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The sound of the snow gently hitting the window roused Faith from her slumber. They rubbed at their eyes, and slowly sat up, disentangling themself from their sleeping bag. Someone had draped a blanket over it, perhaps to keep them warm, but they didn’t remember who or when. It must have been while she was asleep.
How disgusting. She couldn’t help but think of how terrifying it was that someone could do such a thing to her, when she was unaware.
Immediately, their mind filled with worst case scenarios. Being stabbed, assaulted, choked out, groped, kidnapped, or even worse. There are always worse things. Her mind spiraled through all of them, playing out each scenario, no matter how hard she tried to block them out.
She needed to get out of here.
Faith glanced around, trying to discern if any of the other campers were awake. On the couch, Coral was sleeping soundly, curled up to cuddle their pillow. Faith felt an immediate stab of jealousy at the way her rival blogger, her “shadow counterpart,” could trust everyone around them with ease. They looked to the other side of the couch, where Intra was sucking on their thumb and mumbling about beans in their sleep. Faith sneered.
Those goody-goody freaks and their toxic positivity. She hated them almost as much as she hated people who bothered her with their horrid flames and asks.
But both of them were still asleep. Lucky ducks.
Faith looked to the ceiling. It was plain white. The walls were standard for a wood cabin. Everything was decorated stupidly. It wasn’t quiet, with the snow battering the house. What the hell is wrong with that snow? Why is she the only one up? Other bloggers were asleep in the same room.
And one of them, on the other side of the room, curled up in a chair, was F3m.
Her heart skipped a beat, realizing how close the pervert was to her. Not that they were sexualizing a trans woman, that would be extremely problematic and transphobic and misogynist and terrible of them, but F3m had a habit of harassing them. She immediately looked around more closely, to see what problematic people she was sharing space with.
Next to her, Serva was dutifully sleeping, and Faith immediately felt a sense of relief. Having her self-proclaimed henchwoman so close made them realize that no one could have gotten so close to her. Dey would have woken up and protected them, undoubtedly. Serva’s loyalty and support warmed Faith’s heart, even if she was likely problematic in some way. And would betray them horribly. Maybe dey would–
Snap out of it!
Faith shook her head, loose brown and blue hair flicking into her face. Augh. She pushed her hair back, and got out of the sleeping bag, careful not to wake Serva or the two giggly morons on the couch. Both of the “Good Faiths” were annoyingly positive, and Faith, the real, actually good Faith, wasn’t going to tolerate their toxic positivity. It’s a form of abuse, after all.
She slowly crept through the rented cabin, passing by the other sleeping bloggers, to get to the kitchen. If they could just get some water, they could surely get back to sleep.
They had to step over a few people, but they did it as non-problematically as possible.
In the dark of the night, with the snow caressing the window, it was hard to see. Faith walked slowly, hopeful that they wouldn’t bump into anyone. It’d be awkward to explain why she was up. If only Tate was here… They always felt safer with Tate around. All these strangers, who could hurt her, who could do terrible things and be contaminated with the terrible things people always do. People are always doing terrible things. People are terrible. Faith has to preserve their purity by not associating with anyone who’s a bad person.
This all makes sense, surely.
Faith stops in the doorway of the kitchen, thoughts derailed by the soft smell of coffee. Tahmina was standing in the shared space, quietly drinking from a mug. Looking so calm. So put-together. So… peaceful. She looked up at Faith, and smiled.
They wanted to die. Instantly, Faith wanted to die, or for her to die. For someone to die, so this uncomfortable situation couldn’t happen. The therapist-themed blog runner was looking at them with a kind of self-assured relaxation that had to be deeply problematic, because of the way it made them feel. They shouldn’t feel like this. No one is allowed to make them feel like this. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair.
“Did you want some coffee?” Tahmina whispered. She raised the mug a bit. “I made it myself. I brought the beans, since the last time I went on vacation, the air bnb didn’t have coffee.”
Faith shook their head, voice sticking in their throat.
What is it about this older woman that kept them from speaking? How could she always make Faith feel like a stupid little child, being scolded by an adult? It’s not fair. They’re beyond old enough to not be feeling this way.
“Alright. Just couldn’t sleep?”
She was still trying to make conversation. Why was she still trying to make conversation? Why did she think she could “fix” Faith? They didn’t need fixing. They’re right. They didn’t need it from their stupid mom, their awful dad, or Tate, or those sappy “Good (Mis)Interpreting” blogs, or this dumb therapy woman.
They nodded.
Tahmina laughed, so quiet. Her voice was low and warm. “That’s alright. If you’d like to spend some time with me, I don’t mind at all.”
Faith couldn’t agree to that. They couldn’t agree to what Tahmina said. It was a terrible idea. Being alone with this woman, she could do anything to them. She could pin them down and no one would hear them scream. No one would come to save her. Any number of violent or sexual or problematic things could happen in this kitchen right now. Just standing in it is damaging their mental health. If they don’t leave, they’re complicit in what happens. And aren’t kitchens too bourgeois, anyway? Aren’t kitchens problematic?
Twisted, warped images flashed in her mind.
Faith’s hands wrapped up in Tahmina’s, their lips meeting in a gentle, chaste kiss. Tahmina would be so gentle in bed, wouldn’t she? She would kiss her way up and down Faith’s neck, slow and loving. Like they were lovers. Petting Faith’s hair. Complimenting her. Putting in the effort to hold her hips and stroke her sides and kiss her wrists.
With the other campers just a few feet away… Asleep in the living room, when there were no walls dividing the rooms properly. When anyone could look over and see Faith with her back to the counter, with Tahmina’s hands in their hair.
Anyone could see Faith engaging in that problematic behavior. Their two year age gap, such a problematic and dangerous one. Not to mention their wealth and education gaps. It would be immediately obvious that Faith was a sick and twisted hypocrite who deserved to die for her sins. The sins of thinking about how it would feel to have sex with someone who acts like a therapist. Basically fucking your own therapist, what a problematic and vile fantasy.
But how would it feel?
To kiss Tahmina, to roll into bed together, to have a proper encounter? To feel Tahmina’s hand slipping between her legs, to hear her soft laugh as they gasped and pushed their hips into her touch, to look up and see those soft eyes, with skin crinkled at the edges, looking down at them?
How would it feel to have that calm, slow, gentle voice in their ear, whispering praise as she ran just the tips of her fingers over Faith’s…
They shook their head, hard, and stumbled backwards, back and out of the kitchen, their side nearly catching on the island. She had to get back to bed. She had to. She couldn’t give in to these violent thoughts, and she couldn’t give in to the sexual ones, even more so.
Snow was pelting the windows harder now.
Faith stumbled back to her sleeping bag, next to Serva. She crawled back into it, and pulled the blanket over her head, so she could block out the sound of the snow and the imagined smell of coffee.