final girl

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katherine manages to keep track of spike, wincing as she watches him bound up to an unsuspecting victim but unable to do anything. she sighs in relief soon as it was clear that he wouldn’t pummel towards the poor person. catching up to them a few seconds later, she acquiesces his unspoken wish to remain in his spot since it seems that he wouldn’t be budging anytime soon. “sorry about that. he gave you a fright, didn’t he?” she says, shooting him a look, but sits down beside him. “hope you don’t mind if i sit here for a while. i’m katherine, but you may call me kat or kathy, whichever’s fine.” she takes a good look at them. “you know, you look really familiar.” her eyes travel toward a book near the other when something clicks and her face lights up in recognition. “oh!”

Astrid sees it before it’s voiced. That look of recognition in the stranger’s--Kat’s--eyes. And even though she’s not new to being recognized, she’s never been sure how she’s supposed to react. Is the opposite of confidence humility? Or is does it come off as arrogance if she acknowledges what it is that people should recognize her for before they come to their own conclusions. She smiles up at the woman, still scratching the runaway dog behind its ears. “Hi, I’m Astrid,” she says, offering her real name instead of the pen name that gets printed on all of her books. “And who is this?” she asks and gestures towards the dog.

@catalinastarter / open

location: step beach setting: any time

katherine rarely had — or more like allowed herself — idle hours before moving back to catalina. she supposes she should feel grateful for having the time to relax, but she can’t help feeling restless, as if there’s something else she should be doing. so she walks her dog, a chocolate labrador, to dispel the uneasiness.

getting distracted by the shrieks and laughter of children with their parents, she loosens her grip on the leash. spike, the cheeky dog, takes this an opportunity to run off. ❝ spike, no— ! ❞ she calls after in vain, but the dog takes no heed, reveling in his freedom and the sand.

She should be working. She has half a book worth of edits to get through and the merciless deadline is breathing down her neck. They’ve waited this long for the damn book. What’s a few more weeks? Months? Years?

Instead, Astrid finds herself stretched out in the sand. Because what’s the point of living so close to the beach if you don’t let yourself enjoy it. Her book, abandoned, rests open and face down across her flat chest. Her eyes are closed as she tries to relax. Though, that would be easier if there weren’t children shrieking all around her. Astrid pulls herself upright and crosses her legs beneath her just in time to see the dog barreling towards her. 

Her hands fly up to protect herself, but the dog stops just short. “Hey there,” she says cautiously, reaching out to scratch behind the animal’s ears.

It was nice to be understood. Especially now. Sometimes she fears the world not only has rejected her but has also left her stranded. The combination was a jarring one, leaving Cassie lost in translation. But perhaps she wasn’t totally alone, though being accompained by only strangers wasn’t exactly the way to ease her emotions. No, they amplified them. They earned newfound fear to course through her as she questions the motives of others. Did they know who she was? How she was a failure in disguise? How she became a public spektical not because of her work but because of her unfaithful husband?

As the questions inside her head reel, Cassie plucks her lighter from her pocket, handing it to the person beside her. “Husband won’t sign divorce papers. Typical.” Cassie says, eyebrows knitting together. Her tone insinuates she has it handled despite her bitterness, which she preferred. She didn’t need just anyone knowing the sorrow that’s been spreading through her body like a sickness. “What about you?”

She should quit smoking. She thinks it every single time she lights a cigarette. But then what excuse would she have to leave a crowded room. To find herself in a new space, alone with an interesting stranger. Interesting strangers with interesting problems, wallowing in their own despair. Someday she’ll interrogate what it is about her that pulls her so eagerly towards these people who wear their damage like their favorite winter coat. Not tonight, but someday. Maybe.

“Ironic,” she exhales, watching the smoke drift away into the night sky. “My husband just signed the papers but the lawyers are taking their time getting everything else sorted out. And all I want is to never have to think his name again.” If we’re going to get personal, Astrid thinks, why not get all the way personal. “Lucky for you if he doesn’t sign in 30 days, you can pursue a default divorce. Assuming you’re filing in California. This, I know from experience.”

๑

Being alone was something Maya has always known. Coming from a family too stubborn too admit their own reluctance, Maya has learned to get by on her own. In truth, she welcomes it, deeming it solitude rather than loneliness. Though, most days, the lines do blur, which is why she often finds herself in the bed of another, skin presses to skin. It was easier that way, to remain a presence that comes and goes. Maya didn’t want to be consumed despite her knack for getting in too deep. 

As she listens to Astrid speak beside her, she carefully reaches one hand out to retrieve the joint being passed her way. Maya takes a generous puff, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs before releasing it back into the air where it swirls and then dissipates. “You’ll learn soon enough that living alone isn’t so bad. You get to walk around naked whenever you want and masturbate like, everywhere. It’s kinda amazing.” Maya chuckles, staring up at the ceilng, “I shared a room a lot with my siblings growing up because we were like, you know, broke. I hated that I couldn’t masturbate. Whenever I start to feel lonely I remind myself that, yes, I can masturbate in the middle of the day just ‘cause and nobody can stop me. That’s magical to me.” Not the best advice but she tries. And, well, she’s high.

At the sly mention of Ardin, Maya can’t help but roll her eyes, a snort sounding from her. “Maybe I will,” She says, which Astrid will know is rare for Maya. She doesn’t open up to people she didn’t like. So, it’s obvious that she might actually like Ardin Hirsch. “I think he’d understand. He accepts that I’m a goblin piece of shit and seems to enjoy my company. I…like him.” The admission comes hesitantly, a shrug following her words. 

“I can’t argue with that,” Maya says, a coarse laugh sounding from her now. “He’s nice, though. Different. Before we fuck he folds my bra and my shirt so it doesn’t get wrinkled. At first I was like, oh my God, this guy’s a fucking serial killer but, no, he’s just…nice. Not a douchebag. I think I’m just used to being treated like shit.”

-

“I think Ted Bundy’s neighbors said the same about him,” Astrid muses, folding her arms across her bare, flat chest. “He’s so gentle. He could never hurt anyone.” She raises her eyebrow at the other woman as she takes another hit. And even though she’s tried to keep her voice serious, the cheshire grin through which she speaks gives her away completely.

There’s something about the way the hardwood feels under her bare skin, cool and solid, that makes Astrid think she’ll leave her living room just like this. Bare of real furniture. Just an old coffee table she found at a flea market and a box in the middle where she hides her weed and her pipe and her papers. She’ll perch her bare ass on the floor in front of her laptop and finish her book just like this.

It would only work, she thinks, if she can keep Maya here. With her infectious giggle, and the self conscious way she stops herself before she loses control. Astrid takes the hand that touches her cheek, pulling the fingertips to her lips and placing a gentle kiss there. Just before her teeth nip at Maya’s middle finger. The gesture makes Astrid snort, and a fit of giggles takes hold of her.

“When are you going to break the news to him?” she laughs, “Someday you’re going to have to tell him that you wanna be fucked like a whore. You deserve that kinda satisfaction.”

FOR → @catalinastarter​

TIME → august 31, approx. 8 AM

LOCATION → Mama Said Knock You Out

It was bright an’ fuckin’ early Monday morning when Mike opened the Mama Said’s doors, just like he did every day. There were a few people milling about, some using the bags, others the ring or the training area. The exercise equipment, thus far, remained untouched. Wasn’t time yet for the hippie health nuts to come stink up the place.

He’d just finished having a pleasant conversation with one of the guys, warning that if he tried hittin’ on any of the women again he’d be hitting the asphalt with a few less teeth. Nicely of course. He wasn’t no heathen, but even Mike knew that wasn’t how you got into a woman’s pants. The bell by the door clanged just after and Mike turned, a peppy smile he didn’t really feel taking over as he leaned against the welcome desk counter.

“Welcome tah Mama Said. How may we knock yah out today?”

The google results for “gyms in Catalina” had been nothing short of underwhelming. And truthfully, Astrid wasn’t exactly excited about joining a gym. It just seemed like the kind of thing an independent grown up should do. And, if she was really, really truthful, she could use the exercise.

At least Mama Said Knock You Out had an amusing name and decent reviews.

Her hand covered her mouth as she she was greeted by someone who was obviously more familiar with the concept of a gym than she was. “Oh god,” she barely held in her short of a laugh in her attempt to collect herself, “do they make you say that every time someone comes in? I’m so sorry.” 

She dares to glance around the space--more WWE than Goop, which she appreciates. “I’m looking for a gym where dudes won’t hit on me, but also doesn’t look like it was birthed out of one of Gwyneth Paltrow’s wet dreams. Know a place?”

STARTER FOR: Anyone … Open @catalinastarter​ LOCATION: Outside Catalina Art Gallery. SETTING: Evening.

“My mother used to say that looking at art will always give you clarity,” Cassie says to the empty September sky, watching as the colors fade. It turns dark in just moments, tiny stars appearing. A quiet, rough chuckle sounds from the depths of her throat, looking up to the sky like it had an answer for her. Or to just distract her senses. Both, probably. “I never understood that. Art just makes me feel rejected.” Cassie mumbles bitterly, reaching to pluck a cigarette from her carton before placing it between her lips. Gemma, her mother, always means well, despite the sour tone that oozes from her daughter. Really, she was just saddened. Angry too. But she’ll be damned before her feelings of sorrow begin to outweigh her anger. Cassie had too much pride for that, having spent enough time sulking in the inner caverns of her mind to last a lifetime. 

Finally, she looks to the person beside her, feeling like she’s a ghost or a mirage. She has to remind herself that she’s real before speaking again, “You ever feel rejected by the world? I think it chewed me up and spit me out ‘cause it didn’t like the taste.”

Tonights art gallery field trip is brought to you by the most impressively fortified wall ever built. And it only exists in her mind, a barrier between her and the last hundred or so pages of her manuscript. Maybe if you’d get off my ass I’d be able to concentrate, her thumbs tap into her text message to her agent. At the last minute, she closes her text app and shoves her phone in her pocket in exchange for her cigarettes. 

Outside the art gallery, the darkness is disorienting. Holy shit, how long was she lost in there. Even more disorienting, is the woman who speaks as soon as she enters earshot. For a moment, Astrid considers a more empathetic approach. It’s what the girl probably needs as she sits alone with just a cigarette and the evening air for company. But Astrid has never been known for her delicate touch.

“Every goddamn day,” she mutters flippantly around the unlit cigarette in her mouth. Her hands are shoved deep into the pockets of her baggy linen pants. She can feel her cellphone, her credit card, her cigarettes, but no lighter. Fuck. “How’s the world fucked you over today? You got a light?”

๑

Being alone was something Maya has always known. Coming from a family too stubborn too admit their own reluctance, Maya has learned to get by on her own. In truth, she welcomes it, deeming it solitude rather than loneliness. Though, most days, the lines do blur, which is why she often finds herself in the bed of another, skin presses to skin. It was easier that way, to remain a presence that comes and goes. Maya didn’t want to be consumed despite her knack for getting in too deep. 

As she listens to Astrid speak beside her, she carefully reaches one hand out to retrieve the joint being passed her way. Maya takes a generous puff, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs before releasing it back into the air where it swirls and then dissipates. “You’ll learn soon enough that living alone isn’t so bad. You get to walk around naked whenever you want and masturbate like, everywhere. It’s kinda amazing.” Maya chuckles, staring up at the ceilng, “I shared a room a lot with my siblings growing up because we were like, you know, broke. I hated that I couldn’t masturbate. Whenever I start to feel lonely I remind myself that, yes, I can masturbate in the middle of the day just ‘cause and nobody can stop me. That’s magical to me.” Not the best advice but she tries. And, well, she’s high.

At the sly mention of Ardin, Maya can’t help but roll her eyes, a snort sounding from her. “Maybe I will,” She says, which Astrid will know is rare for Maya. She doesn’t open up to people she didn’t like. So, it’s obvious that she might actually like Ardin Hirsch. “I think he’d understand. He accepts that I’m a goblin piece of shit and seems to enjoy my company. I…like him.” The admission comes hesitantly, a shrug following her words. 

“I can’t argue with that,” Maya says, a coarse laugh sounding from her now. “He’s nice, though. Different. Before we fuck he folds my bra and my shirt so it doesn’t get wrinkled. At first I was like, oh my God, this guy’s a fucking serial killer but, no, he’s just…nice. Not a douchebag. I think I’m just used to being treated like shit.”

-

“You know what,” Astrid grins up at the vaulted ceiling above her, “That is a very good point. I haven’t masturbated in the middle of the day yet. I need to bump that up the to do list, huh? In the living room. Maybe right here in this exact spot. Instead of having to lock myself in my office like I have for the last…” she holds her fingers up in front of her face, stretched out like she’s trying to stop something from falling. In her head she counts one finger at a time, mouthing each word. Until she gets to her first middle finger and gives up and concludes: “Too many years.”

Her hands fall back down beside her, pulling the knitted fabric tighter around her flat chest.

“I’m sorry, go back. He what?” Astrid snorts when she laughs. Her mother always told her it was endearing. She just finds it obnoxious. Her fingers clasp over her mouth to hold it in but it’s too much. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just. He folds your bras? Hand me a piece of paper. I gotta write that down. I’m definitely going to put that in my next book. It’s been a minute since I wrote about a serial killer.” She releases her hold over her lips to pantomime feeling around for a piece of paper she knows she’s not going to find.

She lets her laughter slowly fade out, the dramatics of her hand gestures still until there’s just a ghost of a giggle in her chest. “That’s bad advice, by the way,” she says, tilting her head to look at the side of Maya’s face.  Her smile is gentle now, something of the heart sick romantic peeking its way through her bitter facade. “I’m being cynical. Don’t give up on boys if you like them. This one sounds nice.”

✿

Being in Catalina was strange, to say the least. Cassie can’t help but feel hopelessly out of place here. But that might have been due to the fact that her reasoning for being here was quite bleak. Divorce. She can’t help but view the whole ordeal as one giant failure. That’s what divorce was, it seems. A failure. Cassie’s own pride couldn’t look past that much, making her feel absurdly embarrassed about the current stage of her doomed marriage. Yet, she does what she can to feel normal again. Like a human, though that much was a stretch.

The woman had been gathering things for her new and hopefully temporary place of residence. The place needed some sprucing up, that’s for sure. Right now, it was cold and bland, a little like Cassie’s mood these days. Though she didn’t want her living space to reflect her sour attitude. Not now, anyway. She decides to gather some various houseplants, the woman always had a green thumb thanks to her mother’s influence. 

When she’s being spoken to, she almost pretends like she doesn’t hear it for her own sake. Cassie wasn’t sure that she was ready to befriend others just yet. But it might have been a little too late for that. So, the brunette inhales delicately, turning to the other woman, “Spider plants are pretty easy to maintain. Chinese Evergreen too. Jade Plant’s are also one of the easiest. Their leaves retain water and all you have to do is water it when the soil starts to feel dry which takes a little bit.” She shrugs then, “Are you looking to decorate your home?”

-

“You know your shit,” Astrid responds, eyes scanning the shelves for signs that indicate the spider plant section. Maybe it would help if she actually had any idea what that might look like. Or if she had any understanding of plant categorization, then maybe she could figure out how this store is supposed to be organized. 

Maybe it’s time to admit she’s in way over her head and she’s about to drop some serious cash on an attempt to manipulate one person and spite another.

“I’m looking to have enough shit in my house so my mom won’t threaten to visit me next time she FaceTimes. She’s so worried about my well being,” Astrid ends in finger quotes and a dramatic interpretation of her mother’s deeply southern drawl. “Apparently she doesn’t appreciate my claims that I’m shooting for minimalism.”

♧

There’s a part of Arthur that appreciates plants a lot more than one gave him credit for. He isn’t a plant person by any means, or a person that largely appreciated nature (hell, he’d grown up in LA, after all) but the pops of green always made him feel better. That, and plants couldn’t talk back. 

Grow is completely out of his element, a gruff-looking man juxtaposed against the pretty painted pots and open space, but he’d been meaning to replant one of his succulents. An afternoon with just him and his plants, when his peace is shattered by someone musing out loud, unsure of their place in the store. 

“Benign neglect,” he repeats, snorting. “That’s a good one. Depends on how big of a plant you want. If you’re talking shit that you don’t want to water, succulents are always a good choice. ‘Course, you have to repot them, which is always a hassle, but it is a living thing. You have to take care of it sometimes.”  

-

Astrid half expected the man to ignore her. He seemed so engrossed in his own project for the day. Honestly, she wouldn’t have minded. “I need something to put in my empty condo that will make my mom think I’m thriving--” the word is bracketed on both sides by an eye roll and air-quotes that bordered on cartoonishly bitter “--next time she demands a FaceTime tour.”

She turns her back to him, picking up a lush looking vine that draped over it’s pot, looking bizarrely languid and elegant in it’s apathetic posture. “I’ve been told I’m not the most nurturing person,” she admitted, glancing back over at the man. “So something I can casually walk by and mist with water every now and then would be ideal.” A flush of embarrassment hit her over the head. "Sorry, you don’t even work here and you so don’t need to now all of this about me.”

Harper had never been particularly good with plants. It wasn’t that she was bad with them per se. It was simply that she was so busy with her job that she typically forgot to water them. But with the winter months coming up, she knew there would be less sunshine than she liked. Winters in Catalina might be mild, but they still had limited daylight hours. In an effort to combat that, she’d decided to stock up on a few plants and see if she could keep them alive until at least spring. 

Glancing up as she heard someone nearby speaking, she considered the other person’s question. Then she said “Honestly, I’ve been wondering the same thing.” She chuckled at her own inability to keep plants alive. “I’m considering just accepting my own failings and buying a cactus or two.” She gestured to a table where a bunch of small cacti were on display. “Maybe not the cuddliest plants around, but they should be pretty resilient.” 

-

Astrid eyes the cacti with caution. Why had she thought they would be too hard to take care of? She must have read that somewhere. Carefully, she picks one up and brings it close to her face. The rounded plant sports a shell of spikes and Astrid immediately finds herself drawn to this tough little plant. “We could all probably afford to be a little more prickly, couldn’t we?”

There’s a kind of glee that comes with making a decision and not having to text and make sure it’s an acceptable one. The mere act of plucking up a plant and nestling it in her shopping basket is almost tragic in just how liberating it is

“If I end up killing this thing I might have to give up and start collecting fake plants from Ikea. And that just feels like cheating. Or admitting defeat. I’ve never been very good at that either.”

It had taken Astrid longer than she’d like to admit to get used to living on her own. It will still take her years to understand that this was part of the reason she hadn’t left sooner, and even longer than that to admit something that will eventually feel like such an embarrassing detail of her life. “I stayed because I’d never lived alone and that scared me more than he did.” Boring and weak.

Though, one of the benefits of living alone is that there is no one around to scold her for smoking inside her own condo. Astrid hadn’t bothered getting dressed when they’d pulled themselves out of bed, only to end up laying sprawled out on the plush living room carpet. Her legs are bare and her upper half wrapped in a sheer floral shawl. “Yes,” she exhales a cloud of smoke and passes the joint to the other woman laying beside her. “Tell your favorite recent divorcee about all of your boy problems.”

Her mother had called her thirteen times in the last two days. A record for a woman who viewed motherhood as something best done from an affectionate distance. She’s about fifteen years too late to turn into a helicopter and yet it had taken nearly an hour to get her off the phone this morning after yet another FaceTime tour around her still empty condo.

Empty isn’t totally fair. There’s a bed from Ikea that she put together by herself (thank you very much). Boxes of clothes are currently functioning as her dresser. Boxes of books mimic a desk in her living room, where she has her laptop and her wireless modem set up. So, no. Not completely empty. 

A promise to “fill her space” is the thing finally got her mother off the phone. Fast forward two hours and Astrid is gazing at a potted fern as though it is on display at the Met, wondering if this is the kind of thing that her mother meant. In this new life, could Astrid become a plant-person? It’s easy to imagine her blank canvas of a condo overflowing with plants tucked into every corner. Very bohemian in a way that Jason would have hated.

Perfect.

“If you knew exactly nothing about keeping a plant alive,” she asks someone she assumes to be a fellow shopper, “where would you start? I need something that can thrive on a benign neglect.”