Skylar appeared around noon looking way too awake for someone who hadn't even had coffee yet she kicked the door open with one boot tossed a duffel bag onto the nearest chair and grinned like she hadn't spent the last week sleeping with one eye open "Jesus Rae you look like a zombie that lost a fight with a lawnmower"
Reagan gave her a flat stare wiping down the counter with slow mechanical movements ignoring the tight ache in her shoulders
Skylar leaned on the bar chin propped in her hand smirking "No offense or full offense actually because, girl you look like you need an exorcism"
Reagan snorted despite herself the smallest sound but it was there a hairline crack in the walls she'd thrown up around herself
Skylar caught it her grin widening like she'd won a prize "There she is I knew you were still in there somewhere hiding behind all that broody badass energy"
Reagan shook her head muttering "You're an idiot" but her mouth twitched the barest hint of a smile
Skylar clapped her hands once brightly "Right that's it boots on we're going out you and me girl's day survival style no arguments"
Reagan narrowed her eyes suspiciously "Out where"
Skylar wiggled her eyebrows "Somewhere therapeutic for your broken soul and my shopping addiction and before you ask no it's not gun shopping I'm trying to be responsible here"
Reagan just raised an eyebrow and Skylar grinned wider "Spa first shopping after I already booked us in for the works hot stone massage facial all that fancy shit you pretend to hate but secretly love"
Reagan opened her mouth to say no but the words didn't come out the truth was the thought of laying still under warm stones and not having to think for an hour sounded dangerously close to something like peace
Skylar saw the hesitation and pounced "I'm taking that silence as consent" she declared triumphantly grabbing Reagan's hoodie from behind the bar and tossing it at her "C'mon Rae let someone else fix you up for once before you murder the next customer who asks for a fancy cocktail we don't know how to make"
Reagan caught the hoodie shaking her head with a low mutter about being kidnapped
But for the first time that day, maybe even that week something in her chest loosened just a little.
The spa smelled like lavender and regret Reagan stood frozen by the front desk clutching her battered black hoodie like a shield against the polished floors the soft ambient music and the wall of overwhelming scents that crashed over her the moment they walked in behind the counter a woman with a syrupy smile chirped at them in a voice too high too bright handing over two fluffy white robes as if this were normal as if Reagan didn't feel like her skin was three sizes too small. Skylar snatched her robe with a grin already halfway down the hall hips swinging like she owned the damn place while Reagan stumbled after her feeling every pair of polished eyes slide across her like a brand she kept her head down scowling at the pristine tiles as if she could scowl herself invisible. Inside the changing room Reagan wrestled the robe over her head sleeves flapping uselessly around her hands like wings she didn't know how to use she nearly tripped over her own boots cursing under her breath Skylar snorted from across the room trying and failing to suppress a laugh that broke free anyway a bright unfiltered sound that made Reagan's ears burn "Jesus Rae you look like a raccoon that broke into a luxury spa" Reagan yanked the robe tighter muttering "Shut up" but her voice lacked any real venom. Skylar clutched her stomach wiping tears from her eyes "No no I love it don't ever change you're beautiful and feral and I'm honored to be seen with you" she said dramatically bowing with a sweep of her arms like she was presenting royalty Reagan rolled her eyes but there was a traitorous twitch at the corner of her mouth. They moved through a dim hallway candles flickering along the walls soft instrumental music playing something meant to be calming but only made Reagan's pulse hammer harder her palms slick inside the oversized sleeves of the robe every step forward felt like she was walking deeper into enemy territory where everyone smiled too much and smelled too nice. The massage room was the final betrayal low golden lights thick plush tables covered in soft white linens the air heavy with lavender oil and something sickly sweet that made Reagan's stomach roll Skylar hopped up on her table with the ease of someone who belonged everywhere while Reagan hovered stiffly by hers trying to figure out where to put her hands whether to sit or stand or lie down she finally tried to perch herself on the edge of the massage table but the damn thing was slick as hell and her feet slid out from under her sending her sprawling sideways in the most undignified heap imaginable. Skylar let out a shriek of laughter so loud it echoed off the walls doubling over on her own table gasping for breath while Reagan lay there for a moment debating whether it was worth it to just stay down and die of shame. The masseuse entered at that exact moment pausing gracefully at the door an unreadable expression on her face as if she had seen far worse in her time Reagan groaned low in her throat scrambled upright brushing imaginary dust from the stupid robe. Skylar wiped a tear from the corner of her eye her voice breathless with laughter "Oh my god Rae you're a menace you're gonna get us banned from the fancy people places"
Reagan growled something unintelligible under her breath but the heat on her cheeks betrayed her the ghost of a smile finally breaking free as she climbed awkwardly onto the table this time successfully. The masseuse pretended not to notice the chaos her touch gentle and professional as she began working on Reagan's shoulders and for a few blessed minutes Reagan allowed herself to forget how tightly wound she was let herself sink into the feeling of hands unknotting the tension layered under her skin muscle by stubborn muscle She closed her eyes the music blurring into a low hum the candles flickering behind her eyelids and for the first time in what felt like months she wasn't thinking about locked doors or shadows at her back or blood pooling between her fingers. For the first time she just existed.
The drive back into the city was quiet, the kind of silence that wasn't heavy, just full. Skylar hummed tunelessly under her breath, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, while Reagan stared out the window, watching the streets blur past. The massage had left her feeling strange, loose and heavy, like her bones had turned to liquid, and for once, she didn't mind it. Skylar tossed her a sideways glance, grinning. "You didn't die. See? I told you fancy people can't hurt you."
Reagan grunted something noncommittal, but there was a tiny, almost-smile twitching at the edge of her mouth, and Skylar saw it, because of course she did. She saw everything.
They pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall, the kind with neon signs buzzing overhead and cheap discount stores wedged between overpriced boutiques. Skylar killed the engine and stretched dramatically, cracking her back like she'd just survived a war. "Alright, soldier. Phase two commence," she announced brightly, yanking Reagan's door open before she could argue.
Reagan followed reluctantly, dragging her feet, half hidden inside her hoodie. The crowds milling outside the stores already made her chest tighten, the low buzz of chatter, laughter, and footsteps all blending into a static that prickled against her skin. She hated crowds - hated the way people brushed too close, hated the smell of a hundred different perfumes and body sprays clinging to the air. Skylar marched ahead, undeterred, like a woman on a mission, dragging Reagan in her wake.
Inside the first store, Reagan hovered awkwardly by the entrance while Skylar dived headfirst into a rack of jackets, pulling out ridiculous options and holding them up against her body. "What about this one, Rae? It screams 'I have trauma, but make it fashion.'"
Reagan rolled her eyes, but her hands were stuffed deep in her hoodie pockets, her shoulders tight, her body screaming at her to leave, to run, to hide. She knocked over a mannequin trying to edge away from a group of loud teenagers, and the crash of plastic limbs hitting the floor made half the store turn to look.
Skylar howled laughing, stumbling into the nearest rack for support. "Oh my god, you're a menace to society," she gasped between fits of laughter. Reagan's face burned hot enough to ignite her hoodie. She mumbled a strangled apology to the sales clerk before fleeing deeper into the store, head ducked, shoulders hunched, trying to disappear between racks of overpriced denim.
Skylar caught up a few minutes later, still grinning, and tossed a hoodie at her. "Here. Emotional support hoodie. You earned it."
Reagan caught it, fumbling awkwardly, the fabric slipping through her fingers. "I hate you," she muttered half-heartedly, and Skylar just beamed brighter. "Love you too, boo."
They moved from store to store, Skylar making a game out of picking the ugliest, most ridiculous items she could find, and Reagan trailing behind her, trying not to trip over her own feet or crash into displays. Her answers to the sales clerks' chirpy questions were reduced to one-word grunts and awkward nods.
She hated the small talk, the fake smiles, the way people expected conversation to be easy, natural. It wasn't for her. It had never been. Every word felt like walking barefoot across broken glass. But Skylar filled the space between them effortlessly, joking with cashiers, making faces behind snobby shoppers' backs, until even Reagan found herself choking back a reluctant laugh.
Hours later, they collapsed into a booth at a greasy diner, bags piled beside them, greasy menus sticking to the table. Skylar propped her chin on her hand, grinning across the table. "You survived, Rae. I'm so proud. It's like watching a baby giraffe take its first steps, but with more property damage."
Reagan huffed, dropping her forehead onto the sticky table in defeat. "Next time, just shoot me."
Skylar cackled loudly enough to earn a few glares from neighboring tables, kicking Reagan lightly under the booth. "Not a chance. This is way more entertaining."
And despite herself - despite the way the world still felt too loud and too bright, despite the way her skin still itched with leftover fear - Reagan smiled into the cracked plastic of the table.
Maybe she was a disaster.
Maybe she would always be a disaster.
But for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like the end of the world.