chapter 13 â a sanctuary named love
Cws: Past torture, forced trauma/injury reveal, covert whump, living weapon whumpee, panic attack, self-blaming, alchohol mention (just to be sure), past whipping, abuse apologism (?), touch-aversion.
Masterlist || previous
The weapon was tired.
It wasnât an issueâit almost scoffed at the notionâ, it wouldnât be, but it was, unfortunately, the truth. She had pissed off Ms. Ann and gotten herself in a stress position for hours, last night, so she hadnât had a chance to actually sleep. But mostly, she was fine.
It took a few minutes of breathing exercises to get itself together in the morning. But she was fine.
And its handler had gone out today. It was too good of an opportunity to ignore.
Ciça didnât seem to notice their fatigue, to their slight relief. Which was a bit silly. She seemed frighteningly good at reading them, sometimes, and the thought that it was so easy to gauge their thoughts scared them. But not now. She mentally patted herself in the back for it.
Espa was washing dishes, that day. Ciça had taught them. It wasnât actually that hard to do it, and it made her feel useful. A way of paying her back. The motions were simple, repetitive. Just like trainingâjust as soothingâbut way less straining. The sound of tap water was also surprisingly decent at cleaning its mind.
Ciça was going to cook today. Andâan alien feeling had started to arise insideâshe had asked if she wanted to help. Espa had little to no prior experience, which was a dangerous liability. Especially with something as delicate and complex as cooking. It should probably have been more wary about it. Danger alarms should have rang inside its head. The fact that they didnât should have lit up enough red lights on its own.
Somehow, it did not.
âYes,â it had said. Because, really, what else there was to say? Espa could remember few requests that they had felt so glad to fulfill. Now, while the woman got the necessary ingredients over the counter, Espada had taken upon itself to clean the sink before they started without being asked. She brushed a pan with the sponge, internally smiling at the foam it created. It might be their favorite part of the process. Ciça was assembling a bottle with yellow liquid on the balconyâoil, she recognized by the smellâa seemingly heavy paper bag with pictures of golden wheat printed on the front, and something that smelled likeâit held its body from tensing upâalchohol.
They hadnât ever seen Ciça drink. They carefully concealed any apprehension over the possibility and rinsed the pan.
âOh, thank you, Espa.â Ciça seemed actually genuinely happy that they had washed the dishes for her. It allowed itself to feel proud. âYou did a good job,â she nodded, getting behind Espa and evaluating her work. It didnât flinch at the motion. âAre you ready to start?â
It shoved down whatever nervousness it had. It gave her a nod.
--
Ciça set down the mix of flour and salt on the balcony, pouring a little bit of the oil and brandy in a hole in the middle. The pastries were going to turn out amazing. She might be a little giddy with excitement. Ciça looked up at her. Espa had just cleaned the kitchenâand done a good job, for someone who, quite frankly, had sucked at it a short while agoâand was looking at her, waiting for instructions.
She could feel a smile forming on her face.
âCmâhere,â she gestured, hands already greasy. Ciça carefully mixed the liquid with the flour in small, certain motions. The dough was supposed to be firm. She hadnât done pastel in a while, though, but she remembered the recipe by heart. Espa silently walked to her side, watching her hands work. They were attentive. âDo you prefer chicken fillings or... uh, cheese? Ham?â She asked. âCan you pick them in the fridge for me? Pick whatever flavors you like, youâre deciding them today.â
The kid perked up, hesitating for a second before giving her a nod. Ciça heard her go up to the fridge, staying a good while perked up in front of it. Undecided. Its low buzzing was a pleasant background noise. She hummed to herself, working the pastry. She had never cooked with Espa before. But this one was easy; sheâd just help her fill the dough with whatever she liked, and help her close them to fry. Not actually dipping them in oil; Ciça wouldnât put her in danger like that. After a while, Espa came back to her side, settling the tupperware on the counter. Grilled chicken, cheese and... ham. Ciça bit her lips, trying to hold back a laugh. Precisely the ones she had mentioned. Yeah, maybe Espa was a bit predictable.
Sometimes, it was almost like... she was afraid to make choices.
A little sadness threatened to sprout inside her. It was things like this that made her wonder how she had turned out like that.
It wasnât fair.
Ciça spread the dough on another surface, the flour she had poured over it splattering over her. The woman blinked, and the surprise got a laugh out of her. She caught, in awe, Espaâs own lips curling up a little. The kid offered to help clean her up, but Ciça didnât mind it. It was part of the process. Espa helped her model the mass into thin squares, and dutifully filled them with even amounts of filling as the woman provided her with more dough. She seemed to be having funâor the most she ever seemed to haveâdeciding when to add a bit of each. Her concentration was endearing. Ciça finished her task, approaching her and stuffing two pastels of nothing but cheese. Espa watched, amused. It made her giggle.
Two little forks to close the pastries with dents, and they were carefully put on a square cake tray.
âThey look amazing,â Ciça admired them. Espa seemed to beam at the praise. Ciça grinned. She always did so. Predictable, indeed. âIâll put the oil in the pan now, okay? I need you to stay away from it. Itâll be hot.â
âOkay.â Her voice was an octave lower when she answered. Ciça turned to look at her, frowning at how she seemed to have frozen up at her words. But she didnât look upset or hurt at all.Â
Maybe she was just imagining things.
As it turned out, Ciçaâs recent lack of pastry practice doomed her. She filled the pan over the sink, and then, it was too heavy to be comfortably lifted to the stove. She groaned after two unsuccessful attempts. How clever.
âCan I help?â Espa. Ciça hadnât wanted her toâbut the oil wasnât even heated yet. She sighed, nodding, and gave another attempt, this time to carry the pan halfway towards her. Espa looked alarmed. She lunged towards Ciça, grabbing the pan from her hands. The woman blinked, hands suddenly empty. The kid tensed up. To her surprise, she didnât seem to be straining to hold it at all.
âSorry,â she apologized. Ciça had long given up on figuring out what she always apologized for. She just gave her a mindless youâre good, as she always did, stretching her arms in relief, free from the weight.
It accidentally hit the pan. With a sharp clank that echoed through her entire body like a gong, it fell. Staining on Espaâs chest, the yellow leaked over the whole floor.
Neither of them moved for a hot moment.
âOhâshit, shit, Iâm sorry,â Ciça rushed to say as soon as she snapped from the shock. The tiles were entirely covered by the generous amount of oil sheâd used, and she winced at the thought of having to clean this up. For now, she just bent down to pick up the pan. Espa still didnât move a muscle. She looked up at her in concern. Fuck, it might have fallen over her feet or something. âAre you okay? UhâEspa?â
The kid still didnât move.
--
It had dropped from their hands. It was an accident. They hadnât meant to. Shit, they hadnât meant to. Ciça was apologizing and asking them if they were okay, but the meaning of the words evaded them. She was acting as if itâd been on her. Espa held itself from tensing up, forcing its breathing to even.
Their shirt was wet. They looked down at it, slowly tracing their hands on the fabric. They became sticky.
Oh.
It hit them with a wave of panic. No. No, no, no, no no noâ
Theyâd ruined it.
Theyâd fucking ruined itâand ruined the things theyâd been cooking. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
âEspa?â Ciçaâs voice was gentle. It sounded as if filtered by water. âDid it hurt you? Itâs okay. We can clean it up and refill the pan,â she was saying. Espaâs chest felt heavy. It tried to keep its lungs taking in air.
âOkay,â was all they said. It realized it was afraid to move. Shit. She needed to fix it. Espa looked to the floor, but Ciça had already picked up the pan. It crouched down without thinking. The floor was soaked and greasy. Like yellow blood had been splattered over it. The sight made their mind go blank.
It didnât quite feel like it to the touch.
â...How do I clean it?â They looked up. Espa did not know how. Having to ask for guidance in this situation felt sickening. They had fucked up. They should know how to fix it. It held back the trembling that threatened to rise, dropping its gaze from Ciçaâs. It was scared of what itâd find in there.
Ciça let out an audible oh.
âNo, no, itâs okay, youâre okay, Espa.â She reached out a hand to it. They mindlessly took it, before being able to think it through. The weapon got up from its knees, barely putting its weight on her hand. âItâs okay. Iâll clean it, okay?â Fuck. It felt terrible. Espa should do it. Espa should make it up to her. She needed toâ âOh, Lord,â her voice. It sounded guilty. âYour shirt.â
Their blood ran cold.
Espa looked back down at it, and a cold blanket of terror wrapped up around her. It knocked the wind out of its lungs.
The stain was enormous. Noticeable, even against the dark blue.
Ms. Ann was going fucking kill her.
Espa could feel its throat locking up, and they covered their mouth with a hand before realizing how inappropriate it was. âIâm sorry,â it choked out. She shouldnât react like that. She should stay composed and keep herself together. Functional.
The oil seeping through the fabric against its skin made it want to retch. Oh, fuck. Fuck, shit, fuckâEspa had ruined it. When they went back home, Ann wouldnât be happy. Sheâd know it had gone out in her absence. The memory of the punishment from the last time she found it out made its mouth go dry.
Sheâd find out about Ciça.
It couldnât breathe.
No. No, no, theyâ
âSweetie?â She sounded worried. Espa realized theyâd been ignoring her. Stupid fucking useless weapon. âI can borrow you another shirt, okay? Youââ she interrupted herself, seeming shocked. âYouâre shaking.â
âIâm sorry.â It tensed up, trying to prevent it. Luckily, it was faint. It hadnât gotten out of control. For now. But she was finding it hard to move. Espaâs chest waved.
Ms. Ann would find out.
She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. Their breathing was getting so ragged itâd started to be noticeable.
It couldnât fix it.
It couldnât fix it.
Ciça said something elseâthe humming on her ears drowned it. They felt sick over the fact. And now they werenât even listening. Uselessâand took her hand. Espa let itself be led wherever she was taking it. They wouldnât resist. Was she mad, maybe? She might throw them out for the trouble.
They faced a bathroom instead.
âHere,â Ciça said, softly. A shirt was put on their hands. It was white and overly large. Colorful paint slobs over it. They instinctively held it out, away from the mess that was their own chest. âChange to this shirt, okay? Or do you want another one, maybâno, no, nevermind, youâre good, itâs fine. Iâll clean the kitchen. Itâs fine,â she reassured. Espa could feel their body failing to keep itself together. No. No, it was not fine. She had fucked up. She had fucked up badly.
It had fucking ruined it.
The door in the bathroom closed, and Espa allowed itself to cover its mouth and let its shoulders waver, a rapidly growing headache throbbing in tandem with its heart. Fuck. No, shit, she had to fix this. Its handler couldnât know. She realized that coming home with a new, unexplained shirt would be somehow even worse. Sheâd find out. Its Miss would fucking kill them both.
She couldnât breathe.
Espa forced the air inside, feeling dizzy as it did so. They felt too hot in a suddenâand the sticky feeling in their chest didnât help. It yanked out the shirt, throwing it on the floor. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
--
The kitchen was slippery, but it was cleanâmostly cleanâby now. Not like Ciça had been happy to do it, but it wasnât that big of an issue. Espa didnât seem to take it well. She had said sorry. (Again.) Did she think it was her fault? Ciça felt bad. Sheâd tried to reassure her it was okay, it was nothing, but the kid seemed to be barely hearing her.
Her face was completely blank. Ciça had never wished for it to show something more than right now. Espa only seemed a bit dazedâand guiltyâbut her demeanor hadnât actually changed much. If it wasnât for the way her hands were shaking, honest-to-God shaking, it would have been invisible. It was scary, how buried within she hid it. Ciça would never be able to know if something was wrong. All of Espaâs previous enthusiasm seemed to have vanished like a drop of water under the sun, as if someone had poured a bucket filled with cold ice over her.
And... there was something frighteningly familiar about this. It had happened before.
She heard water flowing from the sink across the door. Espa must be cleaning herself. Ciça knocked, just to let her know she was there.
âEspa? The kitchen is already cleaned, okay? Iâve already put another pan on the stove. Itâs all fixed now.â She glued her ear to the door. âAre you doing okay?â
No response.
Ciça bit her lip. Well, maybe she hadnât heard. She forced out a breath.
âIâm not mad at you, just for the record,â she told, hoping itâd be reassuring. âWhen youâre changed, come out, okay? Iâll be by the kitchen.â
The only noise inside the bathroom was still of the tap running. Ciça bit back a rush of apprehension. This was starting to make her worried.
But she didnât enter. Espa was changing. It would be wrong to invade like that.
She ended up not actually going back to the kitchen. The pastries hadnât been dipped in the oil yet. She was just waiting for it to heat, so it was fine. Suddenly, she felt really glad the accident had happened before theyâd heated the pan. It made her skin crawl to think of what wouldâve happened, then.
A noise.
Ciçaâs ears perked up. Was it...? Had something fallen?
âEspa?â Her voice went up a note in alarm. She was unable to keep it out of her tone, as much as she wanted to convince herself that the kid was fine. âAre you okay?â No response. Shit. âCan I enter?â
No response.
Ciça was getting progressively more alarmed. She called again, but the quiet was eery. Fuck. Had she gotten hurt? The woman bit down her fear and knocked again, apologizing under her breath as she did so, and turned the knob.
Espa was with her back turned, hands supported over the sink, (was it... had the soap container fallen to the floor?) but she flinchedâhardâas soon as she heard the click of the door open. Ciçaâs stomach dropped in guilt. The tap was still running when the kid turned her head to look at Ciça, eyes clouded and glassy. She was as tense as a rod.
And her back was bare. It was covered every inch by scars.
Ciçaâs breath got stuck in her throat.
For a moment, it seemed like neither of them could move. Ciça had made herself swear she wouldnât stare anymore when she saw Espaâs bruises (because she knew she had some, and knew Espa got nervous when she did) but it jumped out of the window, then. She could barely process what she was seeing. Lashes upon lashes layered over each other, drawing criss-crossed patterns of a darker brown in her skin. Cut. Striked through. Trying to imagine what had happened to get it like this knocked the wind out of her. It was as if every inch was covered by them.
She saw her freeze up.
Espa seemed to recoil under Ciçaâs gaze, turning her back and leaning against the wall. She had never quite seen the kid so utterly horrified. But now her front was bare and clear as well, and the situation wasnât much better.
Old lacerations on her skin, clean and precise, disappearing under a bra. Some were large, some were small but plentiful. There were still fresh bruises over her ribs. Were those... rope burns?
Her head rose up to meet Espaâs gaze. She found the kid had started facing the floor. She didnât move.
âIâm sorry,â was all Ciça said. Espa flinched again at her voice. Ciça recoiled at the reaction. âIâm so sorry,â she repeated. There was nothing else she could say. âI shouldnât haveâsorry.â
She closed back the door as soon as she stepped back, not staying to see Espaâs reaction.
Ciça covered her mouth, dropping her fingers from the knob. She heard something else fall inside the bathroom. She didnât enter again.
--
The weapon dropped to its knees as soon as the door closed.
It felt like it was falling.
Training rang alarm bells in her head, berating her for allowing herself to be seen like this. Donât draw attention. Donât show things to outsiders. Espaâs hand instinctively raised to its shoulder, covering its mark. The brand under the waist of their shorts suddenly felt just as hot as in the day itâd been burnt. It made their mind go blank.
The memory of a whip felt down their back, and they flinched.
Fuck. Fuck, she had ruined everything now. Ciça saw. She wasnât supposed to see. Espaâs breathing failed them, and they only had the sense to stumble for the clean shirt they shouldâve put on ages ago before they ran out of air. She had taken too long. Why had she taken so long? Changing clothes was a matter of seconds. It felt sick to its stomach. It couldnât breathe.
Ciça knew.
Ciça knew, and now everything was fucking ruined. It had to go home. Now. They remembered that if Ms. Ann saw them with another shirt, they were fucked for good. Espa covered its head with its arms, pushing down a groan of frustration. The more it thought about it, the more unsalvageable the situation looked like. Its chest hurt, and its heart beat way too fast.
They couldnât fix this.
They had to leave.
It kept being hammered in her head.
Ciça knew.
Ciça couldnât know. She shouldnât know. Why had it taken to stupidly fucking long changing a shirt? Theyâd made this worse. She knew. She saw. Thereâd be trouble. Trouble itâd caused. It remembered what happened to the last outsider who found out. It curled over herself, trying to breathe and biting back a rush of nausea. Nothing would come in. It was helpless.
She knew.
What could it even do? Espa felt lightheaded. It had to get itself together and breathe. Right now. It was taking too long. What would Ciça do while they didnât come out? Call the police? The thought sent it spiraling further into panic.
Ms. Ann would kill her.
God, they were filthy. Not drawing attention was one of the hard rules. It bit its lip, drawing blood. That was basically treason. She shouldâve stopped this weeks ago. No, it shouldnât even have started it. What had it even been for? Hang around when they could have been training, practicing, all while wasting time? Espaâs ears hummed like a load of cicadas. With a tinge of horror, it felt its eyes burn. They were so fucking ungrateful. Sheâd broken the rulesâjust for a-a spoiled wish for treats and sitting around watching TV and doing nothing?âand Ciça, Ciça didnât even know. It wasnât her fault. It wasnât her fault, she didnât know they were doing a wrong thing, and she had been so kind. Espa couldnât stop the shaking, and struggled to bite the tears back.
Donât cry.
Donât whine.
And how had she thanked her? Ruining things when she tried to give them something niceâagain. She was always giving it nice things. Espa didnât ever reciprocate it. They didnât, and they didnât deserve it. They were so fucking entitled. Going back to her just because she was kind unconditionally, because it didnât have to work for it to receive it. It was lazy. It was awful. It felt sick at itself.
But theyâd always known that was wrong. Theyâd always known. They had. But she kept doing it. Espada was a bad weapon. Perhaps one of the worst thatâd ever been. She should stop this. She had to leave.
She had to fix this.
It took a long while, though, to finally get itself together and be able to normally breathe. She didnât end up getting to the point where she had to cover her mouth to muffle sounds, which she took as a good sign. Espaâs ears had ceased with the endless ringing. They could think now.
They still felt bad.
She felt out of breath, but it was just in her head. Its limbs were heavy as if made of lead. They barely felt as her own. They had gotten themself off the ground a while agoâpatheticâbut were still leaning over the toilet for support, and were finally dressed. They needed to fix it. Right now.
Espa pushed back the unruly expression that had taken over its face and forced its hands to stop with the fucking shaking. They felt sick. But they looked normal now. The mirror in the bathroom ended up being useful.
Sometimes, it felt like Ciçaâs house was perfect for everything they needed.
They turned off the lights, relishing in the dark silence for a moment, before getting over it and opening the door.
Ciça wasnât there anymore.
The weapon bit back a shudder of relief.
Espa knew where to lookâthe house was tinyâand, soon enough, found her back in the kitchen. She faintly noticed the floor was clean and pristine. So Ciça had cleaned it.
She was too nice.
âIâm sorry,â it was the first thing they said. As it should. Ciça startled, looking in her direction. She hadnât noticed them enter. âI was sloppy and careless and ruined the plans you had, Ciça,â they said. Theyâd rehearsed the list in their mind. It was too annoying when she talked too much, but she needed to show she knew what sheâd done wrong. That was basic. They needed to stop slacking off just because no handler was watching. Espa never met her gaze. It stared at the floor. âIââ
A hand closed over hers. She shut up, a chill running through her spine at the sudden touch.
âItâs okay,â Ciça said. As she always did. But by the tone in her voice, it obviously wasnât okay. It was strangled, not that low, but tight in a way that implied she was straining to keep it that way. âIt isnât ruined, okay?â Espa could hear it in her voice, how she tried to smile at them. It clenched its free fist. âSome of them are actually fried already. Accidents happen. Iâm not mad at you.â Some of âthemâ? Oh, yes, the pastels. The weapon had almost forgotten about them. âIâmâactually, Iâm sorry, I shouldnât have intruded in the bathroom,â she sounded increasingly more upset. Itâs your fault, they told themself. They had taken too long. And now Ciça was upset.
It wasnât on her.
It was on them.
âItâs fine,â they said, not because it was fine, but because it was their fault. âI took too long in there. Iâm sorry.â
Ciça didnât say anything for a beat. She could hear the cracking of the boiling oil behind her, frying the dough theyâd prepared earlier. It made them nervous. They didnât want to think how itâd feel if its skin had to touch it. Espa did its best not to clench her jaw as she waited for her to say something. They half expected a slap. Itâd be a lenient thing to do, for all the trouble sheâd caused. Not like Ciça had ever, but it would be only fair.
â...Can you look at me?â She asked, at least. Espa didnât hesitate. When it met her gaze, it struck it like a truck how close to tears she looked.
You did this.
Her black eyes were pleading. Espa didnât know what to do with it. âItâs okay,â she repeated, shaking her head. She seemed to really want to make Espa believe it. It was unbelievable. It didnât deserve it. âPeople make mistakes. Youâre not gonna get in trouble for it. Not here,â she added, as if it was an afterthought.
Yeah. That much was clear.
Espa should have anticipated this reaction. It didnât aid in making them any less tense. It repressed the instinct to bow at her feet. She needed to show she was sorry. She needed to fix everything.
Step âobtaining forgiveness" of its plan was mindblowingly quick to achieve. It left it feeling winded.
â...Espa?â It blinked. Itâd left her gaze for a moment. âDo you understand?â
âYes, Ciça.â Espa went back to controlling its breathing. âIâm sorry.â
She dropped her hand. Espa half felt relieved and half missed the contact. It was warm.
Spoiled.
âY-you, do you want to talk about it?â They furrowed their brow. âThe,â she hesitated. Espaâs stomach curled. It didnât like seeing her this distressed. ââthe scars.â
It felt its blood freeze.
Ciça seemed to notice it.
Again, with that frightening perceptiveness. Espa concealed its panic. Ciça averted her gaze.
âIâI know we agreed I wouldnât make questions,â she fidgeted with the earrings on her ears, pursed her lip and ran her hand through her hair. âBut itâIâm so sorry, it justââ her voice broke. âCanâIâwho did this to you?â She locked her eyes back on its. âPlease let me help.â
It was exactly as they feared. Against itself, it almost took a step back.
The smell of burnt food invaded her nostrils, and Ciça turned around in alarm, seeming to notice as well. The pastries.
âOhâthe... shit,â she cussed. âIâll finish frying them.â Ciça looked back at them. Espa had stayed still. âCan-can you wait by the living room? Iâll be back in a few minutes.â
The last thing Espa wanted was to wait by the living room.
âYes, Ciça,â they said, because they could obey a simple request. She nodded, looking nervous, looking heartbroken, and they almost couldnât handle it. As soon as she turned, Espa turned on her heels into the corridor.
She clutched the white shirt closer to her body, trying to keep herself together.
It was soft to the touch.
Ciça did end up taking less than ten minutesâthey countedâto meet her there. Espa hadnât been given any further instructions, so she just sat by her usual spot on the couch. The windows and door were, as usual, open, and it found itself taking in the outdoorsâ wind to soothe. Their cape was hung by the chair. It didnât have it in it to pick it up.
The TV was turned off. Ciça gave it a glance before locking eyes with it andâseemingly bedrudginglyâsitting on the floor nearby them. It felt its eye almost twitch. Fuck. Why was she like that?
Espa wouldnât speak first, so, obviously, it was Ciça who did. She took a deep breath, two, as she looked up at her.
âYou have to tell me who is doing this to you.â
They breathed in sharp through their nose. Poor restraint.
It desperately wanted to just say no. But it wasnât as entitled as to just give this blunt of a refusal to an order.
Now the problem was working around that.
âThe scars are old,â she answered instead, tone the most respectful she could keep it while dodging a question. Ms. Ann would have zapped them for refusing to give a clear response, but it was, at least, partially true. Most of them were old. Twelve were from the past month, but Ciça didnât need to know that.
It had the opposite of the intended reaction. Ciça seemed to only grow more horrorized.
âHow young were you?â She asked, clearly nearing tears. Espa repressed a wince. It probably shouldnât answer that one. Giving details would be a terrible move. Could she break the rules any further?
Iâm not supposed to tell you, was the most honest answer the weapon could reasonably give, but it was obvious Ciça wouldnât take that. It was frustrating. Espa didnât like not being able to give the answers they were supposed to. It needed to drive her away from asking more. She needed to leave it. It was terribly inconvenient how outsiders just seemed to be so curious about the Doveâs information. Why could they never just leave it? Sometimes it was as if they were like that just to make things harder for them.
But looking at Ciça, it got a little hard to believe it was the case.
She sighed, and Espa flinched, realizing they hadnât answered the question. They scrambled in their mind for something satisfactory, but Ciça was speaking again before they could.
âSorry,â she said. Espa clenched its fist. Please, donât. She had sort of discarded the option of abandoning Ciçaâs house, selfishly hoping to find a way to allow things to stay the same. They just wished she made it easier. âIâm really, really sorry, Espa.â She sounded the part. It didnât know what to do with it.
Ciça was amongst the only ones who apologized to it. It shouldnât happen.
âBut, itâsâyou need to understand.â Her eyes were pleading. Still. âNobody should hurt you like that. I know you probably want to protect them, because you donât want them to get in trouble, but your safety is more important,â she said. âPlease tell me what is happening. I can help. I promise I can help.â
Not wanting to get them in trouble? It almost scoffed at the notion.
Their family didnât get in trouble.
That was why weapons like Espa existed. To ensure it.
âItâs fine,â it weakly protested, not having anything else to say. She didnât want to say no to Ciça. Sheâd only get more curious, and prod more, and it made them feel bad. They didnât like disobeying her. Their heart beat anxiously. If it came to that, she wouldâ
Blood replaced Ciçaâs face in its vision, and it took a sharp intake of breath, looking down at its lap.
She couldnât know any more.
âItâs not.â
Espa recoiled at the tone. Ciça seemed to notice it, face growing softer.
âItâs not fine, Espa,â she repeated. âSorry f-for raising my voice. IâIâm not mad at you, Iâm just worried.â She closed her eyes. â...I just want you to be safe.â
So do I.
Espa didnât know what to say, so it didnât say anything. This was getting worse. Out of hand.
If it came to that, Espa would have to leave.
They didnât want to.
But what they wanted didnât matter.
Ciça caved at their silence.
â...Okay,â she said, and Espada didnât know what she meant. They tensed up. âIf you wonât tell me, itâs okay.â
Its mind went blank. Espa slowly raised its eyes at her.
âButâbut if anything happens, and you want it to stop, or you feel like you canât anymore, just-just tell me, okay?â
Espa didnât answer. They were still trying to process her words. She always felt incredibly slow with Ciça, for some reason. The woman took its hands in hers. They were more prepared this time. So they didnât flinch.
âIâm here when you need me,â she repeated. Her voice was firm, but Espa could still see she was at the verge of crying. âI will do my best to help however I can, and I will do anything to keep you safe, okay? Iâll protect you. Whenever you are ready to tell me, whenever you want to ask for my help. Just say it, and Iâll be here,â her voice broke. âOkay?â
It blinked, feeling weird.
âYes, Ciça.â She couldnât handle staring at her eyes anymore. She didnât know why her breathing picked up. âI understand.â
They didnât think over the meaning of their own words, and didnât need to, either. This was... better than sheâd feared. Ciça wouldnât prod. The relief crashed over them stronger than they anticipated, and they felt themself start to shake again. It bit its lip, trying to hold it. But Ciça noticed it, because of course she did. She closed tighter on their hands, and it didnât hurtânothing done by Ciça ever didâbut they repressed the urge to recoil.
âCan I hug you?â
The request made it taste blood. She had sunk her teeth too hard in her lip. But Espa didnât have it in them to refuse it. Not after theyâd denied Ciça mere moments agoâeven if she didnât seem mad. They owed it to her.
So they braced up for it.
It nodded.
Ciça didnât waste a second. It almost took it off guard, but Espa managed to keep its panic at bay. Her arms trapped them tight against her chest, and her hold was strong and firm. So firm they wouldnât be able to let go if they tried. Ciça was a large woman. They knew that. It didnât quite register as it did now. They waited, one, two, three seconds, but she didnât let go. Espa realized she probably wanted it to reciprocate it. So it bit back the bile, not allowing itself to cower away, and tentatively raised its arms to rest against her back.
Ciça held her tighter as a response. Espa bit her lip harder so as to not let it tremble.
They stayed agonizingly long like that, until Ciça was finally satisfied and stepped back. Espa breathed in and out, trying to regain composure. They wanted to curl up. They didnât.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Ciça, thankfully, didnât notice it. She noticeably wiped her eyes, despite seeming to want to hide itâshe was way worse at it than themâand breathed out as well.
âIâllâthe pastels are done,â she said, and Espa almost didnât hear it over the noise in their ears. It was still shaken by her arms trapping themâtoo terrifyingly closeâand by the crisis just averted. The thought of the food seemed too far away. They stared at her, almost unbelieving that theyâd even still be allowed to eat them. After theyâEspa clenched her fist where she couldnât seeâruined everything. âThey should be a little cooler by now.â She clumsily got up, groaning as her joints strained. Espa, once again, remembered she had sat down on the floor while it stayed sitting by the soft sofa. The weapon pushed back the disgust at herself. âIâll bring them. Doâdo you still want them?â
She kept staring at her. What kind of question was that?
âPlease,â it confirmed, voice a bit too low. They tried getting it to a decent volume. For some reason, it didnât work. âIf itâs okay.â
Ciça nodded, lips tight, and stormed out back to the kitchen.
Espa used the time they were left alone to cradle their arms in their hands.
--
A little bit under a dozen pastriesâthat was how much theyâd made. Despite everything, they still smelled delicious. Ciça set a tray with them covered in wrapping paper to absorb the oil on the floor by the backyard, enjoying the breeze and the smell of her flowers. They relaxed her.
She seemed to like it as well.
The kid had had her knees raised up to her chest before Ciça got thereâafter asking Espa if it was okay for them to eat in the gardenâand quickly tried to lower them when she did. But Ciça had, thankfully, been faster.
âItâs okay,â she had reassured, for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day. Espa slightly tensed up, but tentatively went back to her position. She sighed, relieved. A win.
It seemed like a comfortable pose. Ciça had... never seen her look so protective of herself before. She seemed to want to shield her body. It pained her to see, but the last thing Ciça could do was let her know it was okay.
It isnât okay, her brain disagreed. Sheâs getting hit with a belt at home, and is so scared that she wonât even tell you. She held back the tears. She had prodded, pressed, but Espaâs eyes only acquired a faraway look and she looked like sheâd panic before actually daring to answer. It felt more like an interrogation. She had relented, again, and she still didnât know if it had been the right choice.
Regardless, she picked up a pastelâthese were a bit smaller, only a little larger than her handâand snapped it in half, steam coming out of its inside. She held it like that for a moment, blowing the heat that wouldnât come off by the crust otherwise. Espa watched it, with silent awe. The cheese theyâd put in it was completely melted now, sharing space with the ham. The smell was intoxicating. When she was satisfied, Ciça finished breaking the pastry in two and wrapped one of the halves in more wrapping paper, giving it to Espa.
âHere,â she allowed herself to smile. âThis oneâs yours. But you eat as many as you want.â
Ciça could almost see the wonder in which the kid picked it up.
She stared at it for a second, admiring the filling of the pastel. Ciça thought sheâd never get tired of seeing it, how happy she seemed whenever she gave her something like this.
Without even waiting for it to cool off a bit more, Espa took a large bite out of the pastry. She didnât recoil from the burn, only taking in a breath in surprise. She could see from her reaction that it was good. She ate half of her bit in a matter of seconds, not minding the heat. Ciça blinked out the water starting to form in her eyes and looked away, taking a small piece of hers.
It tasted awesome.
She covered her mouth. They were actually better than she remembered. What was it that made food so much better when she could share it like this?
It isnât okay, her mind reminded, and Ciça knew that. She wondered if Espa had ever been okay. She had put away her dirty shirt to wash, and planned to iron it dry laterâher panic about it was painful to see. She just hoped that itâd actually help. For now, Espaâs mind seemed to be away from it.
A little idea sprouted in the back of her mind. Before finishing her pastel, she set it back on the glass tray and got up, ignoring how her joints protested at the movement.
The kid stopped, alerted by her movement.
âIâll be right back,â she said, getting back inside to the kitchen. âYou can keep eating as many as you want.â
When she was back, Espa was still eating her first. She now slowly savoured each bite, taking smaller chunks now than when sheâd started. Ciça felt herself soften.Â
She clearly noticed it when Ciça sat back down, but didnât look up. She almost thought she could see Espa trembling again.
She smiled, a bit sad.
âHey,â she called. The kid looked up, chewing down another small piece. She set her undivided attention on her.
Ciça took a little pendant from her pocket.
âFor you.â
Espa blinked.
The necklace had a single, small jade stone hanging from a thin silver chain. Despite its dainty appearance, it was a sturdy one. A bit old, if she was being honest. Ciça held each end of the jewel in a hand, spreading it for Espa to see.
âI wanted to give you a gift,â she admitted, a little embarrassed if anything. âI bought this some years ago, to go to a wedding.â It was still one of her favorites, even if she didnât use it nearly as much these days. She gathered courage before continuing. âWould you like to have it, Espa?â
Her confused expression quickly shifted into one of alarm. She set down the remains of the pastel, shaking her head.
âNo,â she refused, then quickly scrambled to correct it to a, âsorryâitâs, I couldnât. It looks expensive.â It came out unsure.
âItâs fine if you donât like it,â Espa opened her mouth to protest, but Ciça didnât give her the chance to. She pursed her lips. âYou can even throw it away if thatâs the case. But I want you to have it.â It was an object she was fond of, truth be told. It was precious. Jade was her favorite gemstone, and thisâit was special. Though she wasnât lying. She wanted to give Espa something special.
It was silly, perhapsâshe tenderly held Espaâs hands, who allowed it, still hesitantâbut she deserved something nice. It might be a little arrogant to think it could be precious to her, but if it could be anything close to that, then maybe it was worth it.
âAs a friend,â she smiled, landing the necklace over Espaâs palm. The kid stared at it. She didnât move her hand, still seeming shocked by the gesture, but Ciça didnât register anything negative, so she went on. âDo you like it?â
To her shock, she saw Espaâs eyes start to wet.
â...Thank you,â her voice was barely above a whisper, and she seemed to desperately try and hold the tears in, but it was unmistakeable now. When Ciça let go, Espa slowly moved the hand to her chest, staring at the necklace.
She held it. There was a sort of adoration in the care in which she did it that made Ciça embarrassed.
âThank you,â she repeated. âIs itâmine?â Espa looked up at her, still in disbelief.
Ciça suddenly didnât feel as upset at letting it go anymore.
âYeah,â she said. âI hope you like it.â
Espa didnât answer. She didnât need to.
Ciça picked back up her pastelâalmost cold, but it was still tastyâand slowly took a bite out of it. The cheese hugged her tongue. The dough was just on point.
It was not okay, she knew. But maybeâshe sent a glance to Espa, who had put the present in her pocket and was hiding her face in her foodâat least for now...
It could be enough.
Previous // Next
Taglist: @otter-chaos-violence @oros-ash3s @inhurtandincomfort @swisscheesethethird @warmfuzz-ies @whumpawaydarling @catnykit








