Day and Night Ch. 05 Pt. 02

Hello All,

My goodness, how time flies! Whew, Covid, am I right?

For some, it helped their creative butterfly spread its wings. For others, it crushed those suckers to dust. Can ya guess where I fell?

Beth and Day are back, however. If you forgot what happened so far, you're not alone! I had to read over what I'd written myself. (If you ask me about Peaches, I will honestly not be able to tell you what happened to the girl.)

This is the fully finished chapter 5 and you'll be happy to know!

I promise it won't be so horrendously long next time (don't believe my promises. I lie.).

Hope you enjoy this chapter. For those looking for sex, see you in chapter six, because it ain't here. For the people here for EMOTION, find it below.

Happy reading!

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"Wanna refill?" the waitress asked Beth politely, steaming coffee pot already held out in invitation.

"Oh, um, yeah. Thanks." The minute the words left her mouth, Beth regretted them. She wasn't one to stammer, to evade. But then what exactly was she doing nursing burnt coffee 500-feet away from a hospital on a work day?

The morning had been promising, productive even. Cuddles, groceries, breakfast. She'd even had time to throw dinner into the crockpot before leaving three hours early for her meeting with the police. Plenty of time to talk to Simone. Enough time to call off work for the day.

Except the minute she'd seen the slightly run-down facility, and looked at the grime-encrusted letters announcing the name of the hospital, she'd backed up. Fled to the 24-hour dinner across the street to nurse coffee and avoid whatever waited for her in Simone's room.

Can't be pleasant, that's for fucking sure. Beth winced around a sip of too-hot coffee that somehow managed to taste burnt and watered down.

"You know, I don't usually do this," the waitress interrupted again, sliding into the seat across from Beth. "But I'm going on break and it looks like you might wanna talk it out?"

It took a full minute for Beth to understand what was happening and look at the young woman sitting across from her, hair a little greasy, eyes a little tired, demeanor too old for how young she looked. "What?"

She smiled kindly. "I don't usually pry--that's my grandma's area of expertise--but I'm a damn good listener." She stopped before learning forward, conspiratorial. "Only one reason folks come here and it ain't the food."

Beth stared at the woman like she'd grown a second head. This was New York. Keeping your head down and minding your business was the unspoken rule, just like glaring at man-spreaders on the subway and rolling your eyes at confused, pie-in-the-sky tourists after living in the city a few years. One did not sit and talk to a stranger. At all.

"Where're you from?" Beth glanced down to the girl's name tag: Francis.

The girl caught the look and reached for the tag. "It's actually Johanne, but the manager didn't think I would last that long, so I became the designated 'Frankie.'"

"Uh-huh."

She smiled, warm and a little strange. "I'm originally from Haiti, but I grew up in Dallas. Moved up here to help my aunt with her kids and save up some money for college."

Beth blinked at the wealth of information in those two sentences, taking more critical care to look at the young woman. "That's a lot. How old are you?"

"Just turned twenty," she supplied easily. "But enough about me. What's got you here?"

"A--" Beth paused. Not friend. Not really acquaintance. "Someone I know is in the hospital."

Johanne hummed in understanding, folding her arms on the table and lifting a questioning brow when Beth didn't continue.

"She was hurt. Badly. By my fian--um, ex-fiance. She slept with him. And I, um, caught them. I guess he got upset. And... yeah. So, I should go see her." It came out more as a question, uncomfortableness and uncertainty causing Beth to rearrange the silverware and turn the handle of her coffee mug this way and that.

"Should is often a result of others' expectations, but rarely does society care what you do. Only you should care about the choice that you make."

Blinking back in surprise, Beth took a second to absorb the words. "That's... That's really good."

Glancing at her watch, Johanne hummed again before scooting out of the booth. "My goal is to be a psychologist. I find psychology fascinating, though I'm just self-taught from online resources and videos." She shrugged, a smile pulling up her face. "Don't do anything out of some misplaced expectation from society. Do it for yourself."

Beth stared after the waitress, completely floored. With another small smile, Johanne, the designated 'Frankie' turned and walked away.

"What just happened?" she muttered to herself, turning to the inky darkness of her coffee as if it could provide an answer. But coffee was a long way off from becoming sentient and Beth was left staring at her distorted reflection, both closer to the answer and dreading it even more.

Tossing back the burnt, watered-down coffee and burning her mouth in the process, Beth grabbed her bag and got up.

"Hey," she said, reaching out to stop Johanne at the cash register. "Thank you." She slipped a bill that was well-over the price of coffee and recommended the tip into the waitress's hand. "You helped me a lot."

"I didn't do it--"

But Beth was already out the door, hands shaking but back straight as she entered the hospital. She hit the information desk, turning over identification and finding Simone's room. She didn't think as she quietly walked down the hallway, knocked on the door of the private room, and opened it.

The room was large, ostentatiously so. It wasn't exactly surprising to see Simone in a private room. The Brucksworths had donated heavily to the hospital. No doubt it was their doing, just like it was their doing that Jason's arrest hadn't been heavily covered or even mentioned online. That was only a matter of time, of cleaning up perceptions to turn a horror story into a tragedy.

Beth stepped further into the room, and up to the foot of Simone's bed. Her ex-best friend's eyes tracked her the entire time, face turning from stunned to suspicious in a heartbeat.

"What'd you want?" Simone bit out, the words sounding strange and garbled with her face so swollen.

So that's how it's gonna be. Moving closer to the prone woman's side, Beth looked down at her former friend, memories of the last hospital and the last person she'd seen in a hospital gown creeping in. "What you did was fucked up, Simone. But you didn't deserve this."

Somehow Simone managed to scowl, rolling the only eye not currently bandaged. "Whatever."

"I thought we were friends."

"You really came in here to say that? Seriously? Just get out, Beth. It's over. Everything's over."

"Stop being so fucking dramatic," Beth snapped, losing just a little of her cool. "I didn't come here to talk about how you fucked Jason, I came here to tell you to get your shit together. Being self-destructive at 28 isn't cute, Simone. Use whatever money you get from his parents and get some help. This isn't me shitting on you, but genuine advice from a person who used to care about you. I told you before you fucked up my life and I'm telling you know--talk to someone."

Beth expected the tantrum. She'd seen it before, and had an inkling where it came from. Nurses were inside the room in a second, restraining Simone, sedating her, pushing Beth into the hall, threatening to call security.

Closing her eyes, Beth tried to find that peace that came with closing a door. Wasn't there supposed to be that feeling of completeness, of rightness? All she felt was exhaustion. It was all so exhausting, from forcing emotions she thought she should feel to closing doors that may never have even been really open.

She let go the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding, and strangely, she did feel better.

"That won't be necessary," a smooth, highly polished Manhattan accent interrupted from down the hall, making Beth's eyes snap open. "Bethany, darling!" just as polished but with a higher pitch.

No one called her Bethany, except one woman. It wasn't her name, had never been her name. But Beth was too plain, too ordinary. Margaret Elanore Brucksworth was none of those things and wouldn't suffer them. Thus Beth became Bethany. Among other things.

Mr. and Mrs. Brucksworth II glided down the hallway in the move of rich people in as much of a hurry as they ever were. In the two years Beth has been with Jason, she'd never seen his parents hurry for anything. The same couldn't be said of the two people a few paces behind them: his driver and her assistant.

Mrs. Brucksworth brushed the nurses aside, enveloping Beth in a loose, fragrant hug that seemed both warm and detached all at once. Beth noticed Patricia, Mrs. Brucksworth assistant, pulling the nurses aside, handling the situation as she handled everything. The driver took up residence at the end of the wall, keeping watch. It was all so effortless, so practiced, that Beth was surprised she still noticed it. But maybe now she was just far away to see the entire picture again.

Pulling back, Mrs. Brucksworth held Beth at arms length, scanning her eyes down her body. "What are you wearing?"

Beth bit the inside of her cheek, feeling the question scrap against her. Her nerves were already frayed from Simone's tantrum, the insults and names hurled at her from the enraged woman still ringing in her ears. It hadn't penetrated, not really, but the grating was no less raw. Maybe that's why Beth'd opted for one of Day's t-shirts and a pair of jeans instead of her usual affair of designer clothes. Those were weights, the pearls a collar, the heels a torture device. T-shirt and jeans that smelled like comfort and warmth couldn't be anything but armor.

But that wasn't an acceptable explanation, so instead Beth murmured, "It's laundry day."

The woman tsked and patted Beth on the cheek. "It wouldn't be if you stayed with Jason. Goodness, I can only imagine where you're staying now. I called all the hotels trying to find you, but it was like you'd disappeared." Translation: I had Patricia call only five star hotels. After the fifth one, I had her move on to more important things.

There was a hole in Beth's left cheek, blood flavoring her tongue, so she switched to the right. "I'm staying with friends," she responded softly, ever the docile fiancee as she looked past Mrs. Brucksworth to her husband. "Sir."

He returned her nod absently, eyes trained on Simone's door. "Let's move a bit. I don't want it to hear us."

It. Beth nodded, even as the words chafed and their presence slashed her nerves into ribbons. It wasn't that she detested Jason's parents, but they were so out of touch and came from such old money, that talking to them was like talking to aliens on another planet, one where lightly veiled racism, misogyny, anti-semitism, and homophobia were the norm. Neither worked in the conventional sense, but insisted on their son having a strong work ethic. Neither of them had ever really struggled, but were quick to point out how lucky Jason was not to be destitute. They played up their success with the American dream, conveniently forgetting the destruction and bodies left in the wake of their success. More simply, Beth didn't like the couple because they were hypocrites who didn't understand how 99 percent of the world worked.

Mr. Brucksworth settled them in a seating area a distance from Simone's room, choosing to stand up as Beth and his wife sat. "I can't believe this happened," Mrs. Brucksworth began, reaching over to grasp Beth's sweaty hands between her cool ones. "I'm not sure who the person that did this even was. It certainly wasn't our Jason. He'd never do this."

"Mm," Beth responded for lack of anything better.

"I just..." Mrs. Brucksworth began, tears gathering in her eyes and spilling over. "Jason wouldn't do this. He's never done anything like this. I don't know what happened. Beth, what happened? Where were you?"

Accusation layered the words, pointed them like daggers and Beth physically recoiled like she'd been slapped. Somehow Jason's behavior--his fucking abuse--was her fault. "I-I--what?"

"You know when Jason first brought you to us, we didn't know what to think," Mrs. Brucksworth began, nodding to her husband. "You were a sweetheart, of course, but Jason's a Brucksworth." The meaning was painfully clear, and Beth dug her nails into her palm. "But you were like a little bud just waiting for the right environment to bloom. And you have. Beautifully. You've become someone I'm proud to call my daughter."

The pain radiated out from her palms to her knuckles as Beth clenched harder, and bit clear through the flesh in her right cheek.

"You know Jason," the woman drew out, nodding slowly. "You know your fiance would never do something like this if he was... well."

And there it was: the angle.

Beth wasn't a fool. From the moment she stepped into the hospital and turned over her ID, a call had been made. Just like a call had been made when Jason was being arrested. She was being handled, just like the reporters and the nurses.

And there was nothing she could do.

There were words the Brucksworth expected to hear, words that Beth knew she had to vocalize. Words that would save her job, keep her on the right lists, put her on better ones. Words that ensured a certain standard of living and level of care. Words that bound her tighter than ions.

But her mouth refused to open, tongue refused to lift, vocal cords refused to sound. The pain in her hands was near unbearable, the clenching of her body so stiff it felt like something would crack.

"Bethany, darling?" Mr. Brucksworth's voice was cool, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder heavily. And the bonds constricted further, feeling like physical things around her chest, woven into her muscles. She was locked, trapped in her skin.

"Ah, Margaret and Jason, I see you're keeping Ms. McNair company. I appreciate that." The voice was like a bulldozer, breaking into their huddle, one Beth hadn't even known she was in. Easily, like a hot knife through butter, Detective Daniels reached forward to grab Beth's elbow and pull her up. "But it's time we get you to the station."

The Brucksworth's drew up in an instant, outrage clear on their faces. "For what?"

Detective Tish moved easily next to his partner, effectively pushing Beth behind the two officers. "Afraid we can't divulge that information."

Red climbed from Mr. Brucksworth's throat, up to his face. "Valencia--"

"Detective Daniels," the woman interrupted easily. "I am on the job, after all. And if you'll excuse us, we need to get back to it."

The detectives turned, easily moving to either side of Beth and leading her away.

"Bethany!" Mrs. Brucksworth called out behind them. "Call us if you need anything. After all, we're family."

If Beth had been in a coffin, that would have been the final nail. It rang like it. With a finality, with a threat. Her knees shook horribly, breath coming out in pants as they made their way out of the hospital and into the bright, noisy, overwhelming outside.

"Hey Tish, give us a second," Detective Daniels called to her partner, guiding Beth around the hospital building, away from the loud and blinding and too much.

The second they were out of sight, Beth's knees gave out, her body quitting on her. "Oh, fuck!" Detective Daniels punched out, forcing Beth against the brick wall and steadying her. "Ms. McNair?"

But Beth's body was done; the stress was too much as bile climbed up her throat and she had enough sense to turn her head as she vomited.

It was a tense few minutes of puking then dry heaving. "Do you need to see a doctor?" the detective asked tightly.

Beth had enough sense to shake her head no and hold up a hand in the universal sign of "wait". It was another few minutes of body-wracking shakes, deep breathing, and trying to pull herself together before Beth could speak. "I'm s-sorry." But her voice was all wrong, scratchy and wobbly and unsure.

Fuck! She hated this. Hated this feeling of uncertainty, of being trapped, her body too tight for everything inside it. It had all been just overwhelming: the hospital, Simone, Jason's parents. Two of those together, maybe, but all three?

"Hey," the detective cajoled, "It's okay. The Brucksworth are a lot on a good day. Take all the time you need."

She shook her head. "N-No, it's f-fine." But it wasn't and there was no real way it could be. Beth slammed her fist against the hospital wall, hating this feeling, hating herself for feeling this way. "I'll be f-fine."

Wisely, the detective remained quiet.

Beth closed her eyes and tilted her head down, burying her nose in her shirt. And Day's scent. Greedily, she snatched up the collar, tucking her face into the folds and breathing deeply. It wasn't enough, not by a long shot, but it was just enough to get her through. Only her brother's shirt would have been better.

Day's scent was all the things she missed. Calm, security, stability. All the things she thought Jason provided, but maybe that had all been an illusion. Beth had never once sought out Jason when she was feeling undone. She'd just assumed it was her body's way of establishing independence, a modern relationship built on what looked good on paper instead of felt good in the heart. Because the heart was fickle and lied and fell too easily and got crushed horrifically. She didn't have to trust Jason to marry him, that's what lawyers were for. She didn't have to rely on Jason for love, that's what her friends and family were for.

She'd liked him, they'd gotten along well enough, and he looked stunning on paper. When she looked at Jason she saw a future, a specifically scripted one that would allow her all the things she wanted with very little effort on her part. She didn't have to give a piece of herself over to Jason, not huge chunks of her already broken heart. He could have the crumbs--he wouldn't even know the difference.

But she would, and she did.

Drawing out of the reprieve that was Day's scent, Beth blinked her eyes open, squinting at the morning light before focusing up at Detective Daniels. Up? Somehow, Beth had gone from leaning heavily against the wall with Daniels' support, to crouching, knees drawn up to her chest, a hairbreadth away from her own vomit. Lovely.

Releasing the fabric from her clutching fingers, Beth smoothed out her neckline as much as she could as she pushed up from her squat. The detective took a step back, giving Beth some much needed space. Clammy, shaking fingers smoothed down nonexistent wrinkles in her jeans, as she took a few steadying breaths before she was finally, firmly composed.

"We were supposed to talk." Beth was thrilled at how steady and clear her voice sounded. "So let's do that."