Chapter Text
January 19, 2019
Catra’s beat-up Subaru groans into life and a grin pulls at their lips as they look into the rearview mirror to see their shit piled up in the backseat: The beat-up guitar Adora bought them for their fourteenth birthday with the money she had gotten from selling the cans Mara left in the back in massive black trash bags and everything they own that could fit in the two suitcases they stole from Weaver. Adora and them are finally doing it. They are finally getting out of this god forsaken town. As Catra drives through the back streets, the golden morning sun shines in their eyes and gives them a sense of pride. The day has finally come. The countless nights planning and saving up money from the shitty jobs they found on the edge of town will finally be worth it. In a few days Adora and Catra will be in a shitty motel in LA, finally able to be together. Just the two of them. No Mara, no Weaver. They can do whatever they want.
Catra turns onto the skinny gravel road into Adora’s trailer park. The people smoking out front don’t look twice as they roll through. They are always here so no one questions their rusty old car. They park on the road in front of the yellowed trailer, the grass around it is overgrown. A metal dragonfly next to the front door leans to the left, from where Mara had stuck it in the hard ground to give the trailer some “personality.” The broken ancient wind chimes clang in the light breeze.
Catra pulls their denim jacket closer around them as they make their way up to the front door. They pull open the screen door and knock their knuckles against the aluminum. Silence. None of the scrambling from inside signifying that Adora is home. They worry on their lip and knock again. Nothing. Catra swallows the lump in their throat.
They sit in the faded blue folding chair out front and pull out their phone. Maybe Adora needed to grab something before they left. That had to be it. Catra shoves their car keys into their pocket and hunche over their phone. They don’t know how long they sit, waiting, adding songs onto the playlist they made for this drive. Every minute that ticks by, their knee bounces faster.
By the time two hours pass, Catra gets a sinking feeling in their gut. It couldn’t be, could it? Did Adora back out? There’s no way. Adora would never do that to them. Adora is their best friend, so she wouldn’t leave them. Catra sits for fifteen minutes longer before they can’t stop themself.
They sneak around to the back door that’s never locked. They open it slowly and slide in. The lights are still on, casting a yellow glow on the wood paneling. Beer and liquor bottles are scattered across the floor around the dining room table. The table has its usual stacks of unopened mail and Mara’s countless pills on it. Catra walks past the sagging couch and peeling wallpaper of the living room to Adora’s room. The door is half open, as if she had left in a hurry. The room looks just as it always has, Adora’s floral blue sheets perfectly made, her knickknacks still lining the top of dresser. Tears burn in Catra’s eyes. The suitcase hasn’t even been pulled out. Nothing has been packed.
Catra’s heart starts to pound in their chest as their eyes dart around the room. There must be an explanation. Adora wouldn’t just leave- they’d been planning this for months. Adora has been nervous for the past two months. Her eyes darting back and forth, anxiously twisting the ring Catra had stolen for her every time they talked about it. Hushing Catra when they spoke too loud about their plan. Catra had attributed it to Mara’s unpredictable nature; who knows what she’d do if she’d gotten wind of their move to LA? Maybe it was something different. Maybe Adora was trying to let Catra down gently.
Catra needs to get rid of the fucking anxiety. Adora would never leave them. Right? Catra rushes out of Adora’s room to search for any answers they can find. There has to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. Their eyes scan the living room only to see Adora’s phone sitting forgotten on the couch. Fuck. Adora never leaves her phone anywhere. The only reason she would leave without her phone would be to avoid someone. She’d done it countless times when she’d sneak through Catra’s window to avoid Mara’s frantic texts when she was having an episode. But Mara isn’t here right now. Catra would know if Mara were here. The only explanation is that she’s avoiding Catra.
Catra feels their breath quicken as they drop onto the couch, head in their hands. Adora did leave them. She never wanted to leave for LA with them. She’s just too much of a people pleaser to tell Catra. Was she ever serious? How many months was she planning this? Did Adora ever even love them? Catra can hear Weaver in their head mocking them for ever getting attached to Adora. Adora doesn’t want them. She never did. Catra was just her plaything. As soon as it got serious, she left. How could Catra be so fucking dumb?
Catra storms out of the trailer, slamming the door behind them. They bite their bottom lip until blood draws. They can’t cry. They can’t give Adora that power over them. They fling open the door of their car and collapse inside, their head resting on the steering wheel. They don’t need Adora. They don’t need her stupid deep blue eyes, or her annoying laugh, or the soft words whispered late at night. They’re going to go to LA on their own. They’re going to make a life for themself. Adora or not.
June 23, 2023
“Rise and shine, bitch!” Catra groans as bright light fills their room. They slam their hand on the bed beside them and feel for their extra pillow, grabbing it when they blindly hit it. Catra presses it to their face, hoping they can fend off the light from their blackout curtains being opened.
“Fuck off Glitter. It’s not morning,” Catra’s grumbles, their voice muffled by the pillow practically suffocating them. Whatever. It’s better than sunlight. They hear a scoff coming from somewhere in the room. Suddenly, their covers are ripped off, leaving them to shiver in the freezing cold. Bow must have turned up the fucking AC again. Since Bow has started testosterone, he has been running hot and turning down the thermometer. This has started an all-out war between them, as Catra always runs cold (yes, Bow, even with their fur).
“It’s five pm,” Glimmer corrects as she so graciously rips the pillow from Catra’s face. Catra glares at the sparkly menace before them. They love their friends, but they were up all night with nightmares. It’s a pain in their ass. The only thing that can quiet their mind is writing music. They’re embarrassed to admit that almost every song they write is about their past. Trauma is one hell of a muse.
Catra sighs dramatically and sits on the edge of their bed. Their feet hit the soft pile of clothes on their floor. They should really do laundry. They grab an oversized red flannel that hits their thighs and sluggishly button a few buttons before giving up. Nothing Bow and Glimmer haven’t seen before.
“You have a show at the Crimson Waste at seven. I let you sleep in as much as I could because I am your favorite,” Glimmer sing-songs, “Also Bow’s making chicken stir-fry for dinner.”
“I’m in love with that boy,” Catra says as they stand up to stretch. Glimmer narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.
“That’s my boyfriend.”
“And?” Catra asks as they thread their fingers together and stretch their arms upwards, their muscles quiver slightly. They close their eyes and sigh at the feeling.
Glimmer raises an eyebrow, “You’re a lesbian.”
Catra opens one blue eye and smirks, “And?”
“ Ugh ! You’re so infuriating ,” Glimmer huffs and walks away. Catra trails behind her into the living room of their apartment. Between Catra’s love of black and Glimmer’s strange need for everything she owns to be pink or purple (even the waffle maker and her toothbrush- Catra will never understand it), the apartment has turned into an eclectic pastel punk vibe. The walls are painted a soft purple, and the decorations are all black. There’s a sign with “It’s not a whore house, it’s a whore home” written in calligraphy hanging over the comfy gray sectional Bow had gotten from his parents that Catra likes to fling themself on.
Catra plops themself down on the stool at the island separating the kitchen from the living room. They rest their chin on their hands as they watch Bow stir chicken, broccoli, and peppers in the pan with a pair of hot pink tongs. He’s wearing the apron with “grill daddy” written on it that he had gotten from Catra during last year’s secret Santa. Catra’s mouth waters at the smell.
“Bow, you’re the only boy I’ll ever love,” Catra declares as they watch him turn off the burner and start portioning out the food onto three plates and put everything on their kitchen table. Catra grabs their circular pill container and frowns at the multiple missed days.
Fuck.
They feel anxiety pressing down on their chest. They know they aren’t her. They know the most that is going to happen if they miss their meds for a few days is an increase in nightmares and panic attacks, but their vision still starts to narrow. They can still hear the soft sobs, feel her shaking frame as she hides as far as she can into Catra’s neck. What if they lose control? What if they hurt Bow and Glimmer? What if they’re like—
“Stop flirting with my boyfriend.”
Catra looks up from the pill box to see Glimmer playfully glaring at them and Bow looking like he just won the lottery. Catra unclenches their fists to reveal indents from their claws. They’re safe. Catra’s safe. They’re not out of control. Nothing bad is going to happen. They’re just like they always are. The tension seeps out of Catra’s body. They open the ‘Friday’ pill container and shake the two pills out into their hand. They pop them into their mouth, grab their water bottle, take a swig, and swallow. Relief floods their system. They need to fix their sleep schedule if only to make sure they take their meds regularly.
“Aw! Catra! I love you too, buddy!” Bow coos as Catra slides off the bar stool and into their seat at the table. They take a bite of the stir-fry and sigh at the burst of flavor in their mouth. They don’t know where Bow learnt to cook like this. Catra had to live off instant ramen and flavorless cereal at Weavers, so they never got a chance to learn to cook. Bow has tried to teach them a few recipes, but Bow takes “measuring from the heart” far too seriously for Catra to know what’s going on.
Glimmer gasps dramatically, “Bow, don’t encourage them.”
“But they’re so cute!”
Catra relaxes back into their chair, their tail sways softly behind them as they eat their food and watch their two best friends squabble. They’d never say it out loud, but Bow and Glimmer make them feel safe. They’re stable and kind and they care about her. Even if they can’t read exactly what’s going on in their head from the twitch of an ear, they will do everything they can to build Catra up and take care of them. They can bring them down from a panic attack by just being themselves.
“Not cute,” Catra corrects around a mouth full of food. Catra from three years ago would have ripped Bow—or anyone really—apart for that comment. But Catra has been through a lot of therapy. They were against it at first but by the time they moved in with Glimmer and Bow their panic attacks were severe and daily. Glimmer had gently persuaded them to go (told them that she’d drag them to therapy by their ears and lock them in the room).
Catra finishes up their food and heads back to their room to get ready for the gig. It is their usual Friday night show at the Waste. The Crimson Waste is a grungy lesbian dive bar run by an old butch named Huntara. The Best Friend Squad had gone down to the Waste for karaoke night. After a lot of heckling, they sang “Before He Cheats” by Carrie Underwood. Huntara had liked the performance so much that she had offered Catra her seven o’clock slot every Friday night on the spot. It was Catra’s first real gig and first step into the musical world and they loved it. They started with covers and when they had gotten more gigs and started making real money they switched over to original songs. They quickly became a popular local musician.
They rummage through the pile of clothes on the ground to find a pair of tight black skinny jeans and an old black band tee with the sleeves cut off to reveal a hint of their top surgery scars through the side of the shirt. Catra pulls on the shirt, pants, and their beat-up black cowboy boots. They step in front of the mirror to ruffle their unruly short mane. It’s leaning closer to messy messy than cool messy but it’ll have to do. They smile into the mirror, showing off their sharp fangs. Damn, they look hot.
Glimmer screams from the living room reminding them of the time. They grab their guitar and amp and rushe out of the room. Time to give a hell of a performance.
*
Catra is sweating . Their chest is heaving as they pull the bottom of their shirt up to wipe the sweat from their forehead. They are on their last song of their set. It is the big finale. The crowd has been fantastic, screaming and whooping for every song. Who knew an alternative they/them country singer would be such a hit among the lesbians. Their eyes scan the crowd as they take a swig of their water bottle and set it down beside them.
“You guys have been an amazing crowd keeping me company for the last three hours,” Catra says into the microphone, strumming a few cords on their guitar, “if you just came in, welcome my name is Catra and for my last song I will be singing you the angriest song in my set—”
Catra chokes on their words. Leaning against bar is someone they haven’t seen for four years. She’s matured, gotten significantly bulkier, and lost that stupid hair poof but there is no mistaking those blue eyes looking directly at her. It’s Adora. Why the fuck is Adora in LA? A swirling cocktail of panic, anger, and sadness overwhelms them. Catra swallows. They can deal with this later. They have one more song. They can get through this. They just need to send Adora a message.
“I hope you guys like it,” they finish shakily and start strumming the twangy melody and tapping the beat with their foot. They take a deep breath and find Adora’s eyes in the crowd.
“We had a plan, move out of this town, baby,” Adora’s eye widen in recognition. Catra smirks at her shock. As she goes through the first verse, memories of that morning flood their brain. The excitement of getting to leave and the confusion, then panic of Adora not being home. Their voice gets progressively angrier as they sing directly to Adora.
They let every ounce of anger, betrayal, and heartbreak seep into their voice. The further they get into the song, the more they lose themself in the music until everything else fades out. It’s just them, the melody, and Adora.
Adora looks at them with a mixture of shock and confusion. Her eyes just as big and just as blue as when she was a scrawny teenager. She has a slicked back ponytail, no pinned back bangs in sight. She is just like Catra remembered and yet nothing like it at all. She is the girl Catra loved more than anything else. The girl that gave up on them. The girl that abandoned them.
“ I made my way back to LA and that's where you'll be forgotten. In forty years, you'll still be here drunk washed up in Austin ,” Catra sings, their voice soft as they finish the song. They finally tear their eyes away from Adora. They crowd cheers as they quickly sign off for the night. The adrenaline rush leaves panic in its wake. They can’t believe they actually sang that song to Adora. Their heart is pounding. That is all the confrontation that they can handle tonight. Or ever. They feel their breath shortening and a tight coil wrapping around their chest. They swing their guitar around so it's hanging against their back and rush off the stage.
“Catra!” their ears prick backwards. They’d recognize that voice anywhere. They can’t handle this right now. They are teetering on the edge, their vision is closing in. They push forward against the crowd, but Adora’s heavy footsteps get closer. The employee's entrance is in sight, but they feel a warm firm hand grab their shoulder, “Catra, wait!”
Catra whips around with a hiss, baring their teeth at Adora. Adora rips her hand away as if she had been burned. Hurt flashes across her face. Catra’s heart has the audacity to have a small pang of guilt. They swallow it down. They need to get out of here.
“Fuck off, Adora,” They growl, their tail wrapped around their body protectively and ears pinned back. Adora has been reading them like a book based on their body language for years, she should know better than to push them right now. They turn back around and keep pushing through the crowd until they get through the door. Tears are brimming in their eyes and it’s as if no air is getting into their lungs.
Catra doesn’t know if Adora is purposefully ignoring all their warning signs, or if she’s too panicked to pay attention, but she keeps following, “Catra, please! I need to talk to you! Please—”
“ No! No,” Catra half screams half sobs.
They fling the employees only door open, throw themself in, and slam it closed. Glimmer is waiting for them with a towel and another bottle of water. She immediately drops them to run to Catra's side. There are spots in Catra’s vision. They lean back against the door as their panic attack comes in full force. Their body wracks with sobs. They can faintly hear Glimmer trying to get them to do breathing exercises and Adora’s begging coming from the other side of the door. They slide down the door, so they are sitting at the base with their head in their hands. Stupid fucking Adora.