The Wembly-Johnson Divide

4: willow johnson

Willow didn't like her name. It sounded carefree and whimsical, like a fucking daisy. She had petitioned to change her name to Holland at the age of eleven, but her parents had promptly shut that idea down. Willow trees are gorgeous, her mom told her. Changing your name is like trying to redefine your identity, her dad said. Overall, the general consensus was a withstanding no.

The only time she had actually liked the sound of her name was when Mason said it. His accent warped it elegantly, and she couldn't recognize its flaws anymore. It was the summer before high school that she realized this.

Willow and Mason had never really bought into the whole family feud thing that their parents seemed to be obsessed with, but they also never really made an effort to get to know the other. It wasn't until their last middle school dance, in which they had literally crashed into each other, they talked for more than a couple of seconds. They both got addicted to the idea of such a simple rebellion, spending their summer afternoons getting milkshakes or passing the time under the willow trees in Willow's backyard.

It was the last few days of the summer before ninth grade -- high school -- when Mason stopped talking to her. Without any indication or explanation, he started completely ignoring her. She waited impatiently, but Mason never told her why he did what he did. The anger festered deeper inside of her with every unspoken word between them, and she answered Mason's silence with her own. She built an armor around her heart for Mason Wembly and never regretted it since.

Willow also didn't like to drink. She didn't do it very often, and never in excess, but Mason had a way of getting her to do highly uncharacteristic things. It wasn't just the unendurable hangover headache that presented itself in the aftermath of her drinking that made her hate it, though. She hated the fact that it let her do things she would've stopped herself from doing if she was sober. Talking with Mason, for example. Or agreeing to take his jacket.

"WILLOW!" Marge screamed customarily, earning a deep groan from her daughter. Willow knew she had about ten minutes before her mother would come at her with a cold bucket of water, so she managed to push her body out of bed and stumble her way to her bathroom. A cold shower did wonders to her consciousness, so she was able to notice a note clinging to her bedside table that she hadn't before.

Sorry, it read, in a messy handwriting she couldn't help but recognize. Next to the bright green post-it were two white aspirin tablets and a glass of water. A quick glance at her open window confirmed her suspicions. It had been a while since Mason had used that entrance to her house.

She quickly downed the painkillers and made her way down the stairs, taking the awaiting sandwich from her mother's hand and biting into it.

"Peanut butter?" Willow asked, crumbs falling from her mouth as she looked at her mother expectantly.

"Yeah. The inorganic kind," Marge grumbled in defeat. Willow smiled widely, reaching for her sneakers. It took a bit longer than usual for Willow to make it to school, but she still wasn't late, so her uncaring stroll into school wasn't ruined by a lack of time. She made it about twenty feet before a sharp tug on her arm pulled her back into the depths of the supply closet.

"What the fuck?" Willow questioned, recoiling as the light flickered on.

"Listen here, you she-slut—-"

Willow cut Chloe off before she could say more. "Actually, by stereotyped labels, a slut is already assumed to be a she."

"Shut up. I don't need any of your trashy sass! I'm here to talk to you about Mason," Chloe snapped, rolling her eyes at Willow unimpressed look.

"What about him? Did he dump you? OMG! Do you want to make friendship bracelets and strangle him with them? Together?" Willow exclaimed, her voice a patchy squeal.

"What?" Chloe looked momentarily confused. "No! He didn't dump me! And that's exactly why you need to get your whorey hands off of him!"

"You know, girls shouldn't be cutting down other girls. We need to all support each other. Otherwise the patriarchy will win," Willow replied, matter-of-factly.

"What?" Chloe repeated, and Willow could see the fury building in her eyes. "Just stop trying to get with Mason! He's mine."

"Okay sweetie," Willow nodded understandingly, turning towards the door in preparation to leave. Chloe decided that moment to wrap her talons around Willow's wrist, keeping Willow from twisting the doorknob enough to leave.

"You can't just leave!" she yelled out hysterically. Her grip on Willow's arm tightened, so Willow tried to reclaim her arm by pulling away. But it was like a damn finger trap: every movement Willow made towards her own freedom only secured Chloe's resolve.

"Let go of me," Willow hissed, a deadly look passing her face. As she neared Chloe, Willow noticed her bloodshot eyes and paling skin with alarm. "Are you high?"

"...no," Chloe stuttered, swiping her hand across her eyes quickly. The surprise loosened Chloe's grasp on Willow enough for her to finally pull her arm away.

"Whatever. Just don't try to threaten me again," Willow seethed, opening the door sharply and walking out.

❧☙

The day passed quickly enough after Willow's encounter with Chloe, the only reminder of their meeting the bluing bruises Chloe had left on Willow's forearm. It had left her on edge for a couple of hours afterwards, but by the time she made her way to her Harley, she was feeling a lot more in control. The rumble of an engine could always soothe her wayward thoughts.

She didn't feel like visiting Harvey's shop today like she usually did, opting to return home over spending time doing free labor for him. Getting under a car when her mind wasn't fully present didn't seem like the best option.

Within seconds of her reaching her home, Willow crashed face-first on her bed, falling asleep instantly. She didn't know what time it was when she got up, but the sunlight that was filtering into her room had been replaced with the moonlight. She also heard soft groans coming from the general direction of her window, causing her to look up in alarm.

"Why has this gotten ten times harder in the three years I haven't done it?" Mason muttered, trying to pull his torso through the small gap of her semi-opened window.

"Maybe it's because you've gotten fatter?" Willow suggested, running a hand tiredly through her hair. "Why are you trying to squeeze into my room? Someone's going to hear you."

"I heard Chloe came to talk to you today," Mason mumbled, stopping his push and pull movements for a moment. Willow sighed as she walked over to Mason, sliding the window up so that it was open completely. He fell to the ground with a thud. "Thanks."

"Who told you?" Willow snapped, kicking Mason's body lightly to get his attention.

"Chloe," Mason replied as he slowly peeled himself away from the ground. "She said you cornered her, telling her to stay away from me."

"That sounds like me. Obsessed with a douche and prone to threatening other girls for talking to him," Willow deadpanned, falling back onto her bed.

"Look, I know Chloe can get a little... invested... so I just wanted to make sure you're alright," Mason said, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"Mason, I can handle Chloe," Willow muttered, a sharp edge to her tone. "But I can't handle you. Pretending like everything between us is okay and shit. You trying to be nice isn't helping anything."

"Willow, I'm sorry," Mason pleaded, his eyes softening with regret.

Willow's expression hardened. "You need to leave."

"I mean it. I'm sorry," Mason repeated, but Willow's walls were up again, and she wasn't going to let Mason's half-assed apologies break them down.

"You missed the time for apologies by a couple of years," she stated, casting her eyes to the ground. "Please leave."

She didn't take her eyes away from the black flower-patterned carpet of her bedroom until she heard Mason's window sliding closed with a resigned thump. She then walked back over to her own window, pushing it down completely, this time twisting the lock in so that Mason wouldn't be able to enter again.