false alarm {lace&west

"Remember," 

I lose contact, her hand wrapped against mine and velvet ropes and the people look nice, those watching my friends and sisters, "look like you're hurting." She's smart -- little West and little Lace -- heaven knows I need her, the words like murky water in my head, too much noise. A man coughs while another group laughs a battle screech and I've never been a leader, the warmth of Lace's palm in mine feels more like home than anything else. 

A whistle; I'm not the smartest but I can follow a plan. Fake punches and I curl myself up like a second state of being -- us two have never had a true fight but this house ain't much of a truth to begin with. From dirty street fights to theatre, I have the easiest job in this until that second whistle screams. A real one. My heart is easy, past fake reactions and hurts, the audience screams nothing more than what I can register; one blur as I'm picked up by the arms, my eyes drowsy. 

I could actually fall asleep right now. 

But there's a gap, between our timelines where I'm a fraud verses against where I'm last place; hasty hands shoving me back onto the ground and tile bites at pale skin, I don't wince. Too much noise, the sound of Lace beating herself up and a few poor moans in the crowd and shit, I fucked it up, ha fuck, shit, not an inch of bruised skin past the thick of my fists.

"Alright alright alright! Blondie wins, fucks sake," and for a second I stay seated, groans in my ear like snake bites. 

There's two of us though, but I've never been the smartest. Lace's forehead bleeds as I grab her hands again, hastily and drowsy and I'm not really sure what exactly happened, but I hold onto her again so I can't say much besides "I'm sorry."

A whisper. 

"Crazy fuckin kids... who's next?!"


"Which blondie won though-"

---

Nobody bets on the plant prince, the whistle of a water faucet like a screaming song and I stare at Lace's hands as she washes mine, no thoughts in my head but when are there ever. She apologies for a crime I never really picked up but I'm tiredddd dude, white noise the only process in a train of thought running on nothing but fumes. Her hand feels nice on mine, warm water and skin contact other than cage matches -- it's a tender thing. "Does it hurt?" 

"Probably." 

Words. Processing alone took every bit of energy in this dandelion bones, what'd she say. Shit, I stare at her red knuckles and my fidgety hands, I'm sorry. The whistle like a siren song, drowning me at my roots. 

I could actually fall asleep right now, hmm.

And it's a good thing I've had Lace, between starving and fighting, bleeding and writing -- I'm nothing if not a follower and it's a garden of broken things that I've never known how to care for. She band-aids the blood away and I stare as she does it, because I would've stopped at wiping them on ripped jeans and hoping heaven did the rest -- that's the easiest. 

But Lace has never been easy, and I've never been anything but a dandelion soul. 

"Thank you."