#fencetm

it must have been the strangest idea she had ever had but then again, wasn’t that quite a thrill? she met new people every day they came and went and no hardly ever seemed interested in what she had to say. didn’t they understand that flowers had the best stories to tell? for months she had written those stories in a book, her own personal collection. dried flowers, accurate drawing she even painted, little notes; everything was in that book, her greatest creation. wouldn’t it be the greatest sin to keep it to herself? it was one bright afternoon when she tried to do something new after finishing one last note in the book before closing it again.

ophelia was on her way to her favorite book palace, the owner a flower fan as well hence she had three alstroemerias with her to give them to the other woman.   ‘ long time no see, miss ophelia! i see you got a little friend in your hair. ’ a frown appeared on gentle features and her free hand was quick to reach up. oh, she was right. she pulled out a little daisy from her hair, chuckling at the right before putting it back in place.     ❝ i believe gustavo wanted to get out of the shop for a change. i brought you some too! ❞     her three little friends were handed over, how painful it was to say goodbye to them. oh, but mara would take good care of them! with a quick nod, she disappeared into her favorite section, already feeling at ease as her hands trailed over the spines of the books on the shelves as she walked past them. she stopped at the book she desired ‘a tribute to flowers ’. perfection, ophelia smirked to herself as she took the book out of the shelf, looking at it’s cover. a few moments passed before she looked up again, looking at the empty space. she should just do it, just leave it there. swiftly, ophelia reached into her bag and pulled out her own book, biting her lower lip before putting it into the shelf. she’d come back, just a few days; just to see if someone would be interested in a book if she wrote an actual one. inside, the florist had left a note:

“ i missed you. i mean it. it’s not just the good merlot talking. “

she leans across the back of the couch, arm slung, bow-tie she had intended to keep fairly loose loosened to the point of slack. now it’s just hanging around her neck, her shirt undone by two buttons, those heels kicked off at the door. without knowing it, debbie’s stripped away all her armor and when her well-manicured nails brush across her own hair to distract herself, she realizes this. because tammy’s talent is taking a sledgehammer to her defenses and unwittingly just knocking them into brick dust. that’s what tam’s talent’s always been — no, it doesn’t matter because debbie’s heart doesn’t know anything else but this. 

she raises the wineglass in her hand and looks over at it absently like maybe it’ll scatter her thoughts a little. for no reason, really, because she realizes now that she’s looking at tammy’s specifically coral lipstick and those endlessly warm eyes and she just kind of falls, folds right into them. she feels her whole countenance collapse all over again. 

“ vogue looks good on you, baby. “ 

it’s easier for debbie to be charming than it is for her to be nervous. she can’t be anxious so instead she’ll just kick it up to casanova and she’ll feel a little better being that version of her. she can turn it on for a couple minutes to regroup. she’s in tammy’s living room — there are no kids in the house, and she’s a little bit tipsy-leading-into-drunk, and she’s in tammy’s living room. ( she told lou, and the response received was deb, just make sure the cops aren’t in the neighborhood. they laughed about it for a second, and lou told her about the coast way out there, and that settled it a little bit. until now. )

“ i thought i saw a schwinn out there in the garage. you’ve bumped it up a level. no more wal-mart brand. “

❛   𝑂𝑅  ,   𝐶𝑂𝑁𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑅𝐼𝐿𝑌   .  .  .   you  say   SCREW  IT   and  ditch  the  kids.   ❜

[ sms ; TAMMY ]   i’m 80% sure the guy across from me is taking pictures of my legs

❛   look, i'm not trying to say she was right, but it's tougher for me and deb  –––––   we got the crime genes.   ❜  

❛   𝗜  𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗪  𝗔  𝗣𝗟𝗔𝗖𝗘   where  you  can  get  away   x        x    it’s  called  a  dance  floor.   ❜