am i lost? invisible under my darkest cloud

It took a few minutes for Danielle to wake up but once she did, she remembered that today was Tara’s birthday and she was filled with excitement. As she made her morning coffee, she got out her phone and opened the her texts under the name “Tara 🥰” and typed “Hey cutie ☺️ I know you’re probably still asleep but I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday! I’m hoping you’re free tonight because I’d love to see you if you’re not too busy 💕” Later that morning, Tara had texted her back and told her she was going to go perusing around Target later. Danielle asked if it was okay if she met her there, though she really didn’t wait for a response before she grabbed her sweater and headed out the door. When she spotted Tara in the store, she smiled and waved as she walked over. She wanted to kiss Tara hello but she still wasn’t sure how exactly she felt about PDA so instead, she gave her a hug. “Hey you. Happy birthday!” Chuckling at her question about her birthday, she said “I think I might have a few ideas in mind… Now, don’t get me wrong, I am all for eating a box of Ding-Dongs and going to bed early but I think we might be able to find a way to celebrate that’s a little more…special. What do you say?”

Tara felt her stomach flutter slightly as soon as she saw Danielle. She probably would’ve been offended if she hadn’t offered to hang out with her on her birthday, but she still wasn’t used to having someone consistently care about being with her, about her life in general, even though she had a couple of friends and she’d decided her office coworkers weren’t bad. Having a-- person-- girlfriend? back in her life, especially one who’d been her ex, adamantly her ex, a few months ago, was exciting, if also slightly scary. “Hey,” She leaned into the hug, circling an arm around her upper back. “Thanks.” She allowed a small smile and raised her eyebrows. “Oh really? I guess I’m not opposed to hearing your ideas.”

“A box of Ding-Dongs and going to bed? Girl, I will not let you waste your birthday like that,” the woman said with a laugh as she strolled up to her best friend, box in hand. Of course, despite her immensely busy schedule, she found the time to take off work and ensured she could visit her on her big day. To those important in her life, she would always do whatever she could to be there for them and show up. For while the redhead had once been flighty and difficult to tie down, it seemed she had made a permanent home of sorts with her wife and son– especially considering they were looking at homes outside the city limits, nestled in safer, family-friendly neighborhoods. Holding out the box to her with a wry smile, she prompted eagerly, “Open this and let me treat you to dinner at Hell’s Kitchen. I’ll have my sous chefs cook for you. It would be my honor, seriously. You can pay them in one dollar bills and everything, if you want.” Grinning at the joke she plucked out of the recesses of her mind, she gestured toward the box again. Inside, there were a few vouchers and a nestled, extravagant pair of heels– plus, for extra padding, there was a cute trinket of a cat climbing atop a pumpkin. “You know, since, ah… I had so much fun when I was getting those dancing lessons from you, and you seemed to have fun, too. I thought it would be like, way too fucking much to just thrust something at you, but you were awesome. I thought the least I could do was get you… these. They’re comfortable and like, the best on the market. You’re an amazing teacher.” Winking, she clasped her hands together, hoping the gifts would be well-received. “Happy birthday, Tara.”

“Sounds pretty great to me-- aside from the fact that it also sounds pathetic. If I don’t think about that... not a bad way to end the day.” Tara shrugged with a small smile. She knew she and Anabelle had different standards when it came to a night out, shopping, and-- a lot of things, really. She’d reached the point a long time ago of not expecting much on her birthday. Or ever. If she approached life with bare-minimum expectations, she was less likely to be disappointed, and there were a lot of pleasant surprises. Maybe being a realist, or as most people would see it, a pessimist, wasn’t always the most healthy way to look at life, but she was getting through. Which was all she could ask for. She took the box with a short laugh. “Aw, you didn’t have to-- get me anything. Thanks.” She’d been surprised by the cake at work, which was actually her favorite flavor and decorated with iced flowers in her favorite color-- to get another gift, unless it was a card or visit from Danielle, was certainly not anticipated. Her eyebrows lifted as she opened the box, at first not sure how to respond to the shoes. A part of her hated her job so much that her association with it, seeping into every part of her life, disappointed her. Like she’d been trapped in the hole she’d dug herself for so long that she’d always be The Stripper at best. But maybe that was the pessimism talking-- Anabelle didn’t see her like that. If she did, why would she stick around? And if she was The Stripper, it was a more respected title from Anabelle than it was from herself-- she actually seemed to think she was talented, that she could do something special. “Oh-- cool. Yeah, that was-- fun. I dunno about my teaching skills, but if dancing with you was my job, I’d bitch about it a lot less.” She examined one of the heels. “These are-- really nice. I don’t think I’ll have to super-glue these babies.” She smiled as she noticed the cat, too. “Nice touch. Love me some fall shit.” She was careful to put everything back as it was before closing the box with another, wider smile. “Thank you. You’re better at shopping than I am, for sure. I guess we’ll have to see if the restaurant can top a box of Ding-Dongs.”

i bought me a truck in the middle of the night it’ll buy me a year if i play my cards right photo-free exits from baby’s bedside,  ‘cause they don’t yet know what car i drive

i’m just tryna keep my love alive with my bartender, hold me all night, bartender, our love’s alive, baby, remember, i’m not drinking wine, but that cherry coke you serve is fine and our love’s sweet enough on the vine,  bartender, bar-t-t-tender

SEXUAL PREFERENCES!

—    INCLINATION    /   HABITS

is submissive  | is dominant | prefers to top |  prefers to bottom   | likes to switch |  identifies as heterosexual  |  identifies as homosexual  | identifies as bisexual |  identifies as pansexual  |  identifies as demisexual  |  identifies as asexual  |  enjoys sex with men | enjoys sex with women  | initiates | waits for partner to initiate  |  spits  |  swallows ( when comfortable with partner. ) | prefers sex in the morning  |   prefers sex at night | will have sex anytime  |  no sex drive  |   low sex drive  |  average sex drive |  high sex drive | fluctuating sex drive

—   BODY   /    APPEARANCE

small build   | medium build  |   athletic build |  muscular build |  curvy build  |  voluptuous build  | wears boxers   | wears lingerie |  goes ‘commando’  | shaves/waxes  |   doesn’t shave/wax  |   cup size a-c   |  cup size d-f  |  1-5" in length  | 6-9″ in length |  10” or over in length

—    SOUNDS

is silent/makes little to no sounds   |   is very quiet  | is very loud |  grows in volume over time |  bites hand/partner/pillow to muffle themselves  | calls out partner’s name |  curses |  growls  |  fakes/exaggerates  |  prefers a quiet partner  | prefers a loud / appropriately vocal partner | is turned on by dirty talk |  is turned off by dirty talk

—    TURN   ONS    /    KINKS

Danielle didn’t drink a whole lot in general anyways but she was happy to practically drop it all together if it meant that it would help Tara. Over the past few weeks, she’d noticed the difference it made in Tara and it made her feel better to know she wasn’t self-medicating anymore. “Yeah, probably… Lets just stick with one ingredient in our virgin mimosas then,” she smiled. She chuckled and said “Oh, that’s the one where that girl accidentally ends up in heaven, right? And they can’t curse? Lets do it.” She thought about the options and said “How about virgin mimosas and then some bougie tea? Because that tea was real good.”

Tara was a little too proud to come out and say how long she’d been sober or that she was really trying-- she didn’t want to admit that Danielle’s concerns had been founded, and she wasn’t about to ask for any kind of praise. But a part of her wondered if she noticed, if she was proud. She wanted her to be proud. “Probably for the best.” She nodded as she poured a couple of champagne flutes of orange juice-- they could pretend, at least. “Yeah, but it’s even better than that. Full of fun surprises and allusions and shit.” She passed her one of the glasses before picking up her plate to head for her couch. “Ah. Good plan. It is good tea, bougie aside. Maybe it’s because it’s bougie, actually. I dunno. But I do know I’ll only spend nine dollars on some fucking tea bags if they taste like that.” She nudged the table closer to the couch with her shins, then set down her food before taking a seat close to the window so the end nearer to the kitchen was open. “So. You, uh, said you had a long day?” 

“Kesha was always a beast. Shakira’s my main woman, though. I’m waiting for her next album,” she mused, chuckling when she produced an analogy for the New Year’s celebration, “That bad? I’ve never actually watched the New Year’s in Times Square. It’s been a couple years since I celebrated at all.” Holidays had become less habitual since she had left Louisiana. She had no one to celebrate with, no family to gather with, no reason to be particularly festive, although she made the effort to appear cheerful for it. Accepting the shoes from her friend, she kicked off her own heels to the floor carelessly, supposing they weren’t going anywhere, and started to pull them on, a happy smile blossoming on crimson lips when Tara accepted her offer. “My girlfriend is a Pizza Hut driver, I think she won’t mind. Girls have to stick together. I’d be happy to.” Climbing down from the stool and standing, Anabelle had to allocate her balance initially, eyebrows raising and lifting one foot at a time, essentially marching in place. She must look ridiculous, but she was already having fun, biting her lower lip with a cheeky grin. “Do I look like I’m ready for a marching parade?” she joked, finally taking a couple steps forward, “Jesus, these make me feel a little drunk.” The notion that sweet potatoes were gross and wrong elicited another laugh from her, thoroughly amused by her argument. As a chef, she almost had to enjoy them as part of her palette. She had no qualms with them personally, but she had to ask, and it was exactly the kind of reaction she had expected. “Okay, okay, so what about this– fried tofu.” Practicing walking a few steps in the heels to ensure she didn’t fall and make an ass of herself, the redhead listened to Tara’s explanation, nodding along. She was contemplating her response, roving over the points that she made, looking over at her. “The hours do suck, I work at a bar sometimes… Support you– were you living together? It sounds like you had… a rough falling out. Which is understandable. What are you… passionate about? If not this or, you know, being a boring ass secretary,” she inquired, hoping she wasn’t overstepping any boundaries, pausing at her question and stopping in her circular tracks, manicured nails pressed together. Tara was honest and she’d be patient with her questions, she could return the favor. Shrugging, she brushed her hair behind her ear and frowned. “I mean… I like her– I really like her. But… my last boyfriend kind of… passed away and I was taking care of him. Putting myself out there is intimidating. Does that sound stupid?” Was it a normal response to death? Meeting her eyes when she answered her next question, she nodded understandingly, chuckling and replying, “Me too. In Louisiana. I loved my small town, but… shit got messy with my ex. It’s good you have someone you stay in touch with… Everyone needs that.” Offering a tiny smile, she added, “Sorry… am I prying too much? I don’t really know when to shut up sometimes. You can totally watch me fall on my ass up there for all that,” she joked, gesturing for the pole.

“Ahh. I think I’m a couple years too young for the Shakira fanbase, by the time I was aware of pop culture she seemed less popular, or something. Maybe it was just where I lived. But still, respect for her honest, hardworking hips.” Tara nodded, wrinkling her nose slightly, but smiling. It wasn’t that she genuinely had any animosity toward the celebration, but that kind of overwhelming atmosphere certainly wasn’t her go-to. “Oh, yeah. Times Square’s bad enough as it is, but pack a few thousand more people in there in close quarters and tell them they should all kiss at midnight and it’s just-- a lot of straight white people in plastic glasses and dumb hats. Which is really not my kind of party. And I can only imagine how many of their Instagram captions this year will say something about 20/20 vision. Though, the free Lyft rides are-- a fucking nice touch. I will get on that. I prefer to celebrate-- quietly. With free shit, when possible.” She was relieved to know she wouldn’t be walking alone. Especially since she was staying late and would miss the crowds leaving the closing bars and clubs. It was rare for the city streets to empty out, but there was always about an hour of near-silence between the partiers and the early-morning workers. She tried very hard to avoid that hour, having found herself eerily alone, trying hard to hear any footsteps other than her own, too many times before. Mostly in Boston, but a few times here. And here was far worse, given the perpetual motion of the day and night-- when she was the only one on the sidewalk in New York, it felt very much like a problem. “Cool, thanks. Do you still eat Pizza Hut, even though you’re a fancy-ass chef? I know I’m supposed to love New York pizza now that I live here and, like, refuse all others or whatever, but-- I’d choose a stuffed crust grease circle from The Hut over an ‘authentic’ New York slice any day.” She watched with a grin as she stood up in the shoes, clunked around in place for a moment. She slid off her stool as well, crossing her arms. “Well, now I really feel short. Trust me, you don’t wanna do a whole parade in those. Though, would you believe I’ve actually danced in those at least somewhat drunk?” She missed being able to tune out some of her job-- and at times, parts of her life in general-- but even she knew that was far from healthy. “I mean, frying tofu is fine. I don’t really have an issue with tofu, but like, that’s tofu. Don’t call it fries or anything. You know?” She leaned back against the bar again while Ana seemed to try to adapt to the plastic bricks on her feet. “Yeah. Not much free time when I’m doing this and-- secretary-ing. She thought I was doing too much. And I dunno, it always seemed like-- she thought it was trashy, or something. Her family is rich and-- kinda scary, so I always figured they were judging me. But I-- don’t really know exactly why she hated it so much. I’m sure she explained it, but-- I guess I don’t always listen. Yeah, we lived together. It was-- not my favorite breakup.” Not that any of those went particularly well. 

Um– for what? ( Nervous giggle. ) Like, are we talking… proud of myself for… existing? ( She didn’t kill herself when she was drunk as shit as often as possible and fucking men to survive. Was that a victory? She wasn’t drinking herself into a stupor anymore. Seemed like the bare minimum, kind of, considering how much she resented her parents for everything they’d done. ) Yeah, sure. Woohoo! I don’t– I guess I don’t get the question, sorry. ( No, she’s not proud of herself. Quite the opposite, always disappointed. )

I dunno. We’ll see. I’m not trying to rush into anything or get too hopeful here. We really rushed shit last time and look how that ended. I fucked it up!! I don’t want that to happen again. It’s not really easy trusting and un-trusting and re-trusting someone, y’know. We’re working on it. I’m– trying to be brave.

( @danielle–bradford )

She nodded and said “Virgin mimosas sound perfect.” She grabbed the silverware for the two of them and went ahead and got the orange juice out of the fridge as well. “What else goes into a virgin mimosa?… I’m not much of a bartender,” she chuckled. She noticed the pause while she was suggesting places to eat but she couldn’t tell what Tara had decided to not say. She’d been waiting for the ‘right time’ to discuss where exactly their relationship was. She didn’t want to pull a ‘what are we’ but the question was practically on the tip of her tongue. “Oh, yeah, the living room is fine. Maybe we can find something good on Netflix to watch,” she beamed.

Tara missed being able to drink casually, socially, but that was how it’d started, and she didn’t miss the hangovers, the occasional blackouts, the motion of the room when she woke up at 5 in the morning and was too nauseous to fall asleep again-- and least of all, she missed the heavy-hanging truth that she was letting herself down again by becoming not one, but both of her parents. “Honestly-- couldn’t tell you. But I have orange juice and seltzer-- probably a gross combination. Virgin mimosa sounds fancier, though.” She nodded, shrugging off the end of the question she’d avoided, glad Danielle hadn’t seemed to pick up on it. “Cool. I’ve been watching The Good Place. It goes well with my sarcasm and existential dread.” She filled her own plate, then opened the fridge to gesture to the assortment of non-alcoholic beverages. “We could also have the bougie tea again.”

this love looks like a loaded gun a noose around my neck or a sweet poison, if it gets in the wrong hands, then we’re fucked