#womance.....

“Mmm...they, um, cut me off as soon as I dropped out of law school,” the woman says, replying to the question Haliya asked with her eyes if not her mouth — she’d asked about Daria’s parents, a half - teasing request to meet them, and Daria’d simply snorted, dismissive.  She props her head up in her palm from where she lays on her stomach, Haliya’s plush bed beneath them.  Her pretty hair cascades around her cheeks and the bare expanse of her back, but Haliya’s gaze doesn’t shift from her face.  Daria’s eyes lower, unused to that.  “Completely cut contact.  I’m pretty sure some of my family, um — thinks I’m, like, dead.  My parents didn’t even find out about the, like, sugar baby thing.  Dropping out was all it took for them to decide they didn’t have a daughter anymore.”

It doesn’t hurt, exactly.  When they’d cut her off, she’d realized quickly that there was no real grief.  She was barely even sad.  It’s not like she’d known her perfect, distant parents.  Why should she mourn the loss of strangers?  They’d wanted a puppet, not a daughter, and so when the realized they had neither it wasn’t so surprising that they’d abandon both.

It doesn’t hurt, exactly.  But there’s a strange loneliness that hollows out the soft center of her chest when she thinks about them too long.  Teeth worry at a plush pink lip, but hurt is distracted by the feel of a gentle hand running through her hair — Daria leans into Haliya’s affection, humming something content and distracted.

“You’re with me now,” Haliya breathes, and Daria's eyes widen.  Lots of people have promised Daria that; that they have a place for her, that her tender heart is safe with them.  Clients or partners who wanted more of the pretty little thing Daria became, but none who really wanted Daria.  Lots of people have promised Daria that.  This is the first time she’s believed it.

Haliya is — so pretty.  Gorgeous.  Powerful, made of gold.  And still...