[FreenBecky] Sweet&Sour

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

As it turned out, Becky was a very fun drunk. Freen worried a silent movie wouldn't hold her attention, but the girl was like a tiger hunting an antelope, catching every over-the-top facial expres- sion any actor exhibited ever. The result was two very tipsy women by ten o'clock, when they spilled out of the theater and into the warm September night.

Freen knew she should've cut herself off after two drinks so they could go home, but dammit, she just hadn't wanted to. It had been so long since she'd been with another human like this.

She never made great decisions when she drank alcohol. Hence spilling her guts about her mother dying, to a person who was essentially her enemy.

This was certainly a different girl, not her enemy. This girl wasn't like the one who'd ripped into Freen over some spilled wine a week ago. No, this Becky was just a little softer, that angry outer shell she wore cracked ever so Freen wondered if her own shell was cracked ever so slightly too.

"Ready to go?" she called to Becky, who was still spinning like an ice skater while other moviegoers angled around her, amused expressions on their faces.

Becky stopped, out of breath, eyes sparkling from the fluorescents as she blinked at Freen. "Not even a little."

Freen laughed. "Well, good, because there's no bus that can drive us back yet at this hour. I guess we could call a Lyft."

Becky giggled, legit giggled, and spun around a few more times. She was making Freen nauseous just watching her twirl. "You're not one of those awful people who never gets hangovers, are you?" Freen asked.

Becky shrugged. "Not sure."

Spin, spin, spin.

"Hold up," Freen said, walking  a little crookedly over to Becky and stopping her by closing her hands around her upper arms. "Have you never been drunk before?"

Becky scrunched up her face, pretending to think. It was fucking adorable, except it wasn't, because Becky Armstrong was not adorable, goddammit.

"Nope, I don't think so." Becky said, tapping Freen's nose once with her forefinger. "Obviously."

"What about highschool?" Freen asked.

Becky swayed, and Freen realized her hands were still around the smaller girl's arms. She let go, but then Becky tilted to the side a bit more than was safe, so she grabbed this infernal girl again and held on.

"Highschool was..." Becky waved a sloppy hand through the air.

"Too much to do. Straight As, no dating policy."

"Sounds fucking horrible." Becky laughed. "It was. My friend always tried to ..." But then she trailed off, her eyes focusing on something over Freen's shoulder.

"There's a playground over there." Freen laughed. "A what?"

"A playground," Becky said, lacing her fingers through Freen's and tugging her toward a tiny park at the end of the street. "There is no bus right now. Might as well swing a little."

Might as well swing was a phrase she'd never expected to hear from Becky Armstrong, much less coupled with the action of drunk- stumbling to a park at the edge of the lake with her.

She also never expected Becky's hand to feel so warm and soft, fingers squeezing Freen's just tightly enough.

The park was small, a lot of green space bordered by a walking path, a minimalist playground about fifty feet from the water. There was a swing set, a seesaw, and a bright orange slide that coiled around a large oak tree.