TW: mentions of abuse
July 16th, 1962
Strangely, when Christine walked back into the smokey, dingy hallway, she felt relieved. Sure, being home had been nice for a bit, but after a while, the lack of freedom of the city started getting to her- and there was only so many times she could listen to her father talking about the orchestra before she got bored.
Even the stench of smoke, tinged with a hint of pot, felt like a welcome change as she played with her keys in the pocket of her new denim jacket (the bar paid well), walking towards the stairs. She hoped this year would be a little better than the last, like she had imagined when she was in high school, excited to get away from home and go on dates, and kiss boys. That hadn't gone too well.
She was pulled away from her thoughts as she reached her floor and pushed open the door leading to her corridor. Standing outside the door next to hers was a woman who looked like she belonged in a surrealist painting, fumbling with keys. She smiled sheepishly as Christine approached. She felt her mouth go dry as she took in her soft brown eyes and her pillowy-looking lips, painted a soft orange. She stumbled to stop staring and speak,
"You're my new neighbour?"
Christine silently cursed herself, what a stupid thing to say,
"Sorry, I'm Christine."
"Hi," the woman smiled, "Indigo, and yes, once this door gets unstuck, I'm your neighbour."
"Do you want a hand?" she asked, "I might have something to pry it open?"
"Yes, please," she laughed sweetly, "If you don't mind."
"Not at all," she unlocked her own door, "Come in, I may be a moment."
Indigo stood in the doorway as she looked inside her bedside cabinet, coming up with nothing. Christine caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and felt grateful she'd decided to wear makeup for the train journey as she looked at the other woman again. She looked flawless.
"Is the key turning?" she broke the silence.
"Yeah," indigo replied, "It's definitely unlocked, I tried a bobby pin earlier and it slipped right through."
"Brute force?"
"Too small and weak," she laughed.
"Me too," Christine sighed, turning and standing straight, "I'll take you to the security office if you like, they can probably fix it?"
"That would be great, thank you," she said, "Sorry for being so much trouble, I'm sure you just want to get settled in."
"Don't worry, I could do with something to keep me occupied," Christine said warmly, "Leave your stuff in here, it's a bit of a walk."
She guided her back out of the building.
"So...what do you do when you're not helping new students open doors?" Indigo asked.
"I study sculpture," Christine smiled, "And play in a blues bar. You?"
"Fine art," she said, "And as of yet, I don't work."
"Cool," she nodded, "Where are you from? I can't place your accent."
"Newcastle, home of slums and no prospects," Indigo said somewhat bitterly, "I'm glad to be gone. What about you?"
"Lake District."
As they walked side by side, Christine sneaked a little glance at her; she stood much shorter than her at around 5'4 and her body was curvy, covered by a long, flowing skirt and an orange tank top and lots of rings adorned her fingers. If she had felt out of place earlier, it felt even weirder now as she walked beside her. She was stunning.
After a tiring day, Christine slipped under the covers, smiling to herself. It seemed that she had at least made a new friend on the first day back. Indigo invited her in for a cup of tea, as she organised her new room and they'd talked about everything and nothing- music and art, what they wanted to do when they left- Indigo wanted to go freelance with her art. She found out Indigo was eighteen and that she liked her tea with one sugar, no milk.
From the fluttery feeling in her stomach, she thought things were finally coming together.
September, 11th 1962
Indigo knocked on Christine's door early, still dressed in her pyjamas. Christine grumbled as she forced herself up out of her warm cocoon of blankets and over to the door, and smiled instantly when she saw who it was.
"Hi," she smiled, yawning, "You wanna come in?"
They sat on her bed together as Indigo told her about her first week, excited to share it with someone. As she spoke, Christine could sense something was wrong, despite only knowing her for a month or so.
"I'm glad it went well," she said, "But why are you here so early?"
Indigo looked sheepish,
"Sorry, I just don't really have anyone to talk to and I was getting lonely."
"It's okay-" she rushed to fix her mistake, "Honestly, it's fine- I know how you feel, I was the same last year."
"I tried phoning home last night," she didn't meet her eyes, looking at her nails, "Things weren't going well when I left and my mum picked up...she's, um, not a nice person. I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you with all this, I should go-"
"Hey," Christine reached out and took her hand, "It's okay, you can tell me."
"I'm not welcome at home anymore. Like at all."
"Oh."
She sat, unsure how to respond.
"I wanted to try and speak to my dad, if he wasn't drunk. But nope. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be unloading this on you."
"It's okay, isn't it better to talk about this stuff with someone?"
"I guess," Indigo smiled, "Thanks. I just wish I could make sure he's okay, even when he was a bitch, I still cared, you know?"
"Yeah," Christine looked up at her wide eyes, "Listen, you ever want to talk about this stuff, you can. Come here."
Christine wrapped her arms around her, not seeing Indigo's pleasantly shocked expression that she buried into Christine's chest as they hugged. She smiled into her deep blue hair, smelling strawberry scented shampoo.
