More throwing various holiday-themed ornaments at me, throwing me into furniture or generally screaming at me. And slapping me. That's more the fear," I list. "No one's really tried to kill me yet, so that's not on the list."

He nods, "Okay, I'm not going to do any of that. You can trust me."

"Okay, I'm having a nap now. See you on the other side," I lay back down.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket just as I teeter on the precipice of sleep. I ignore it, then it does it again and again. JJ pulls it out, "It's Sarah."

"You can answer it," I mumble as his hand stops running through my hair.

"What do I say?"

"The eagle has landed."

"Really? Will she understand that?"

I shrug and he accepts the fourth call, "Hey, Sarah." He greets awkwardly. "The eagle has landed," he doesn't sound sure of his words. Which he shouldn't. They mean nothing to Sarah or to me, I don't know why I said it. I hear some noise and then JJ shakes me, "She doesn't know what you mean."

"I know, it didn't mean anything—just say I'm taking a nap and you're brushing my hair, that should put the pieces together."

"You heard that?" JJ asks. "Yes," he responds as I feel his fingers run through my hair again. "I know she's not going to change instantly, and no I don't want her to completely change. Okay, Sarah, this is getting very threatening." I smile, my eyes shut again as the sun dips below the roof of the deck and blinds me. "Yes, I'll make sure to do that. Okay, I'm hanging up now I'm feeling cornered with John B joining. See you guys tonight. Yes, I remember we need to wear black—he did not seriously hang up on me!"

"Good chat?" I whisper.

"I feel victimised, John B is meant to be my best friend," he grumbles. I blindly pull my phone from his hand, and pull his palm to cover my eyes from the sun that makes my eyes hurt, his other hand runs through my hair.

"Well, I feel bad for JJ if that makes you feel better?" I ask through a yawn.

"Yes, it does. This is why I like you."

I smile and promptly fall back to sleep.

-

I feel JJ shuffle underneath me and I slowly sit up, the hand he held over my eyes falls away. My entire spine screams as it finally goes back to the position it was intended to be in, bent in the awkward positions that are mandatory for a successful nap is not ideal for spinal health.

It's a shocker I have chronic back pain.

"Did I wake you up?" He asks, body stretching out from the awkward position he was no doubt in.

I shake my head, wiping the backs of my hands over my eyes. "Yes, but I think I was waking up anyway." The sun has now ducked right under the skyline, his hand hadn't needed to be over my eyes for a while, but he kept it there.

My heart hurts. I don't like it, nor do I appreciate it.

"Did you bring any black clothes?" He asks me as I flop back against the back of the seat, looking at him as my body tries to remember that we need to wake up.

We need to steal things, no time for any more naps.

"Mabel?" He snaps me back into reality. "You got any black clothes stashed in there?"

I shake my head and stand up. "I do not have any black clothes in there, bud."

He grabs my chin between two fingers, angling my face to look at him. A grin spread across my sleepy face, my hair must be everywhere because I could see ever more pieces have fallen out of the ponytail. "I held so still for almost three hours, I had an itch so bad I would've killed—not you, don't worry—"

"I wasn't worried."

"But I was still, I kept my hand there and the thanks I get? I get bud treatment?" He may be ranting, but I know he's not angry. His grab on my chin is tight, but it doesn't press into the sides like he's trying to break my jaw.

He's not hurting me. He wouldn't hurt me. He's not going to hurt me.

"Do you have any black clothes I can borrow?" I ask.

He drops his hand and walks passed me into the house, I trail behind. It's cleaner than when I last was here—all of twenty-four hours ago. I see him rummaging through his drawers and pulling out back clothes. I wander inside as he holds out a few options for me.

"These could fit for your bottom half," he throws some cargo shorts at me.

"I'm not implying anything, but I don't think our waists are the same size, and there isn't a drawstring," I hold them up.

He holds his hand out for me to throw them back, "Calling me fat are you, sweetcheeks?" He shakes his head, "What happened to being nice to JJ? Lasted three hours. Three hours that you were asleep. You wake up, call me bud and now you're calling me fat."

"I'll wear them, when they inevitably fall down Pope and John B will see my—"

"I get the picture and I don't like it, these have a drawstring," he throws them at me without warning this time, without even looking at me. They hit me square in the face.

"Rude," I mumble.

"And do you want a jumper or a shirt?" He asks holding up options.

"This feels like when my Mum used to dress me," I grin and point to the shirt. "I'm going to be terrified, so I'll start sweating. Best go for the shirt."

He throws that at me too, then he stands there. Watching me with his clothes in my hands. I think he wants to watch me getting changed. Pervery.

"See you in a second," I back out of the room and wander down the hall and into the bathroom. I pull off my clothes which are actually Hayley's pre-baby clothes that don't fit, and put in JJ's clothes.

I now look like a F-tier Billie Eilish wannabe. It's not a great look, but wearing black right now is ideal, so silver linings I guess.

I open the door and JJ leans against the opposite wall, "Tada," I mumble and twirl for him. "I look like an emo kindergartener on their first day wearing clothes their Mum tells them they'll grow into."

His eyebrows pull together, "I can see it." He agrees. He's not meant to agree, he's meant to tell me I look gangster. Like I'd be a nice drug dealer. Like Barry's female competitor—Barrie, or Barrietta.

"You're such a dick," I shake my head.

"That's a sore subject, you've put my dick through a lot," He mumbles, clearly feeling sorry for himself.

I walk passed him and into the kitchen, briefly looking at the counter and having flashbacks. Usually, my flashbacks are traumatic, these are just funny. That was an atrocious idea. He follows me into the kitchen as the moon drops into the sky and the stars begin twinkling. My fingers grab the neck of his shirt and encourage him toward me, he begins looking pleased.

"You've been very nice to me, JJ," I whisper.

He grins.

My hand makes a move it doesn't ever. I slip my fingers around the back of his neck, encouraging his face closer to me. But I stop short, our faces hover a centimetre away because I have a momentary panic—I can't think of any kisses that I have given him that are meant for anything other than to initiate sex. But this would just be a kiss, a kiss that won't lead to sex. The rough skin of his palms ghosts over my cheek, coaxing me the final inch, obviously realising I'm not about to any time soon.

I saw the fizzy drinks guy on TikTok talking about how a journey of ten thousand steps, or a thousand or some long journey, starts with one step. Someone else definitely said it, but Rohit Roy is my philosopher.

Count this as one of my first few steps.

My fingers move up from his neck to tangle into his hair.

It's gentle. Nothing desperate or lustful. My nose isn't pressing against his, I can't feel kiss teeth knock against mine like they do when you're getting down to business and need business to be fast.

It's soft. His thumb brushes over my cheek as his lips mould perfectly against mine. I can taste the remnants of the stale blunt covered by chewing gum. His hand slides over my skin, pulling the hem of the shirt I'm wearing up so they can hold my waist.

And when I finally realise I'm out of breath and pull away, I don't feel any different.

Nothing changed. There's no switch been flipped, his eyes look the same, and there's no malice. His cheeks have a slight flush, his lips are wet and pink, and his chest rises and falls a little fast than normal—that's the only change he's had.

"I'd like to make it clear I don't think you look like a kindergartener now, I just don't want any accusa—"

"You're such an idiot," I grin.

Nothing changed. He didn't change.

•

I think the mention of periods in fiction is sorely lacking, and the normalisation of a bodily function that about half the adult population goes through is really needed. They're normal and a sign that your body is probably working as it should be.

So, she's on her period. And she's crying because of that. Give her a break. The people that get it, get it.

Also, Rohit Roy isn't going to be hmotc, but he is the one and only cute man of the chapter because he is so adorable I love him.

What's so funny is this is a social media platform that people—I at least—spend so much time on, but y'all don't know my legal name (but I will always be Gushy at heart), what I look like, you know next to nothing about me, but I spend so much time replying to comments and talking to you all. So, thanks. I think it's cool to have a social media platform that is so not based on looks, all the judging comes from whether you like the style of writing I have or not, that's ut. I could literally be anyone, I could be your neighbour and it wouldn't matter.

My writing is also so unserious sometimes, I'm mentioning Rohit Roy lmao. It's so much stream of consciousness that, while you don't know much about me, I am just Mabel. Mabel is me. I think that's why I love her so much, having a character that is somewhat well-received and is mostly taken from parts of me is nice. All the dialogue I add to scenes in the show is mostly just the stuff I would've said.

But, with that being said, I feel like my writing just isn't hitting. Which makes me want to write it all again and again. But I think I'm just reading someone mega-talented atm so I naturally feel like I write like a dyslexic toddler.

I also have a few questions about how to have a book that gets some traction, and the answer is real simple: I don't know how this happened. My goal was one thousand views, which look at it right now, having 1.71 million views, is insanity. All I did was do it because I liked it and I just gained a little audience!

I promise you are no less talented than me lmao. Just keep at it and don't stress too much about the views, if you're only doing it for that you'll never get enough drive to finish it.

Also also! Try and find your unique voice, it's always nice when you read someone and it's got a different angle than other stories. (Again, I'm not trying right say I have a 'unique voice' I'm wetandgushy32 not Hemingway, it's just advice, don't be mean.)

It's late at night, I'm overthinking again. Promise I won't come out with such an unhinged hmotc again. Y'all were not kind to my vulnerability. I was like ten when I watched the movie for the first time. Although, this hmotc is a character once more, just not animated.

He's from Game of Thrones...

Introducing... Ramsay Bolton.

Yes, he's an insane psychopath who deserved the manner in which he died and death itself. But was he not an AMAZING villain? And, he's hot in an unhinged way. So, he is hmotc.

If you haven't seen Game of Thrones it may be easier to win you over lmao.

The all-important evidence:

Whaddya think?

You know how they say don't judge a book by its cover? Well, in hmotc we do judge books by their cover pretty much entirely.

Again, look passed him having his dogs rip a mother and baby to shreds (sorry for the spoiler it's pretty insignificant and it came out yonks ago.) And him cutting a dick off. And all that not-great stuff he did to Reek.

Stay safe, my children and don't scooter your shin.