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"The truth will haunt you

But set you free"

Let's Eat Grandma,

' Two Ribbons'

It fails to come with any haste. There's a churning in me that doesn't sit well, a sort of restless sickness that makes me want to retch. Why the fuck did I think telling Feather would be a good idea? They won't want anything to do with me, they'll tell Eve, Eve will hate me, she'll blow up at Kale. It will destroy everything exactly the way I thought it might two years ago. I grip the side of the pool, hard, and force myself to slow down, to breathe.

"S-so... Adrian has no idea?" Their speech is shaken. I still can't bring myself to look at them. My story clearly had more of an effect on them than I foresaw. No, fuck that, I didn't foresee anything, telling them just felt like a good idea at the time so I did it. Stupid husky.

"Well, that's just it. I don't have a clue." I throw up my arms, absolute surrender. "And that got me thinking, why have I been invited? And by Adrian of all people. Is it because he doesn't know and regrets old wounds? Or he_does_ know and wants to, what? Talk about it? He's forgiven me after two years? Doesn't see me as a threat anymore? Or is it something else entirely? I've been asking myself these questions over and over and I still have no idea where the truth lies, or what to do about any of it. I left the situation in Kale's paws two years ago because I was ashamed, and I was scared, and it was a mistake, clearly, because now what the fuck am I meant to do? Not go? Ignore the whole fucking thing? Be the cunt who fucked Adrian's man a week straight and pretended it never happened? Or do I call him, tell him over the phone? Or go and tell him in person and, what? Fuck up the marriage of a, presumably, very happy couple? I mean, damn it Feather: I got over that asshole. These past two years I've thought less and less about him, but it still hurts, I still feel the ache of guilt, I still hate myself for never telling Eve or Adrian what happened. I guess that means I'm still the same frightened, shameful piece of shit I ever was. But Kale, yeah, there is_a part of me that never let him go. But I don't want to be with him him. Not any more." A sigh of exasperation escapes me forcefully, my shoulders slump. "I can see it now, you know? When I look back, when I think it through. He's a cunt, Feather. Part of me still feels _something for him, but fuck that part. The wolf is a bastard. Or he was, then. To me. Fuck it. I was too. That's the problem. Every part of it is the problem." My words hang in an uncomfortable silence. I should wait, and let them think, but patience has never been my strong suit. "The truth is, I'm a bad person," I add the addendum in an explosion of words, or an implosion, I'm not sure which.

"You were in a bad situation and you acted badly," they respond, delivering each word carefully, as if the mere act of constructing the sentence is a precarious act. "That doesn't make you a bad person."

"But I am a bad person." The retort is instinctual. I throw them a defiant glare and regret it. Then, watching concern contort their features, regret it doubly so.

The bright and beautiful squirrel, dimmed in my shadow, merely shrugs. "Good, bad, I don't know. You're a person." Their voice is scratchy and their words come out in a staccato as if they're set for automatic release as and when they form.

"Did you even listen?" I'm bratty, bitchy, deeply needy.

"Hon, calm down." They huddle into themselves and shudder noticeably. "Fuck, Ash. I'm still processing."

Of course they are. I stop, collect myself, haul myself up onto the edge of the pool. "I'm sorry," I say, softly, feeling every bit as dumb as I am. "I was being shitty."

After a few seconds of silence they pull themself up beside me. "Yeah, well. You're on edge."

"You don't have to make excuses for me."

"I know."

Silence, again. I choose to sit in it for once, staring into the sky, watching a cloud as it disperses and converges in real time, its metamorphosis progressing at a snail's pace. It dawns on me that I don't regret this, the honesty. Even if Feather grows to hate me, tells Eve, blows up my spot, blows up everything - I still won't regret this. None of that could be worse than keeping all of it in.

Anyway, I doubt Feather will do any of that. Something about their phrasing, their demeanor just... I don't know. I just know they care about me, debilitating flaws and all.

"Are you waiting for me to cancel you?" They ask at length.

I snort. "If you were going to do that, it would have been for the killing."

"That was self defense," they say, the exact same gentle sort of affirmation I get from any clueless, well-meaning person in response to my trauma. But they don't know a thing.

There's a cold breeze blowing across my bare back that elicits a shiver, the sensation only bolstered by the chill running down my spine. The version Eve told them was either vague, or twisted. Of course it was. Not even Eve knows every detail. The razor blade in my pocket. The idea in my head. I was so on edge. So on edge. It wasn't my intent, per se. It just... There was an opportunity. I told him not to touch me. I told him. And I was scared and angry and hurting. And there was the razor blade in my pocket. And he touched me. I told him not to. But, I didn't have to- I didn't have to. The blurred line between choice and instinct. Memory blurs it even more. But I know I put the blade in my pocket for a reason. I know I was thinking about it. Just thinking about it. And then I- And then it-

"Was it?" I ask, throat dry. There's a familiar unrest in my stomach. The breeze has picked up, it's getting colder. Of course they have no answer. We should probably go inside. I think I might seriously have to throw up.

I wanted to- I planned to- Did I? Did I? However much of it was instinct and however much else is blurred by uncertainty, adrenaline and memory, I know for sure I saw the fear in his eyes, the hurt as he stared into mine, and there was that singular, frozen moment in which I made the decision. And it_was_ a decision.

And then there was the blood. And I threw up. And I want to again now. And I fucking hate myself.

"Okay," they say, levelly. "I know what it's like to pick at old wounds so much they stay open, permanently. I could trauma dump on you all day, someday I probably will, but it won't get us anywhere. You're telling me you ended the life of your abuser in some more morally gray manner than I know, fine. Let's huddle up with cocoa some future evening and talk it through if you really want to, but that happened before I met you, it made you who you are today, and none of the wonderful people around you have abandoned you because of it. I'm choosing to stay too." They take my struggle to find any response as tacit approval to move on. "Look, we don't need to dwell on it, but maybe we should discuss that other thing?"

Their formal wording draws a wry chuckle from me. "You mean: enabling one of my closest friends to cheat on a total sweetheart because I had a bit of a crush on him, and then never telling his boyfriend or Eve a word of what happened?"

"Yeah, that." They offer a patient smile. "Because now they're getting married, and suddenly everything makes sense. That's why you've been so uncomfortable around the subject, that's why you've been freaking out, that's why you told me all of this. You want to hear what I think."

I hide my face behind my paws as I shake it in dismay. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Feather?"

"You don't want to ruin a good thing with old dirt, but you don't want to enable a potentially troubled marriage based on lies either? Yeah, I get it."

"I mean, maybe I'm making a mountain here. Sure, what we did was fucked up, but if they're marrying things must have gone real well since. I don't want to destroy Kale's life over one bad week."

There's another pause. I wonder if Feather is out of things to say and I'm to be left alone in this awful mess I made, but they speak up: "what makes you so sure this is the only time Kale has slept around?"

I physically flinch, somehow the idea had never dawned on me. "No," I say, on instinct. "I really don't think he would. It was a weird situation, he was so far away from Adrian, physically, and they'd just had that huge argument, and I used to date Kale, and there was that kiss. We had a thing, you know? A connection."

"Okay," Feather says, nodding, graciously letting it go. "Still, how about you ask Kale directly if he told Adrian? It's somewhere to start at least."

"And what if he hasn't?"

"Then," they elongate the syllable, seeing where it takes them. "Go with your gut, I guess. If you want to leave them to it, I won't say a word, I promise. But if you want to tell Adrian, tell him."

"Is that good enough? Going with my gut? What if my gut is a coward and a cheat?"

"Well, talk to Adrian. He obviously reached out to you for a reason. You could gently prod him over why you're invited, given everything. You might learn something. It might give you a better idea of how you want to handle things."

"It's all so vague and vibey and uncertain, I hate it."

"You waiting for the manual?" They chuckle quietly. "You know it doesn't work like that."

"Yeah, but god I wish it did. I've spent all my life doing what I can to avoid making any real, meaningful decisions."

"You didn't end up here just letting the wind carry you, Ash."

"No, you're right. I ended up here as a direct result of one of the only meaningful decisions I ever made." My throat is dry, so I swallow. I don't want to say what I'm about to say, but my muzzle is already opening. "Killing Martin Konroy."

Their facial expression distorts, the floor drops out of my stomach. A sudden sense of vertigo, of falling. I'm making life harder for myself, I know, but I'm so fucking tired of lying.

"I already said you don't have to-" They protest, waving my words away in denial, a frown curling the corners of their mouth the wrong way.

"I know I don't have to, that's why I've been keeping it in for years. But it hurts so much, it... It hurts. I held that blade in my paw, Feather, and I hesitated. I could have stopped myself, I- Not even Eve knows." I shake my head rapidly, trying to knock loose the dark thoughts, as if it were that easy. "I was... I was- I don't know how to word this? I was keeping an eye open for a chance. He touched me and I didn't want him to. I told him not to do it again and I- Maybe I goaded him into it? It's such a blur, I- Either way I didn't have to- I didn't_have_ to kill him. But I did. I- I made that choice. I slit his throat." That awful falling feeling again, dread and despair and self hatred and all that blood bubbling up inside me and oh my god I_am_ going to puke. "Fuck, what is wrong with me?"

I feel jumpy and awful and electric and the anxiety lifts me to my feet and I say I'm sorry or something like that and pace toward the glass doors. Inside I make it about as far as the sink and hold my weight up on the counter top with both paws, shaking, legs jelly, fur bristled in fear where it isn't matted wet, in fight or flight. Choosing flight. That bubbling, that dread, that awful years-gone moment which never ended. Last time I chose fight. He brought his exposed neck and I brought a blade. It was easier than breathing, and afterwards even that stopped being easy for one of us. And ever since then the lies. To the authorities, to whoever was asking, even to Adrian and Eve. They were there, but they didn't get it, not like Kale did. The way I set it up, the look in my eyes, the determination. There's no two ways about it, it was murder. There was so much blood; I was scrubbing my fur for hours, for weeks, for months. The bloodstains never came off, not really. They linger on my paws, on my face, still, and they always will. There's no way to un-kill somebody. Even if there was, I don't know if I would. He needed to die. And that right there is the scariest part, the thing I pretend I don't feel, the thing I can never say out loud, even when Saph tells me she would have done the same and that he deserved it. I agree. I agree and it scares me. And sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and I wonder who I will kill next. There's the obvious choice right in front of me. But for some reason that option has never motivated me much, no matter how fucked up I am, nor how much I hate myself, or how fucking depressing this life and this world can be. I don't question it too hard. A noted lack of suicidal ideation seems like the sort of blessing I shouldn't prod in search of answers. I'm retching now, Feather is behind me saying hey, laying a gentle paw on my shoulder, all concern, all kindness, and I think about whether I might slit their throat too someday. Maybe that's just the kind of person I am. They like me but there's so much they don't know. Like how I always have a blade with me when I leave the house alone. Only Saph knows that. Only Saph. But she's the same. We have these little switchblades that make us feel safe. Sure they're illegal to own, but easy to find if you have the desire and the barest know-how. I like to think I carry it because I was used, and beat, and raped and that means I'm allowed my safety blade, my little murder weapon. Mr Sky, in the kitchen, with the switchblade. But other times I wonder if I'm just looking out for the chance, like I did with Marty. Just watching, waiting, patiently for the kill. To make someone love me like Marty did, to make them so crazy for me they'd do anything to have me. To wait until they're at their worst, and then their weakest. To look them in their eyes and make the fucking choice to slit their throat.

My vomit makes a mess of the sink.

The next couple of minutes are a haze. My mind clouds over; concrete thought becomes difficult. Feather is saying something comforting, fussing over me, wrapping a towel around me. They try to clean up after me too, but I don't let them. I do it myself, stubbornly, but only when I'm sure no more is going to come up. I haven't really been saying anything, just trying to center myself, to meet reality on its own terms again. God. A panic attack. It's been a while.

I let feather guide me to the living room, we sit side by side on a couch, drying in towels. They spin some chill music on my record player. I tell them I'm sorry, they tell me not to be silly.

"You're so kind. And you're so fucking supportive, and for what?" I shake my head, scrunching my eyes, feeling worthless, crazy, stupid. "For me? I'm a killer, Feather."

They gingerly place a paw on my bare knee. I let it be, head throbbing. Their touch brings warmth enough to offer me momentary calm as they consider my words.

"I know that," is all they say, quiet, firm.

"Then why," I sulk, feeling the threat of tears, "don't you hate me?"

They squeeze my knee, shake their head, scoff.

"Babe, why are you trying so hard to make me?"

Their words are a resounding gong, a sort of cleansing, spiritual sound that clears the fog from my brain. My eyes go wide, I take in the sight of them, really take it in. There's so much pain and frustration plastered across that pretty face.

All my convictions fall away.

"I- I don't know."

"Do you believe the worst moments of your life define you? Are you delineated by your trauma?"

I feel a sob rising in my throat. I choke it down, unable to open my mouth for fear of crying out. They don't fill the silence right away and I feel a tension radiating from them as they rev up to speak again.

"Because if you think that, you should hate me too."

"I-" I stammer. I shake my head. I suppress the desire to ask them why they would say that, to ask what happened to them, what they did. "I don't believe that. No. Not at all."

"Good." They sink into the backrest. "So you don't hate me, and I don't hate you either. Okay?"

"Okay."

We sit unspeaking until the record needs flipping. Their paw rests on my knee the whole while, at some point I rest mine atop theirs. They don't say anything about it, nor do they pull away. My heart thumps. When the completed record leaves us in silence I clear my throat and get up to sort it out, discarding my towel. They discard theirs, and offer a suggestion for what to play next, and in that instant we thaw, finding ourselves talking about music, settling on something else to listen to, smiling, laughing. And just like that everything is alright again; equilibrium is reached. The haze of panic dissipates. I fall further into the squirrel's nest.

It's when the record stops next, after half an hour of listening to and chattering about music that I find myself staring at their half naked body and saying something stupid like: "squirrels have such beautiful tails."

I mean it. I can barely stop myself from reaching out and petting that bushy magnificence of theirs.

"They're cute but they're a hassle," they say, twirling said tail around their chest and holding it against themself. "If I forget it's there for even a minute I'm liable to demolish all crockery in a five foot radius. Husky tails though? Not only are they cute, but they're also reasonably sized."

They don't match my restraint, reaching out to give my curl a teasing tug. I let out an involuntary yelp and they giggle and so do I, and then I'm wrestling their over-sized bushy tail and tugging it right back and then we're tussling and falling about across the large couch until they're pinning me down, straddling me, and I'm beaming up at them, and they're beaming down at me, and even past the rhythmic pounding of my heart I can't ignore the sound of a car pulling up outside.

"Must be the moviegoers," I remark, acting casual, consciously willing my paws not to run up and down their sides, their midriff, their thighs.

"Must be," they agree. "But that's not gonna get you out of here."

"And where, exactly, is here?"

Car doors opening, slamming.

They hum in contemplation, offering a mock-up of deep thought as they tilt their head and stare into the middle distance. "Oh! I think I know."

"Yeah? Elucidate me."

"Right where you want to be."

My face glows with warmth; I struggle suddenly with eye contact.

Footsteps on the drive.

"Well..."

"Knew it."

They smile and wink deliberately, then gracefully flip off of me and onto their feet beside the couch, marching out of the room as a key rustles in the front door's lock.

It's all I can do to regain my balance enough to be more conventionally seated by the time Saph, Eve and Jay re-enter my home. I'm only up and over to them by the time they're done greeting Feather and gushing about how much fun the movie was. Saph gets one look at me and radiates with glee.

"You had a good time too, didn't you?" She interrogates, reading me as easily as she ever has. "'Resting' was it? Seems like the two of you had a nice swim, or did you just feel like showing off your body?"

"This squishy thing?" I ask, poking my belly. "Who would want to see that?"

"Me," Jay declares almost instantly, darting over to me to squeeze my love handles. I gasp and he backs away, paws up in surrender, grinning. I tsk at him disapprovingly, but it's obvious I enjoyed the attention.

Feather giggles, catches my eyes, wears a smile like sunshine.

"You're a cutie hon and we all know it," Saph states, chuckling.

"Ooh, are we love bombing Ash again?" Eve asks, having hung up her jacket.

"No, no. I was just explaining that Feather and I had a lovely laze about in the pool while you were all out having fun."

My complete trust in Feather to corroborate my lie is proven well placed. "We thought if we were going to chill out and do nothing anyways, we might as well do it together."

After all I've told them, after all I've done, they still have my back. They still care about me. I... It's hard to comprehend. I feel so lucky, and borderline obsessed.

The rest of the evening passes before I draw another breath. It's relaxed, comfortable, full of friendship and love, but all I can think about is that squirrel pinning me down, their teasing, that wink, tomorrow morning. I can't wait to spend more time with them, alone.

I'm not naive. I'm not fooling myself. I know I have feelings for them, I just don't know exactly what they are. I know, I know. Romantic feelings, right? Maybe. Probably. But, love for me has always been defined by physicality and sex, and this is none of that. Yes, I find them attractive, but I don't really picture myself having sex with them - not that I c __a_ n't_or anything, I just don't. And daydreaming about sex is pretty much my love language. When it comes to Feather I just... I like their manner. And their look, and I think their interests are interesting, and I think they're funny and fun to be around, and I like that they're thoughtful and that they push me - without hurting me - and I like that they seem to feel a lot of the same ways about me and, yeah, I don't know. I just... I want to spend more time with them and get to know them better. Maybe I am naive. I don't care. They belong to Eve and Jay anyway, and when I start thinking about that too hard I stop. I don't want to mentally register the logical endpoint of that line of reasoning. I want sleep. I want morning. I want Feather.

Maybe it only feels so intense because it's all so new. A new person, a new species - I've never been with a squirrel - even a whole new gender to fawn over. Like I said, I'm not fooling myself. It's a hyperfocus right now, and maybe it blossoms into something more, yeah, but maybe it doesn't. The fact is: in the midst of hyperfocus it's hard to have peripheral vision. I think I just need to lean into it until I've worn it out, like listening to a song that's stuck in my head over and over until I stop obsessing over it. After that I either forget about it, or it's one of those songs that stays with me forever, the kind of beautiful music that soundtracks the rest of my life.

Oh.

Okay, I'll admit it. I have a crush.