Veronica and June Meet Cute

Breathe, someone is reminding Veronica patiently, digging its heel down into the rising crest of senseless panic to try and squash it back down. It doesn't work               (why would it?)            Veronica can feel the muscles in her body resonating with it, surprise braiding together with an abstract panic,   a useless sense of injustice. Veronica grinds her teeth and clenches her fists, feeling the sharp burst of pain as her nail digs into the thick, knotted scab and forcing herself to stop. She imagines the blood pooling on the pristine white tile floors instead                (Surely someone has to have noticed, a teenaged memory cries. But no one ever does.) 

It's not that big of a deal, the chorus agrees, noise itching up the line of Veronica's jaw. It's not-, just chill out-, can't you just be normal about all this?-, when are we ever normal at all? Veronica's jaw is clenched tight enough to ache, frustration growing with the noise, swallowing back the urge to snarl, animal-like, to scare them into shutting up (You'd like that, wouldn't you? Beast.) 

The image comes to her mind, undaunted: the
whip quick lash of her fist out at the world, the
familiar sensation of glass shattering under her
knuckles, the hard line of furniture tipping under
her palms. Beast, it insists. What the fuck is
wrong with you? a memory demands. 

Don't do that, someone advises sagely. Yeah, she's trying not to. 

Veronica stares at the total on the parking garage kiosk and works her jaw around the shock of it. This isn't fair, foot-stomping at the injustice. We didn't do anything wrong. Sometimes the world doesn't work out fair. It'd be easier to remember it on a day when fewer things had gone distressingly wrong. Suck it up, someone hisses, and yeah, Veronica should. 

Instead, she surprises all of them by bursting into tears in the middle of a parking garage lobby. 

Oh my g-d, it's forty dollars, someone hisses, irate, thinking about things worse than this. Two hours of work, you can afford it.           People are watching her and Veronica knows it — What the fuck is wrong with you? — she's not happy about it either. "I know," she hisses, annoyed, and then bites her tongue, mortified.               Freak, freak loser,                people are staring, watching this, watching her. Miles of difference between seeing and helping, Yeah, Veronica knows it. It's only made the conspicuous silences harder to bear. 

What the fuck is wrong with you? — Well, that is the question, isn't it? 

It really isn't a big deal, she tries to tell herself, but it is, or, it feels like it is. She doesn't understand money well enough to ever actually feel comfortable spending it, no matter how dedicatedly she tries to track it all. Freak, freak loser. If it's not one thing it's another. Piece of-, freak, idiot; freak loser.              She tries to swallow back the tears and doesn't succeed at it, swallowing against the painful knot making a home in the base of her throat. Someone imagines a blade, cutting it out before it grows roots. Not helpful, she thinks about digging her nails into her palms until they bleed. You can't be resorting to bloodletting already-, 

Veronica squeezes her eyes shut and tries to figure out what to do. She wants to be anywhere but here. She can't figure out where she's supposed to go. 

"Alright, sweetheart," says a voice, not one of Veronica's. "You look like you could use some fresh air," and Veronica startles — half-jumping out of her skin — when the words are followed by the shocking warmth of someone's arm around her shoulders. 

She pulls her hands in close to her middle on instinct-reflex and squints through tear-gauzy vision to try to figure out what the hell is happening. People don't touch her — What's your problem? — people stare, but no one ever notices anything enough to try.             When the strange woman pulls at her encouragingly, Veronica's feet follow out of shock more than any conscious choice to listen. She feels like she's lagging, dropping frames like crazy — something's seriously fucking wrong with you. 

Well, tell her something she doesn't know. 

The sun on her face startles Veronica into realizing that she's forgotten how to exhale. Is that because of the money or the faint burn of the woman's arm around her? Veronica can't keep track of it anymore. Do I hate that? she wonders abstractly;             no one has an answer for her. When the woman encourages her to sit down on the curb, Veronica obliges because it makes it easier to put her head between her legs. 

             Fucking psycho. Say something helpful for once. Beast. That doesn't count. 

It's not that big of a deal; in the grand scheme of things, crying in public isn't as bad as it could be. Think of the positives. Veronica hides an incredulous grin against the hard line of her kneecap and forces herself to breathe out all at once. Wind ruffles through her curls, and Veronica forces herself to breathe back in, making a pathetic noise when she pushes her body past its insistence on frantic, shallow pulls in favor of something deep enough to mean something. 

The arm around her shoulders shifts, fingers brushing over the span of her back as the woman moves to press her palm into the space between Veronica's shoulder blades, rubbing careful circles there. Like being petted,               something thinks about declawed cats, surgery down through the knuckle. No one should touch you, someone reminds her. "You shouldn't-, sh-, not touch me," someone in her mouth echoes obligingly. Veronica tries to find the capacity to not feel annoyed. 

"Would you like me to stop?" the voice that isn't one of Veronica's asks. She stops moving, palm going still over the knobs of Veronica's spine, but doesn't pull away, not yet. 

The problem is that it feels nice. Veronica is too busy exhaling to speak, but she shakes her head, hesitant, and the little circles start up again, themselves unhesitating. 

"That's alright, then," the woman says, like she means it. Like it means something to her. "Just breathe. You're doing good, sweetheart." 

You aren't,someone pushes back, contrary, but the loudest voice in the room is the one that gets to dictate what reality looks like, and the warmth doesn't hasten to fade. Veronica breathes and almost manages to believe her. 

"I'm June, by the way," the woman says, the drag of her palm almost hypnotic. "Do you want to talk about what happened?" 

"Veronica," she wheezes back, well-worn instinct, and then knows there's no good way to put it into words. Not in a way for normal people to understand.               You barely understand it; well, that doesn't make it any easier, no. "Sorry-, it's nothing." 

She doesn't think she's crying anymore, but June doesn't take the excuse to leave. "Didn't look like nothing," she counters gently. Well, that's just because I'm insane, Veronica doesn't say. 

She can't figure out how to lie a second time if the first try didn't work. "I was-, I was just late this morning, running late," she admits instead, staring doggedly down at the concrete. "And there was a line, at the entrance, and I was late," she repeats, unsure if June is someone who will understand it or not. No one likes it when someone is late, they'll get mad at you for being late, but a lot of them seem to think Veronica is the weird one, to get upset over being late herself — it never makes any sense.                "So, the gate opened, but the little machine didn't give me a ticket, and I didn't think about it. I just parked. It should cost fifteen dollars to park here, but I had to click 'Lost Ticket' because I didn't have one to scan, but that costs forty dollars, and that's-, I didn't even lose anything. It didn't give me one." 

             Stupidest problem in the world, someone sneers as she finishes talking, afraid to look up. Imagine if you had real problems instead of a stupid hair trigger; you're the worst.              A shortage of 'real' problems has never been Veronica's issue. She doesn't even like driving — avoids it as much as she can get away with — but walking four miles from the nearest bus stop wasn't an option when she was already late. Her breath hitches, annoyed, and June lets out a little hum, rubbing Veronica's back a bit more firmly. 

"Alright now, don't fret," she soothes, instead of taking the opportunity to let Veronica know she's being ridiculous. Her hands hurt. "We can get that fixed easy, I bet. I actually happen to know someone who works up in that office; I'll give her a call right now, and we'll figure out what to do." 

Absolutely not, "Don't-," Veronica agrees out loud, finally forcing herself to sit up straight. She's braced for June to finally back off, take her hand off Veronica's back and retreat to a safe distance, and falters a little when it doesn't.                Is that bad? Veronica doesn't think so, but she's not sure how much that matters. "I mean-, I can afford it. I was just-, surprised. You don't have to-," she pauses, tripping over her words as June's thumb presses intentionally into her spine, "-go out of your way," she finishes weakly, eyes wide. 

Probably too wide. Beast, someone hisses, but there's something pleased lurking in the lines around June's mouth. Not that you earned it, but it's not a bad look. Is that-?

"It's no problem at all, doll," June says plainly, and she definitely smiles when Veronica's face flushes over the petname. That means something, but Veronica can't wrap her mind around it. That doesn't happen to women like us. "You just give me one second here." 

Belatedly, Veronica opens her mouth to protest again, and only manages to click it back shut when June finally stops touching her in favor of lifting her phone up to her ear. "Hey there, Steff, it's June," she's already saying, while someone digs their nails into the delicate skin behind Veronica's ear and hisses, You cannot be disappointed. She's literally in the middle of doing you a different favor, and Veronica nods uncertainly before she can remind herself not to. 

                She really needs to get out of here. What's worse than what already happened? Probably something.               She wants to be at home, sprawled out somewhere that doesn't smell like exhaust and sound like busy conversations. Veronica's head is too full to put up with sounds on top of sounds. Be grateful, Veronica's never had much use for a script like that. So that's a bad start. 

Veronica presses the pad of her thumb into the dip in the center of her palm, swallowing back a noise at the clarifying burst of pain and feeling distantly relieved when no blood wells up around it. It's only a matter of time. Veronica's no good with dates — she's not sure when the angels stopped by last. Maybe they're right this time. 

"Problem solves," June says, her hand finding its way back to Veronica's shoulder and startling her again. The crow's feet around June's eyes bunch up when she smiles, thin skin a little papery in amusement. "When you get stopped at the gate, just press that little 'help' button and tell them your name — they'll let you out. No cost this time!" 

Veronica doesn't know if she'd been paying attention well enough to have any concrete expectations, but they definitely hadn't gotten that high. "Thank you," she chokes out, feeling off-balance with it. Someone pokes at her and she jumps, belatedly fumbling her cigarettes out of her pocket to try and cover the movement. Little late to save face, don't you think?               "That was-, thank you so much. I-," and then she runs out of steam for it. 

June doesn't seem like she minds. "You're very welcome," she says, voice almost as warm as the comfortable weight of her palm on Veronica's shoulder, still there, almost proprietary. Like Veronica is someone important and not just some crazy stranger. Veronica stows the impulse to shake her head at herself and lets herself go for her lighter instead — g-d knows she's too shaky to drive anywhere just yet. "Can I bum a smoke off you, Veronica?" 

Shit, that's almost worse than the petnames. "Sure," Veronica replies, knee-jerk over the flush of it. It's the least we can do, she thinks about adding, but is halted all at once by June plucking the cigarette out of her mouth before Veronica can pull out a new one for her. "Um," Veronica manages, swallowing around the sight of June's lips wrapped around the filter and trying to piece together if this is actually real or not.               This sort of thing doesn't happen to animals like you;                maybe once Veronica makes it out to the garage gate, no one on the other side of that help button will have any idea what the fuck she's talking about. 

June exhales, smoke curling around her head like something alive. "Thanks, sweetheart," she says, looking pleased again at whatever stupid bullshit Veronica's face is doing before she gives her the cigarette back. Her lipstick stained it, Veronica notices, feeling insane. Well, what else is new?

"Uh huh," Veronica manages to say. She lifts the cigarette back to her own mouth, half-wondering whose spit the end is wet with. You're obscene; No, obscene would be thinking about June spitting in her mouth outright. Communion, someone sums up neatly, and Veronica has to bite down on her tongue to keep from smiling. 

June's — somehow — hasn't seemed to falter. "Let me give you my number, Veronica," she says, drawing back again to pull a little notebook out of her purse. "Just in case you run into any trouble on your way out." 

"Oh, you-, you don't have to," Veronica says falteringly. If it comes to that, she'll just pay the stupid fee. It's less of a big deal now anyway, now that she's had a moment to get used to it. We both know that's not what she means. 

"I want to," June says, so simple that Veronica can't quite figure out how to argue with it, so she doesn't. When June passes her a page with her number written neatly out in bright green ink, Veronica takes it and tries to wrap her mind around it. 

"I-, okay," she says finally, because what else is there to say? "I'll-, I can update you once I get home." 

"Good plan," June says approvingly. "Then you can let me know how you feel about dinner." 

What the hell, Veronica thinks despairingly. Her face feels hot enough she worries that she's sweating. "You-," she fumbles out. "With me?" 

June's little self-satisfied smile hasn't budged an inch. Cat that got the canary. "You're who I'm talking to, aren't you?" 

Yeah, but you're talking to me because I started crying over a parking ticket I literally have the money for, Veronica thinks, startlingly clear. "I don't know if you've noticed," she hears herself say from this abrupt pool of calm, "but I am kind of insane." 

Don't tell people that-, well she's not exactly hiding it well is she?                June's smile grows teeth. "Would you like to say no?" she asks, but it's smug, like she already knows the answer. 

Yes, Veronica almost says, just to be contrary, but can't actually bring herself to do it. She takes another drag from the cigarette to be stubborn about it anyway, and then caves and says, "If you're sure," doubting she's hiding the bewildered notes in her voice. She'd bet money her eyes are still all red and puffy from crying. 

Maybe she's into that. Huh, Veronica thinks, thumbing away ash and almost burning herself with the distraction of it. Maybe she is. 

"Oh, I'm positive, darling," June purrs, all self-satisfaction Veronica doesn't know what to make of as June finally pushes herself to her feet, rocking back on her heels. "You drive safe now." 

She turns to leave and go back to wherever it was she'd been going before Veronica's deranged behavior had derailed them both. The thought makes her hesitate just long enough to almost miss her window. "Yes ma'am," she calls out, last second, and barely catches a glimpse of the delight on June's face before she's gone. 

               What the hell was that? 

She's not sure, Veronica admits to herself, carefully running her thumb along the torn edge of June's number, but she thinks she's willing enough to find out. 

Author's Notes:

What if you met someone who didn't understand you at all but thought that whatever is wrong with you was fascinating??? Fun to think about :3c