Chapter One: Shattered Masks
Glamour Shot sighed, the sound satisfied rather than tired even at the end of a long day of classes and the weekly round of cleaning the small dorm room she shared. Something about the scent of the freshly washed and dried clothing in the basket she carried filled her with a sense of wellbeing and happiness. All their clothing was immaculately clean and folded to an exacting standard her mother’s housekeeper would have been pleased with, but it was from her own hands, not that of a maid’s. Song always teased her gently about her ‘nesting instinct’, but it just made her feel good in a way she couldn’t explain, to look at the clean and tidy room and know she’d worked to accomplish that, to see that quiet smile on Song’s face that showed the other woman’s pleasure in their home. And it was a home to her, more than the sterile spaces of her parents’ mansion had ever been. The fresh flowers had been chosen and arranged by her, not a florist, the mismatched plates and mugs on their shelf were prettier to her than any designer tableware, and the dainty touches of pictures and cushions and throw rugs came from her forays into the amazing world of thrift shops, rather than the clinical services of an interior design firm. She laughed at herself, and yet felt pride in her accomplishment, when she considered how little she’d known when she left home for college.
She cringed a little, when her thoughts turned to how…entitled she’d been, her first weeks in the dorm. She could recognize that now, just how self-centered she had been, could look back and see the unconscious arrogance she’d learned from her parents, even as she derided them for those same attitudes. The incredulous face Song had made when she’d admitted she’d never had to even pick up after herself, let alone actually clean up, it made something inside her squirm even now…along with her naïve assumption that dorm rooms came with maid service. She didn’t know how Song had tolerated her, let alone why she’d chosen to gently teach Glamour how to take care of her own belongings, and how to clean up after herself… Honestly, she wouldn’t have blamed the other girl if she’d just shrugged and applied for a transfer, leaving Glamour to wallow in her own mess, probably with some like-minded girl. She felt a chill down her spine, as she acknowledged that without Song’s patient encouragement, it could well have been her that fled to take up her mother’s suggestion of a sorority house that did come with a housekeeper and maid service, all the things her mother deemed essential in the pursuit of the ultimate qualification, a MRS degree attached to a wealthy husband. She sometimes wondered if that had been the ultimate reason why they gave in and let her choose to live in one of the ‘normal’ dorms, rather than the exclusive ones that catered to the children of the wealthy.
But she hadn’t, her determination to have this tiny piece of independence and rebellion from her parents greater than her initial distaste for menial labor. Over time patient tolerance from Song became friendship, then friendship became something even more precious. Despite how it turned her old life to a gilded cage her wings longed to fly free of, she would not trade a single thing for the sheer joy and delight Song brought to her. A smile on her lips as she headed up the narrow, grimy stairs to their floor, not even minding that the elevator was, as always, out of order, or that the third stairwell always had that persistent odor of piss and beer, or even the fossilized slice of pizza that hung from a defunct light fitting and had been there so long it was considered a cherished artwork by half the population of the dorm. If anything, she could feel part of her mind reveling in the sheer difference from the life she’d always had, taking glee in how her mother would cringe to see it, taking on that careful blankness that was her version of a frown--because one mustn’t actually frown, lest one gain lines on the face.
Her mind turned resolutely to the evening they had planned instead of dwelling on that line of thought any further: takeaways waiting to be reheated in their tiny microwave, Thai from a little hole-in-the-wall place that made food more delicious than any Glamour had tried in the five star restaurants her parents favored, sodas and snacks for later, and a movie already chosen and queued on her laptop. And later...oh then joy enough to fill their tiny sanctuary of a room as Song’s voice would take on that husky warmth it only had for her, lips and hands reminding her with every passionate moment why this new life was worth fighting for…
It was with some confusion then, that she entered their room, not to the tantalizing scent of pad thai and spring rolls, but to disinfectant and the sound of vigorous--and angry--scrubbing coming from their little ensuite. “Song?” She called hesitantly, before her gaze fell on the ominous sight of a dress bag and shoe box laid across her bed, “...oh no…”
There was an angry clatter as the scrub brush hit shower wall before skidding across the linoleum floor, and its erstwhile user stalked out the bathroom, indignation in every line of her body, and short-cropped hair bristling like a porcupine’s spines. Song’s hands were gentle though, as she took the basket of washing from Glamour, and drew the shorter woman into her arms, tension in every line of her body, “Yeah. Your mother called not long after you left to do the laundry, then a courier from your father dropped that off for you.” Anger and disdain colored her tone, aimed not at Glamour but at the callous nature of her parents, the words ‘mother’ and ‘father’ flicking off her tongue like expletives.
Glamour tried to swallow hot, angry, painful tears, choking down the hurt that threatened to swallow her like a fetid tidal wave. “Like always.” A twisted attempt to smile broke as words became a wounded keening sound in her throat, and she buried her face against the taller woman, drinking in the scent of her like it was her lifeline, desperately needing her warmth, her strength, when her own body felt so suddenly frail and cold. “I hate this, I hate this Song, oh gods, I hate this...it’s so...it’s so wrong. How can anyone think this is okay, let alone parents…” Tears spilled down her face regardless of how she tried to fight them, hot liquid that felt as corrosive as acid, and should have been as black as the twisted, polluted ‘love’ her parents claimed to feel for her. She couldn’t even decide what hurt more, them or the way she hated her own self, her own weakness that she couldn’t just throw the clothes back at them and tell them what she thought. Nausea swept through her and her stomach twisted, because it didn’t matter how she felt, or how much she cried, the fact was, as always she was going to give in, and perform as commanded. She was going to let them use her body, her looks, like a puppet dangled from golden chains, while she simpered and smiled, and pretended to be interested in whatever man her father had invited to dinner, all to gain her father another advantage in his business deals.
Song’s voice wrapped around her, warm and rich like melted chocolate, “I know, Angel, I know.” Lips pressed to her forehead, in a silent benediction and absolution. “It’s not your fault, and I promise, it changes nothing between us. You hold no blame for what they make you do.” Glamour let the achingly familiar words soothe her wounded heart, the action a gentle, loving dance between them that had happened many times before and would happen more times than she wanted to think about in the future... Song continued, as Glamour envisioned the words weaving a protective cocoon around her, so that nothing that happened could really touch the real her that night. “It’s okay to prioritize safety over coming out. You can fly free when it’s safe my gentle little Angel.” She tilted Glamour’s head up, drawing her into one of the indescribable kisses that always made the smaller woman feel like she’d never truly lived until the moment she met Song. “We’re in this together, and we can do this.”
Glamour felt fresh tears flow, reminded anew that it was not only her that suffered under the demands of her parents, “I’m sorry they’ve ruined our evening… how can you stand to love someone like me so much, when…”
Strong arms tightened around her, and Song pressed another kiss to her forehead, cutting off her deprecating words. “Because I do love you, and you’re worth it to me. And definitely worth more than those so-called parents of yours.” Song snorted, cupping her face between calloused hands and kissing away the tears. “Because under the façade of the spoiled socialite they wanted you to be, was the heart of a gentle Angel who only wanted to fly.” The taller woman smiled, murmuring, “...my beautiful Angel,” then gently nudged her in the direction of the shower, “go shower, and give your face a wash, then I’ll help you get dressed for them.” Her smile took on a wicked edge, one that Glamour knew so well. “And Angel, remember this. They might be looking, might even be wanting, but I’m the one that will be taking your clothes off later tonight.”
Glamour blushed, but let the tingling warmth that filled her at Song’s tone carry her through a shower, then dressing in the overly expensive and far too revealing clothing of her parent’s world. Song’s smirking commentary on the alternative uses she could find for the items, as her strong hands smoothed silk stockings into place, and clipped the garter belt, then fastened the too-confining undergarments around her slender body, I think I’ll enjoy using my teeth for these later sweet Angel, made her laugh, and almost forget the evening to come. The sudden, surprising nip right above the lace made her gasp as Song chuckled knowingly, right before she brushed a final kiss across somewhere more intimate.
Far too soon for her, or Song’s liking though, she was dressed, the gold lace of the dress showing off every curve of her figure, and matching the gold threads swirled through amethyst hair perfectly. Glamour slipped on the high-heeled shoes as Song pressed an elaborately beaded clutch into fingers gone numb with nervousness. “You can do this, Angel,” her warm voice reassured. “Your phone is in the clutch, along with your keyring taser and emergency cab fare. I’ll be right here waiting the whole night, til you come home safe to me.”
Glamour kissed her with all the desperation she couldn’t find words for, “Promise me, Tiger, my love, my only.” Her voice ragged with emotion, “I need you, to get me through this.”
Song held her close, even as a muted chime from the clutch signaled the arrival of her parent’s driver downstairs. “I promise, Angel.” Drawing back, she held Glamour by her shoulders and smiled. “I promise. We fool them once…”
The smaller woman drew strength from her beloved’s calmness, and nodded. “...we can fool them as many times as we need…”
Song finished what had become their litany before these occasions. “Because all the shame belongs to them.”
Author's Note
So yeah. One-shot by my wonderful and amazing writing partner/co-creator/editor/and the entire reason the current document for Rubicon is approaching half a million words. She deserves all kinds of kudos and hugs for her work, and I could never bring this universe to life without her. I hope you all enjoy this little story as much as I did!
