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Billie’s reflection is a scrunched face. Part disgust, as she threads her spidery fingers through the overgrown roots of her otherwise bleached blonde hair; and part pain, the silent understanding between the girls—Tonya always did her hair.
Tonya was the one who would get out her bleaching kit, and sort out the mess of Billie’s natural murky, dull brown hair that—against the yellowness of the blonde—takes on a far darker appearance than what it really was.
But there’s no Tonya anymore.
All that’s left of her is buried six feet under in Dosserport’s only graveyard, on the grounds of Dosserport’s only church.
So, Kate says, “Preston will book you an appointment somewhere.”
“Somewhere,” echoes Billie, and she untangles her fingers from her lifeless hair. Hair as lifeless as those dark-circled eyes she wears.
Somewhere.
It says it all for them. Neither of them knows where. They don’t know where in Manhattan the best salon is for bleaching; the best café for their morning hits of caffeine; the best side of Central Park to walk in; the best restaurant for their simpler palates; or even the best subway to take where they’re going.
“It's a work in progress,” as Kate says. “I doubt many folk come to the city and figure it all out in just some days.”
“But it’s not days,” Billie grumbles, and her reflection is stolen from her as the subway speeds out of the tunnel and, instead, starts to slow for the next platform. “It’s been weeks.”
“Well.” Kate makes a face of disagreement. “Eleven days doesn’t make even two weeks.”
“Gator, alligator,” Billie sighs. “What’s it matter? This ain’t our home, Kate.”
“Speak for yourself.” Kate arches a perfectly plucked eyebrow at her, a look laced with judgement and challenge. “I find I’m already in love.”
“Yeah, well you got into that school and all. You’ll… make friends and get a big-shot job, that kinda thing. It’s easier for you.”
In the time that Billie was in rehab, a lot happened for Kate. Without Trevor’s sway in New York City, she lost all connections she was banking on to get a job in the city when she finishes up her degree at community college. But of course, being something of a hero in Dosserport, a survivor in a killing spree, she wrote of that in her late-admissions essay and applied for a spot at some hotshot college in the city. And hell, did her essay make an impression.
It worked.
It fucking thrived.
Scored her a partial scholarship, a discounted shared dorm on campus, and time enough to set herself up in the city before the semester begins. Doesn’t even have to work on the side while she studies. Not with the hush money she just got from Trevor’s mommy and daddy.
Turns out they don’t want a whole lot of detail coming out about their murderous son, not in the city they consider theirs. Guess they heard about her admissions essay and went full panic-mode.
Being big names in law, they would’ve tried to pull Trevor’s name out of the mud, pull strings here and there, drop in on some favors along the way. But the security tapes in the hospital were the downfall for the Vanderbelts. So they silenced and distanced instead.
Billie doesn’t know exactly how much Kate signed that NDA for, she didn’t ask, but it’s apparently enough to have her sorted at college for the full degree, and enough to have a new silky blonde weave, and—classic Kate—a Chanel bag.
“Billie,” Kate starts and strokes off some imaginary dust from the seam of her new designer bag, “it’s comingeasierto me because I’m giving the city a chance. I’ve left Dosserport behind. Everything that happened is in the past and that’s how I move forward. You should give it a try, rather than fighting it and making yourself miserable.”
Billie just rolls her eyes back and slumps against the back of the metal seat. These subways are handy, sure. But just being in the carriage makes her feel dirtier than any swamp water ever could, and she’s already got her mind on a shower the moment she gets back to the apartment.
“I know.” Billie’s confession comes in a whispery sigh, like defeat and shame weigh her down. “I just miss…” Everything. Dosserport;Carmine; the twins; normality; swamps. But right now, most of all, she misses, “The drink.”
Kate just eyes her for a moment, her face softened and eyes kinder. The moment passes when she gives a slight, curt nod—and speaks no more of it.
To Kate, this city is the world’s largest and greatest playground. It’s full of life and excitement and the brightest lights, brighter than the stars.
To Preston, it’s his future. The home of his career, his alliances, and now, home to his love. Billie.
But to her…?
Billie sees her addiction on every street corner. She smells the liquor in the flask that the scruffy man two seats down sips from. She can hear it in the giggles that come from the teenagers further down the carriage. It’s at the restaurants she passes on the street.
‘It’ll get easier,’ they told her at rehab. But Billie’s sure that’s a bucket of bullshit.
