merciless

ONE-SHOT FIRST PLACE

BLUE LILIES
BY: JADE ARCHULETA blujade

1998

PETRA SMILED BASHFULLY at the ground, her frame tucked securely underneath the broad, sweeping arm of Phoenix Caspian. The pearls around her neck seemed to weigh a thousand pounds, but the ring on her finger was heavier; it weighed like lead on more than just her body. She felt its permanence in every cell of her being.
    Phoenix's hand tightened where it rested on her shoulder; she could feel his gaze on her, but she couldn't meet his eyes, instead choosing to focus on the aisle she'd just walked down. It was bordered by expensive blush colored blooms whose names she couldn't remember. Everything about the ceremony and reception was colored either a soft white or in shades of pink, the color of love, she'd heard someone swoon. But love, the one time she'd felt it, wasn't muted pinks or dashing reds, it was blue; as subtle and deadly as an undertow.
    A woman pulled Petra's hands into her own, and Petra tensed, resisting the urge to cringe where their skin touched. As the woman, who introduced herself as Mila, gushed about how beautiful their wedding was, Petra had flashbacks of hot copper coils and the burn scars they'd left on her skin, of needles pressed underneath her fingernails, of having her hands submerged in ice until they were lavender. As Mila continued to touch her, fawning and feathering her hands over Petra's dress, Petra tried to imagine herself anywhere but there.
When the woman walked away, a dewy glow spread across her face, all Petra wanted to do was take her heels off, shed the uncomfortable but beautiful dress she'd worn all day, and cry.

1994
ANDY WAS SUBMERGED up to her neck in the blue water of the unnamed river at the back of her family's property, her clothes in a pile about twenty feet to Petra's left. Andy had stripped down to her undergarments while Petra murmured something about getting home, watching the girl before her the whole time. Whether Andy was aware of this, Petra had no idea, but Petra did know that she could've stared at Andy's skin all day.
    Petra felt water splash across the bare skin of her face and gasped at the coldness, shaken out of her daydreams by Andy, who was grinning wildly. "Just get in already," Andy said, her voice floating over the space between them like a melody. She added, with a touch of uncertainty, "And stop thinking so much."
    Petra, unable to say no to Andy with her chipped front tooth and intense dark eyes, felt her fingers fumble over the buttons of her ironed dress shirt, see through in parts due to Andy's splash. She then shimmied out of her skirt, leaving the pleated mess on the shore along with her reservations as she jumped into the cold water. Despite the alarms flaring all through her head, Petra swam towards Andy, taking in the freckles scattered across her face and the little scar cutting through her left eyebrow, which Andy got from falling off the jungle gym, and the little quirk of a smile gracing her lips.
    This was a face Petra had known for years, since they were just little kids. She'd seen nearly all of Andy's expressions, from anger to sorrow to manic happiness to numbness--and all the emotions in between. Petra had watched Andy grow into her large front teeth, had watched as a beautician waxed her eyebrows into the symmetric arches they were now, watched as her hair went from wildly untamed to wildy sexy. She had always watched Andy, and Petra was only then just beginning to understand why.
    Petra was less than a foot away from Andy, taking in the way Andy seemed uncertain of herself, uncertain of the way Petra's hands had come to rest on either side of her face, uncertain of the way Petra had breathed her name like it was the most fragile word ever created.
    But as Petra leaned in and placed her lips on Andy's, she felt that uncertainty evaporate like morning dew off the manicured grass in her front lawn. All that was left when the two broke apart was the blue of the water, and the weight of the cross around Petra's neck.
#
    Petra stood behind Andy, plaiting the brunette's hair and watching Andy's expression in the gilded mirror before them. Petra's house was filled with expensive and ornate things--two antique floor globes taller than she, a solid sandalwood table measuring over twenty feet long, authenticated antique bronze chandeliers--but nothing could hold a candle to Andy's beauty as Petra's hands worked over her skull, pulling hair this way and that with grace.
    "I've never had anyone braid my hair before," Andy said quietly as she closed her eyes, her tone soft. "It feels really nice." Petra didn't know what to say, a sudden sadness overcoming her. Memories of Petra's mother flashed through her mind, how the woman was never gentle with nor particularly fond of her daughter, picking over Petra's outfits and ensembles for hours before they were allowed to leave the house. Andy's mother was the opposite, a gregarious woman who was bursting at the seams with laughter and love, but she never seemed the type to fuss over her children's appearances.
    "Do you know how?" There was a slight shake of the head from Andy. "Want me to teach you?" Petra asked as she tied the end of Andy's hair with a navy ribbon. She watched Andy's dark eyes spark in the mirror, their gazes meeting for a fleeting second before Andy turned to face her. Petra guided Andy to her bedroom, a room she never liked with its warm color scheme and many windows and lack of bookshelves. But it was a room all the same, and with the way Andy looked at it, even though she'd seen it more times than Petra could count, you'd have thought it was fit for royalty.
    As Petra remembered Andy's own room, which was cramped and dark and filled with the lives of three girls even though there was really only room for one, she flushed with embarrassment. Andy could only dream of having the space Petra had, could only hope for a future half as grand as Petra's present. Somehow, despite all the years they'd known each other, Petra always forgot that.
    Once the girls were settled on Petra's king sized bed, Petra demonstrated on her own hair, weaving the three blonde sections over and under each other deftly. She then ran her fingers through the braid and showed Andy the technique at a much slower speed, explaining as she maneuvered each section with the precision of someone who had been braiding for years. When Andy's hands replaced her own, Petra took the time to study Andy's face.
    It had been two and a half weeks since they'd kissed in the river on Andy's family's property, and Petra couldn't get the moment out of her mind. There had been kisses that followed, of course, blind moments of wanting and heavy hands and wet mouths, but Petra always came back to that first kiss.
Andy still looked the same, but to Petra something had changed. With every kiss, it was as if Andy became more vibrant, her smiles more enrapturing and her voice more seductive and her skin, oh her skin, so much more sumptuous. Petra wanted to kiss the scar on Andy's eyebrow, the small dimple on her chin, the sun spot on her left temple--Petra wanted to kiss every part of Andy, and god, she wanted to do it right then.
    "Like that?" Andy beamed at Petra as they both examined the lopsided braid, the sections disproportionate and loose, but Petra told Andy it was wonderful. Petra knew just how destructive negative criticism over something just learned could be, how uncertainty would leech into everything afterwards. Andy started over again, and then again repeating the process twenty times before it happened. Before Petra grabbed Andy's hands softly between her own. Before Petra let out a shaky breath and let her eyes rake down Andy's frame. Before both Petra and Andy leaned in until their lips met, and while this time was still experimental, it was also as if all reservations had suddenly and completely fallen away.
    Petra's hands wandered over Andy's neck, her collarbone, her clavicle, across the front of her shirt, onto her jean-clad thighs and back again. Andy's fisted Petra's hair, traced the crest of her shoulders, let her fingers trail down to the line of buttons on her ironed dress shirt where Andy slowly began popping them open to reveal more of Petra's skin, the gold chain with a cross on it around her neck completely irrelevant. They broke apart as Petra swore gently, Andy's hand pressing heavily on Petra's chest until she laid back. Petra stared up at Andy's face, thinking about how perfect the moment was with dappled light and no other sound but hushed breathing, the pink undertones of Andy's skin intensifying as a blush spread.
    Petra lifted her fingers to Andy's temple, touching the small sunspot there as she tucked Andy's long hair behind her ear. Andy met her gaze, brown eyes intensely studying Petra's blue ones. "I have no clue what we're doing," Petra said honestly, but her words held warmth and love. Neither girl recognized the latter. Andy grinned, taking Petra's lip between her teeth as they kissed.
    "It doesn't matter." She heard Andy mutter as her lips traced a line down Petra's neck. And in that moment, Petra agreed.
#
    Petra stared down at the note between her fingers, giddiness engulfing her whole being as she read and reread Andy's elegant cursive. Happy Birthday! Meet me at the river at seven, I have a surprise for you. Petra knew seven o'clock was pushing it, that her parents would never let her leave the house at such an hour on a weekday, but she had to go. And this was Andy, she couldn't ever say no to Andy, not since that first kiss four months prior. The more Petra thought about it, she realized she never could say no to Andy, even when they were just kids.
    Petra brushed all other thoughts away, instead choosing to focus on Andy. In four months they had blossomed into something bigger than either of them expected. Kisses were deeper, touches more fervent, feelings more foreign and intense. Andy was constantly on Petra's mind, or not far off. Petra daydreamed about the brunette during the church services her parents attended on Sundays and Wednesdays, while she sat at the dinner table listening to her father bless their meal, while her teachers tried to lecture her on arithmetic or geography or world relations.
She tucked Andy's note into her breast pocket, safely fastening the button so it wouldn't slip away, and started to feign sickness. She pinched her cheeks and flicked her forehead until both were tinged red--changes that would be undone by seven-- placing a steaming washcloth across her forehead. She thanked God that her mother never did keep a thermometer around, choosing instead to brush her hand briefly across Petra's now damp and heated forehead.
Petra's mother wasn't worried, telling Petra that she should just sleep it off so she wouldn't miss church service the next night. This was what Petra was betting on, the easy dismissal, the lack of maternal concern, they all made it easier for Petra to slip out of her window later that night, pillows lumped underneath her thick comforters on the rare chance that either of her parents would peer into her room. Petra hurried down the lane behind her house, grabbing the unused bicycle she'd gotten as a gift from her father on her thirteenth birthday.
She pedaled out to the Montgomery property, breathless, calves aching as the tires hit the gravel of their drive. She left the bike near the front door of Andy's house, rushing through the thick weeds and occasional brambles, until she saw Andy sitting on the bank of the river with her knees pulled up to her chest. The brunette didn't get up when Petra noisily broke through the treeline, and Petra sensed her somber mood as soon as she laid eyes on the girl. Her heart seized, just a few inches beneath there the handwritten note sat safely in her breast pocket. She went over it's content in her mind, searching for any double meaning in the words but she found none.
Petra sat next to Andy, close enough to feel the girl's body heat in the cold chill the river gave but far enough away to acknowledge the palpable mood. Andy opened her mouth four times, closing it just as quickly, teeth clacking loudly against one another, until she got the courage to speak.
"Have you ever seen a blue lily?" Petra was too shocked by the seemingly benign question that she could only shake her head. "That's because they don't exist, at least not naturally. But you know what?" Andy didn't wait for a response. "Every time I look into your eyes, that's all I can think about. Blue lilies." Andy let out a low, humorless laugh. "I'm going insane, Petra. I can't stop thinking about you and it's wrong, it's so wrong--"
"Why is it wrong?" Petra was stung, her heart overflowing where it pumped erratically in her chest. "Why is this wrong?"
"How can you kiss me with that cross around your neck? How can I think about you while I sit next to my mother during the Sunday sermon?" Andy took a deep breath, like she was gearing up to continue, but she only let her forehead rest on her knees. Petra was struck dumb, her voice unable to say the words overflowing in her mind. They sat there, on the bank of the river, Petra watching Andy and Andy trying to trample down all the feelings for Petra that had sprung up like a gyser.
When Andy finally looked at Petra, she saw the blonde was staring down at her hands, the cross pendant she'd once worn around her neck sitting in her creased palm. Andy watched as Petra reared back her hand, anger rioting on her features, and threw it into the churning waters. They couldn't watch it sink down to the muddy floor, and they couldn't find the words to explain the change between them, but that night when Andy snuck Petra into her crowded bedroom--for once free of the two sisters she shared it with--they felt the shift in every kiss and touch and unwavering glance.
Petra fell asleep watching Andy's eyes flutter beneath her lids in the moonlight. Kjbdjnjonasodnoiasmdoiasdo
Petra woke in Andy's bed with morning light filtering in on her face, and for a moment she was able to bask in the glorious disarray of Andy's hair and clothes and bed sheets, but then she remembered where she was, and when it was. Andy's dark eyes begged her to stay but Petra rushed out the back door, careful not to wake anyone in the Montgomery household as she grabbed her bike and began to pedal down their gravel drive. Petra knew her mother would be awake, that her mother would've already gone into her room to wake Petra up even though school didn't start until eight. She knew her life was going to change for the worse
Dread and anxiety filled Petra, nausea swimming through her veins as she prayed, for the first time in a long time, that her absence would go unnoticed. She took the back route back onto her parent's property, chaining the bike back the way it had been before she touched it, hoping no one would notice the scratches and dust, and snuck back through the wide, decorated hallways until she came to her room.
At first glance, everything was she same. The pillows and blankets she'd stuffed under the comforter to mimic her sleeping figure were untouched, the door closed, the windows shut tightly. And as she felt the latch click behind her, she felt all her unease dissipate. Maybe her parents had slept late, maybe her mother decided to let her sleep instead of waking her for school, maybe, just maybe, she could have this one thing--
"I see you're feeling better." Her mother's voice came from the same upholstered bench that Andy sat in while Petra braided her hair all those months ago, and for a split second that image of Andy came to mind, at ease, practically humming beneath Petra's fingertips. And just as quickly, it was gone, nausea overwhelming Petra as the reality of the situation crashed down upon her.
She pushed past her mother into the ensuite bathroom, heaving until her body had nothing left to give. Petra's mother stood next to her the whole time, fingernails clicking against the stone countertops as she waited for her daughter to finish. As soon as the woman knew Petra could focus enough to hear her, she said "I saw the way you looked at that Montgomery girl, I saw it years ago, but your father told me it was nonsense. That kids couldn't be vile so young. And then the other day, I saw you here with that girl, you brought her into my house--"
Her mother's voice had gotten so shrill that it broke, the onslaught stopping as the woman regrouped. When she'd regained control of herself, she said one thing and left Petra prone on the floor. "Be ready in fifteen minutes, we have somewhere to be."
#
Petra sat in the back seat of her father's car, forehead pressed against the window with her eyes shut. She imagined Andy, who was probably still asleep, or eating breakfast with her family, her eyes intense and--Petra hoped--happy. When her father's car pulled into the church parking lot, Petra wasn't exactly surprised. She expected something of this nature, a confession, a prayer. However, when Petra's mother brought her into a private room with the priest, Petra's unease began to build.
The priest and her mother shared a hushed conversation, one Petra could overhear perfectly but she wished she couldn't. She listened as the priest explained homosexuality to her mother, how he said it was an illness, one that could be cured with therapies. How there was a camp for those afflicted, one he could personally vouch for, just a state away. How Petra would come home after she was cured, free of all unholy attractions and lusts of the flesh.
Petra heard her mother, once, say in a breathy exasperated voice that she couldn't believe this was happening in her family, that her own daughter could have such a vile nature. Petra's eyes brimmed with tears at this, but she refused to let them fall. She refused to show any emotion as she sat in that small, cramped room, located in the church she grew up in, with the priest she used to sing for giving her nervous glances every few seconds.
The priest gave her mother a business card and a brochure after they'd finished speaking, encouraging her to call so Petra could be on her road to recovery as soon as possible.
Petra's bags were packed for her before the sun had set that night.
#
The technical term for establishments such as the one Petra was escorted to was conversion camp, and their primary function, as the priest had said, was to change people's orientation from homosexual to heterosexual. Of course, they worked under Freud's assumption that homosexuality was a mental illness and could be cured. Petra learned this from a boy she'd been seated next to, one whose name she had yet to catch, but he had blue eyes and a mischievous face. The way he twitched set her on edge, and the way he flinched every time the door to their small holding room opened made her fear build.
But he kept talking, telling her about his little sister back in Colorado and the three dogs they had and the way the mountains looked after a heavy rain, all scenic and beautiful things that Petra could visualize as clearly as if she had seen them herself.
In a rush she told him about a Christmas when she was five, when she got a beautiful gold cross from her mother, and how her mother had beamed as she clasped the necklace around Petra's neck. About blue lilies and how they weren't naturally found in nature. About the river on the back of the Montgomery's property and how it was a clear, frothy blue--so rare in Mississippi--and how she'd tossed that necklace into its waters after Andy had told her about blue liles, about how Andy looked so conflicted until Petra's lips landed on her skin. And by the time Petra had emptied her lungs of air, Andy's memory swirling around her like cigarette smoke, Petra felt like she was breaking in half.
But she didn't have time to fall apart because before the first of her tears could fall, a willowy woman swung the door to their room open, telling them to follow her with a malice so prevalent it made Petra shrink within herself.