Day After Day

Back Off

AN: March 2020, no covid because I get to do what I want in fanfic. Content warning: implied previous sexual harassment, attempted sexual assault, alcohol consumption (by people of legal age), autistic meltdown (please take care of yourselves)

Bars have never really been her scene. They're way too loud, and she's had some...less than pleasant experiences with creepy guys. But Noah came up from New York for the weekend to celebrate Jacquie's 19th birthday and he doesn't get many opportunities to come visit them at the moment. (And she has a really hard time saying no to her partners.)

It's not really a bar though that Noah picks, more like a pub, which should help, but it doesn't, she feels uneasy the whole time they're looking for a place to sit. She pulls their group toward a table in a corner. That way neither she nor Jacquie are sitting on an end exposed to passers by.

Richelle really tries to pay attention to whatever conversation Noah and Jacquie are having, but there are so many other noises in the pub, the conversations of the tables around them, the music playing loudly through the speakers, and the sound of the lights above their table. She fidgets with her bike chain stim toy and Jacquie's hand on her leg helps ground her enough that she realizes Noah asked if she wanted anything to drink. She glances down at the menu again and settles on something that's probably going to make the bartender ask Noah if he's there with a group of sorority girls. She laughs a little at the image of Noah surrounded by stereotypical sorority girls.

"Are you okay?"

Richelle nods, and she opens her mouth to respond verbally before pulling out her phone. She isn't having a non-speaking experience exactly, she could speak aloud if necessary, but sometimes it's so much easier to just type things out than to say them. It was a long day. And it's loud in here, but I'll be okay. Not approaching a meltdown, if that's what you were asking. As she hands her phone over she gently knocks her head on Jacquie's shoulder. She doesn't look up again until a few minutes later when there's a tap on her shoulder and she sees Noah's returned with their drinks.

Richelle lets Jacquie try some of her drink when Noah returns again with his own glass and sits back down with them. Richelle can't try hers because of course Jacquie got a beer as her first legal drink (and Richelle's had gluten-free beer before, it's disgusting, which is why she sticks to mixed drinks). Jacquie ends up liking Richelle's mixed drink more than her beer (Richelle could've told her as much, but some things you have to learn for yourself) so Richelle ends up drinking less than she planned. Not that she minds, she doesn't like the feeling of being tipsy, it's part of why she drinks so slowly.

Eventually though she's reached her limit of noise and reaches into her bag to find her keychain with her noise cancelling earplugs, only to realize that she didn't transfer her keys to this bag because she wasn't driving. This is okay, she thinks, we're not going to be here much longer. I just need to make it another 30 minutes. Except she can't make it another half hour, she barely manages to make it another five minutes before she feels the tell tale signs of overstimulation and an impending meltdown.

"I'll be back," she says as she leaves, it's a little easier to speak now, strangely. But really she just needs out. They're sitting near the door that lets out into an outdoor patio. The one saving grace of it being early spring, is that it's still cold enough this late at night that nobody else is out there. She sits down in the first seat she finds and tries to focus on something, anything except how she's feeling. She wipes at her eyes with her jacket sleeves ridding her face of tears. She doesn't know how long she's been out there, long enough to stop crying, but not long enough that Noah or Jacquie has started to worry and come looking for her; when she feels a hand on her back. In a place that is extremely familiar for the touch of someone she doesn't know. Because she's had Jacquie and Noah's hands on her enough to know what they feel like.

"Are you okay?" Even though it's the same question Jacquie asked her not that long ago, the tone is very different and she doesn't like anything about it.

What she wants to say is, "I'd be a lot better if you took your hands off me." But all she can manage is "I'm fine."

"What's a pretty girl like you doing, crying alone, out here?" Richelle tenses even further at that, she knows where this is going. She's beating herself up for not paying closer attention to her surroundings, but she thought she was safe on the patio. And she didn't bring her phone out so she can't even call for help. His hand slides lower, "I bet you just need someone to take care of you." She feels him lean closer but she can't will her body to move away, frozen in fear.

"Back off," Noah! The brief distraction her boyfriend allows moves her attacker far enough away that she can slip off her seat and run the hell away from him.

Until she trips over her shoes and she feels him grab her arm. "There's nothing out here you need to be concerning yourself with." Richelle wrestles to get her arm free but he has a tight grip on her, and he tightens it when he feels her start to struggle. She's crying again, struggling to breathe, and trying to remember anything her sister's told her about self-defense but she's coming up blank. She can't even find it in her to scream.

Richelle doesn't remember any of what comes next, only that suddenly she's curled up in their booth freely crying into Jacquie's shoulder. She vaguely remembers giving a statement to the police when they came, but she doesn't truly feel safe until they're back at her apartment and she's double checked the locks. And even then it takes Natalie almost ten minutes to calm her down. She doesn't make her talk, they just sit on Natalie's bed, Richelle curled in her sister's lap like she did when she was younger, as her sister runs a hand through her hair.

AN: This got way darker than I intended it to. It was never going to be cute and fluffy by any means, but I haven't had great pub/bar experiences (nothing as bad as this thankfully) and I think that it's an unfortunate part of being/looking femme that stuff like this happens, but writing has always helped me process stuff like this.