Chapter Text
From the very first glance, Bert could tell that Sam was a con through and through. Like any other afternoon, Bert was sitting on the front steps of Miss Take’s drag bar, patterned button-up hanging lazily off one shoulder with bleach blonde strands pulled away from her face in a half up ponytail. At 15 she was a force of nature, the violent flash of light in a thunderstrike, always sporting her signature snarky grin and quick witted one-liners. She surveyed the midday afternoon street with a cursory glance, keeping an eye out for a distracted passerby she could frisk for some easy cash. Conning had been permanently embedded into her veins ever since her mother mysteriously vanished in her childhood, leaving Miss Take to raise her on the arts of trickery.
“It’s all in seeing what’s hidden beneath the facade,” Miss Take had told her while brushing a thick layer of powder across her face, all cheekbones and glam. “The face you display to the world can be your greatest strength but also your greatest weakness.”
“Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”
When Bert laid eyes on the brunette in a tight-collared prep school uniform, hands crossed over her torso defensively, something in her calculating mind paused. From the outside she looked put together, stuffy, snobbish. But from her body language and the heavy weight she placed in each step, Bert could tell that there was something deeply repressed inside of her. One brief glance confirmed her suspicion that there was something more than meets the eye about the girl because of the inconceivable rage that she saw simmering behind those hazel eyes. And just like that, the first match had been lit.
“Oi,” Bert called, rising from her seated stance as she slowly made her way forward to meet the other girl. “Lend me a hand?”
She held a rope and a spare tire under one arm, waggling her brows playfully.
The brunette paused in her tracks and stared at her warily, her lips curving into a frown. “With what?” she asked hesitantly.
“Come and see,” Bert turned on her heel and skipped down the sidewalk. She glanced at the other girl over her shoulder, stretching her arms out with a breathless laugh.
Against her better judgement, Sam let out a sigh and begrudgingly followed the strange girl. She finally caught up with her when she turned the corner and approached an extensive stretch of grass shaded by towering oaks. The blonde tossed the tire down at the base of a particularly tall tree like it weighed nothing and almost immediately started climbing. It was impressive how easily she alternated her grip between each branch, her scuffed tennis shoes pressing against the bark with the perfect amount of friction. When she finally reached a large overhanging branch, she wrapped her arms around it like a Koala and shimmied down until she had assumed a comfortable little perch.
“Cozy up there, aren’t ya?” Sam placed her hands on her hips, shaking her tilted head disapprovingly.
“Go on,” the blonde shouted, beaming with pure mischief in her gaze. “Toss the shit up. Unless you’re too much of a prep to get your hands dirty.”
Sam sharply inhaled, in disbelief at what she was about to do. If her parents knew she was hanging at the outskirts of the woods with a girl in a tree, she was sure to be dead. Nevertheless, the strange girl was waiting on her with a shit-eating grin, and she longed to wipe that smirk off of her face by proving that she had the guts to do a simple task.
Heaving the tire up with a grunt, the brunette stumbled slightly. After regaining her balance, she held the tire up above her head. However, her outstretched hands were far from Bert’s reach at the height that she was at.
“You’re going to have to partially climb the tree,” Bert told her, nodding her head towards the trunk.
Sam flared her nostrils, dropping the tire to the grass with a thump. This was stupid, absolutely stupid. Yet what did she have to lose, when Bert’s amber eyes shined with condescension, challenge.
Gripping the tire under one arm in the same way that the other girl had a few minutes ago, Sam grasped the lowest branch with her other hand and fought to pull her body upwards. Muscles screaming with exertion, bicep lugged down by what felt like an enormous deadweight, she managed to heave herself a miniscule distance up the tree. After her mary janes slipped across the bark multiple times and she considered giving up altogether, she climbed high enough that the blonde could finally take the tire and rope from her grasp. After she relieved her of the burdensome items, Bert held her arm out this time for the other girl. Sam stared at her outstretched hand in confusion, still panting hard. When she finally acquiesced to the fact that she was offering to pull her up, Sam took her calloused hand in her own and allowed herself to be fully pulled into the tree.
“You’re rather clever for a prep,” Bert remarked, her gaze flashing with something akin to respect. “The name’s Roberta Mancini, but you can just call me Bert.”
“Sam,” the brunette responded in turn, retracting her hand to inspect the shallow scratches against her palms. “Just Sam.”
When the two girls emerged from the tree alongside the dying orange rays of the sun hours later to admire the handiwork of the tire swing they had built, that moment alone served as the kindling for the flames of their innate, unbreakable friendship.
Bert soon came to learn that Sam lived in a toxic religious household, her fanatical parents imposing excessive rules on everything from what she wore to the books she read and the people she hung out with. Every TV channel or radio station she followed had to adhere to a strict set of religious morals or they would toss the appliance out as easily as rubbish. They had even enrolled her into an all-girls Catholic School with stuffy, mandated uniforms and restrictions on each girl’s length of hair down to the inch, leaving the brunette absolutely miserable. On the rare occasions that Sam did open up to the other girl and talk about her home situation, she still managed to notice the inkling of defiance knotted in the girl’s brow, the pale tinge of her knuckles tightly gripped into a fist. It was that mere hint of resistance that Bert had noticed the first time she had laid eyes upon Sam, and she knew that with time, she could coax that determination out of her.
With Bert’s persuasive encouragement, she managed to trigger a spark of rebellion that had been previously dormant inside of the other girl. She started small; subtle jabs against her parent’s curfew, offhanded comments about the unfairness of her school’s dress code. While she was met with initial hesitancy and stubbornness, bit by bit Sam began to take the blonde’s word to heart. She started untucking her school’s white blouse, turning in her assignments late, hanging out with Bert hours past the time her parents had instructed her to return by. Of course she was met by her religious parents’ outraged cries and arguments, but that didn’t stop her from continuing her rebellious behavior.
“If you really want freedom, you have to get out of that bloody prep school,” Bert remarked, becoming accustomed to slipping persuasive words into her conversations with Sam like liquor into an unsuspecting punch bowl.
“How on earth am I supposed to do that?” Sam groaned out of frustration, dropping her head to her knees. Between a heated argument with her parents over her clothes and complaints from her teachers, she had been suffering through a long week.
“Ya have to amp up the unruly behavior,” Bert smirked, leaning in towards the other girl with her chin propped against her wrist as if she were about to discreetly share a secret. “Give them no choice but to kick you to the curb, and just like that you’re out of the slammer.”
“And how do I do that?” Sam questioned, tilting her head to stare into the gleaming flecked gold of the other girl’s eyes.
“I’ll teach you,” Bert promised her, clasping her hand firmly with her thumb brushing the brunette’s knuckle in the way that the two of them always did when they made an informal deal, akin to pinky promises that kids exchanged on the playground.
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Sam hadn’t the faintest idea how this bleach blonde, spunky teen in second-hand jorts with a permanent cocky grin had traipsed her way into her life, but after their first meeting with the tire swing it was as if she had known her for ages, their hearts and minds perfectly in sync with one another. Something about Bert drew her in– maybe it was the way their hearts were precariously ripped apart and sewn back together– both of them trying to live through the pain that had been inflicted upon them in their pasts. Bert herself had been abandoned by her mother at a young age, making ends meet under the roof of Miss Take’s drag bar. They both were outcasts with an absence of parental affection in their lives, learning to navigate alone through the world since they were mere children. Something about that shared experience bonded them in a tangible, unexplainable way that made Sam want to reach out and grab the invisible string that tied them together and sew an unbreakable knot between the two of them.
At the same time, there was something starkly clashing about her and Bert’s personalities that had a force of repulsion like two similarly charged ends of a magnet. Sam embraced being grounded, stable, and unchanging, but spending time with Bert sent her world into a hectic whirlwind of uncertainty. She was always pushing her out of her comfort zone, past reason and safety to the point of dangerous risk and trouble. And in Bert’s eyes, trouble was the fun of the game. When Sam would offer friction back, refuse to play along with Bert’s irrational schemes, that’s when the torment would start. The blonde was an absolute nightmare when she didn’t get her way, and every conversation following her rejection would be filled with endless taunts, snide remarks, and duplicitous words. She knew just how to make the brunette tick, ripping her apart at the seams and leaving her in bouts of insurmountable rage while knowingly holding the only needle that could stitch her back together. Even though Sam had enough sense to know that the other girl was manipulating her, their violent banter was intoxicatingly addictive. The more she tried to pull away from her, the more she craved the adrenaline highs of their banter and how despicably well they worked together. And so their tug of war prevailed, a push from her rational mind and a pull from her toxic infatuation.
Sure enough, Bert ushered Sam into what could only be described as her teenage-angst-rebellion-bullshit era with a straightforward plan: do everything that her parents absolutely despised.
“For starters, you’ll have to skip church,” Bert told her, leaning leisurely against Sam’s bedroom window that she had just snuck through only moments before.
“No shit,” Sam blew a strand of hair out of her face, reclined backwards atop the pillows stacked against her headboard.
“Piss off the teachers with some back talking, that’ll be simple,” Bert continued, strolling around her room with her hands in her pockets as she scoured the walls for more ideas. “Sneak out at night, hell, you could kiss a few girls, that’ll be sure to get those nuns’ christ-worshipping panties in a twist.”
Sam let out an inaudible scoff, not even bothering to comment on the girl’s latter remark. Suddenly, Bert’s eyes latched onto something across the room, and she deftly covered the distance in two steps to hold a pair of craft scissors in one hand.
“Say, how do you feel about cutting your hair?” Bert raised an eyebrow, propping a hand on her hip as she made a metallic snipping sound.
“Hmm,” Sam hummed thoughtfully, her eyes raising to the ceiling. “I’ve never thought about it.” She absentmindedly palmed the wavy strands of chestnut hair falling over her shoulders, memory flashing back to the years of trauma she experienced with her parents micromanaging every tiny aspect of her life. It sure would be an act of taking back control, exploring and discovering what she truly liked.
“Could you?” Sam suddenly rose from her bed, stopping in front of Bert expectantly.
The blonde gave her a witty grin and beckoned her with her finger towards the bathroom, spinning the scissors haphazardly in her other hand. When Bert had finally dusted off her hands with a self-satisfied chuckle, Sam gazed into the mirror and found herself speechless. Long chestnut chunks of hair littering the marble sink basin below her, she ran her fingers through the amber tinted strands resting just above her collarbone. Somehow it felt more genuine to herself, brought out the shape of her face. She pushed down the sudden overwhelming urge to cry, refusing to get choked up by a simple haircut.
“I love it,” the brunette replied quietly, staring into the eyes of her best friend through the mirror gratefully as Bert came up behind her to squeeze both of her shoulders.
Before she could grasp a hold of the rational thoughts in her mind, she immediately asked, “What’s next?”
Soon, Sam found herself growing used to sneaking through the shadows and lurking under the darkness of night. Crawling out of her second story bedroom window and slipping out doors with silent steps became second nature to her as she learned to mirror Bert’s experienced movements and tricks. Instead of waiting for her parents to grant her permission to go somewhere, she would sneak out undetected and roam through the streets alongside the blonde as she pleased. She couldn’t give less of a damn about her sleep schedule, as nights were now reserved for escapades and adventures with Bert. With the other girl’s guidance and cunning wit, getting away from the noise of her religious parents’ home became easy. As much as she enjoyed the thrill of going along with Bert’s schemes, her activities quickly began to borderline on dubious and illegal.
“It’s just a pair of drinks and crisps,” Bert batted her eyes at her innocently, the uptick of her brows displaying anything but innocent intentions. “We’ll be in and out without a second glance.”
“Are you sure?” Sam asked skeptically, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She rocked on her heels, unable to uproot her feet from their current position. “What if there are cameras?”
“There’s none on the corner past 8pm, I checked,” Bert bounced on her feet, seemingly impatient. “Plus, we have our bandanas. Come on, don’t be such a wuss!”
She grabbed Sam’s wrist and tugged her towards the dingy gas station, and for whatever unexplainable reason Sam let her. A bell chimed as the two girls walked in, and a middle aged unshaven man in a beanie nodded to them from the register. Bert nudged Sam’s shoulder towards the snack aisle and slyly winked as she walked towards the fridges at the back of the store. The brunette just rolled her eyes, grabbing two packs of barbeque flavored crisps from a shelf towards the end of the row. Inching away from the cashier’s line of sight, she pretended to look at a couple of items at the end of the aisle. When she was sure nobody was watching, Sam silently zipped the snacks into her crossbody bag and leisurely walked down a few other rows to pretend she was looking to buy something.
After a few minutes had passed and there was no sign of Bert, she gave a discreet glance over her shoulder in an attempt to search for a pop of platinum blonde hair. Suddenly, a force rammed into her side and nearly threw her off balance, dragging her towards the door at a suspiciously fast pace.
“Bert?” Sam exclaimed, mouth agape as she struggled to maintain her balance and keep up with Bert’s basically sprinting pace.
“Don’t look up, just get out the door,” Bert whispered huskily into her ear, continuing to pull her towards the exit.
“Hey, miss, do you have an ID?” the man at the register straightened up, eyes darting down to the bottles that the blonde was discreetly trying to conceal beneath her flannel.
Shit. Sam glanced down at the drinks Bert was holding and abruptly realized that instead of energy drinks, she was carrying alcohol. A mixture of shock, confusion, and anger overcame her features, but before she could even let out a retort, Bert whispered a single word so eerily chilling that it sent a shiver down her spine. “Run.”
Before Sam’s mind could catch up with her body, she found herself sprinting towards the door in a direct fight or flight response.
“Hey! Thieves!” The man lunged towards them, but Sam’s vision had already tunneled towards the metal barred-door as she and Bert raced out of the gas station and into the sickly-sweet humid air outside. Blood pumping in her ears, scuffed black boots striking against the pavement, Sam focused all of her will on getting as far away from the drugstore as possible. Somehow Bert had raced on ahead of her, and she sent silent prayers to the stars above for somehow being able to make out the blonde’s lanky figure in the pitch black void of darkness surrounding her.
After she ran for what had felt like hours and began to grow lightheaded with breathlessness, she spotted Bert climbing atop a dumpster around the next corner, waving her forward with urgent gestures.
“Hurry!” Bert called, kicking a leg up as she pulled herself on top of the rusted sheet of metal that covered the roof of the building up ahead. Holding her arm out, she pulled Sam up next to her with surprising strength, rolling onto her back with winded laughter once they had both made it to the top.
“You- you think this is funny?” Sam hissed, shaking with fury and adrenaline that continued to course through her fingertips.
“Hah! You should’ve seen the look on your face,” Bert pounded at her chest with uncontrollable laughter, eyes scrunched tight as she continued to ride out her emotional wave of enthusiasm.
Sam deliberated smashing her fist into the side of her stupidly symmetrical jawline before turning her back and sitting at the other edge of the roof, seething.
When Bert had finally exhausted her bout of giggles, she laid in place on her back, staring up at the sky. She opened the bottle of beer she had shoplifted with an audible hiss, cold droplets of condensation pooling at the hem of her shirt.
“Alcohol, really?” Sam shook her head, digging her nails into the palm of her skin. “We’re sixteen, Bert.”
“Where’s the fun in life if you don’t live on the wild side?” Bert replied playfully, getting consequentially chucked in the head with a bag of crisps.
“Admit it, you loved every moment of it,” the blonde continued, opening the plastic packaging of the bag as she threw chips into her mouth like grapes.
“No, I absolutely did not!” Sam retorted, inhaling sharply with her hands placed against her temples. “We could’ve been arrested back there-”
“But we weren’t,” the other girl interrupted quite smugly.
“Urgh, you’re impossible!” Sam grunted, coming to stand over Bert with her pupils blown, face scrunched up in violent anger.
“Piss off and take one,” Bert told her dismissively, nudging the beer bottle out for the brunette.
Sam looked between the bottle and Bert with frustration, kicking it over with her foot instead. After standing in place with her arms crossed so hard her knuckles blanched white, she grabbed the bottle and sat back down at her place on the edge of the roof.
She considered leaving the bottle unopened in an act of defiance, but the dryness on her tongue from sprinting so hard and the icy coolness of the drink in her hands was too tempting to resist. Unscrewing the cap, she tipped the bottle up to take a cautious sip, wrinkling her nose as the bitter liquid burned the back of her throat.
“Tastes like piss,” Sam spat, shutting her eyes and shuddering.
“Exactly,” Bert replied with a laugh, making shuffling sounds as she headed over to sit next to the other girl.
Dangling her legs off the edge of the roof, Bert tossed her hair back to let the wind run through her platinum strands. With her knees tucked against her chest, Sam snuck a look at the other girl and found herself mildly intrigued by the fluorescent lights of a neon sign bathing her silhouette in a crimson glow.
“Oi, I almost forgot!” Bert exclaimed, digging her forearms deep into the backpack she had brought along with her. “I’ve got something to show ya.”
She uncovered a mini black boombox, fiddling with its switches excitedly. “I know your folks have been pretty strict with music, so I wanted to introduce you to some real rock n’ roll!”
Rotating a switch between different frequencies, Bert finally adjusted the boombox to the station she was looking for and turned up the volume knob. A series of guitar strums and drumming sounds echoed from the speaker, charging the stagnant night air with a palpable, electric energy. Bert bounced to her feet and mimicked playing a guitar, exaggeratedly flipping her hair once the chorus raced around.
“I’m your ch- ch- ch- ch- ch- ch- cherry bomb!”
Sam felt herself unconsciously nodding along to the beat, tapping the rhythm against her thigh. All of her rage had suddenly dissipated and shifted to intrigue and wonderment. Soon, she was letting Bert take her by the hands and spin her around the rickety roof, shouting the repetitive lyrics at the top of both their lungs. With the ruby red glow of the neon sign burning into the backs of her eyelids, blurred from her erratic jumping, all Sam could see were bright cherry hues. The music unraveled a knot deep in her chest, seeping through the edges of her soul and exploding into a flurry of bright colors. When the sounds of the unrelenting drums let up and the chords faded into the night air, Sam collapsed onto her back, laughing into the midnight sky above her. Somehow in the midst of their dancing, she had tangled her limbs with Bert’s, and she made no move to detangle their intertwined hands or knocking elbows.
“That was ace,” Sam murmured breathlessly, mapping the constellations across the sky with a newfound appreciation.
“What did I say?” Bert winked, tipping her head back to down the last of the bottle of beer.
“Show me more,” Sam turned to face the blonde, squeezing her hand insistently.
The other girl peered at her through the neon streaked lights, beaming with a wicked grin spread across her face.
Ever since then, Sam and Bert’s passion for rock music only grew. The girls got matching stick-and-poke cherry tattoos in reference to the very first night they had listened to cherry bomb, amassed enough cash to get Sam her first acoustic guitar, and made a habit of sneaking into bars with fake ids to watch their favorite bands sing live. Sam still remembered the feeling of holding the smooth wood and running her fingers over the frets for the first time, promptly wrapping her arms around Bert’s neck so tight that the other girl begged her to give her a chance to breathe. Her allowance became reserved for sneaking music CDs and band t-shirts in the depths of her closet, and her nights were consumed with the euphoria of sneaking out with Bert and listening to rock music under the stars. The brunette had never felt more viscerally alive in her life, and she savored every moment of her musical discovery like she had been starving without even knowing it for her entire existence.
While Sam was significantly changing, she began to notice Bert’s slow descent into a primarily unsavory crowd at the same time. Mysterious cash appearing in her pockets, designer watches dangling under her ratty flannels, hushed exchanges with random people on the street who all seemed to share that same bend in their posture and alertness in their gaze. When she tried to confront her best friend about it in good faith, she scoffed at her for being so cautious all the time. She told her that she was overreacting, that conning was simple and efficient as long as you knew how to not get caught. Even though Sam turned up her lip at this, Bert had that persuasion in her taunts that enticed her to always want more. It started as one time cons that Sam could backhandedly forget about, waving them off as one of Bert’s usual reckless, rebellious behaviors that she would grow tired of with time. However, she didn’t expect to become so talented at thievery so quickly. She and Bert were lanky teens with bruised shins and quick hands, oftentimes giving them the advantage in crowded, social settings such as concerts. Pocketing a watch and a wallet or two became customary second nature to the brunette, just another hit of adrenaline that sparked through her body and left her feeling fizzy and electric alongside the guitar riffs and gravelly, smoke-tainted voices of 70’s rock bands up onstage.They became thick as thieves and just as conniving as them, cons becoming a recurring activity in the time they spent together.
She could recall one specific night when she and the blonde had frisked their way past the bouncers with shining fake ID’s, bouncing on their toes in tiny denim shorts and buttoned vests. Bert had plaited her short platinum hair into lopsided braids, tinted violet as she spun in circles under the open floor below the stage. She spun to her own rhythm independent from the beat of the current band performing, alternating between guy to guy without settling on a permanent dance partner. Momentarily disappearing out of sight, she appeared in Sam’s peripheral a few minutes later with a pair of drinks, nudging one towards her.
“Bottoms up!” she shouted over the echoing speakers, downing at least half of her glass in one gulp.
Sam took a generous drink herself, the edges of the sweet, slightly acidic drink running in rivulets down the corners of her lips. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she continued to watch Bert sway with the crowd, head tilted back to the heavens and bracelet-clad hands raised.
Her mind disconnected and a bit woozy from the alcohol took her back to the memories of when they had first walked in, Bert telling her, “I could teach you how to kiss, y’know, so you could piss off those nuns with sticks up their asses.”
Her initial rejection of the girl’s offer paled in comparison to Bert’s mesmerising figure, bathed in the violet limelights and absolutely captivating in a way that made Sam unable to look away. Without giving her mind the time to rationally think anything through, she found herself moving forwards through the throngs of people towards Bert. Once she reached the other girl and tapped her shoulder, she was met with the most brilliant, euphoric smile she had ever seen on the blonde. Feeling rather adventurous and probably encouraged by the alcohol flowing through her veins, Sam reached out to grab the other girl’s jawline and pull her into a kiss.
Tiny pinpricks of electricity pricked all across her skin, and their lips meshed together in an inexplicably right way as if they were two eclipsed halves of a moon. Bert’s chapped lips tasted of cigarettes and lavender and vaguely of citrus, assumingly from the drink she had just downed a few moments ago.
Pulling away with a gasp of air, Bert flicked her thumb against the edge of her lip, her expression shifting into a sly grin as she gazed at Sam in a way that felt intensely charged. Or maybe it was the multicolored lights, the alcohol blurring her senses, the adrenaline from the live music jolting through her bones.
“Seems like you don’t need much practice after all,” Bert winked, giving her one last glance before being whisked away by another stranger across the dance floor.
Sam just took another thoughtful sip from her glass, letting her drink wash away any conflicting emotions she didn’t have the energy to decipher or interpret deeper.
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Eventually, Sam had kissed enough girls and pissed off enough teachers at her religious prep school to get herself properly kicked out of the educational program. Her parents reluctantly enrolled her into the local public school, the same one that Bert happened to attend. It was then that their quaint group began to assemble together like connecting pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Their walkmans and conversations on rock n’ roll began to attract the attention of a wide-eyed, ruffly-haired boy a grade below them named Bilal. After he hung around them enough and became adopted into their circle, they learned that he was a musician himself and a killer drummist. Since buying her first acoustic guitar, Sam had been obsessively teaching herself chords and swiping music sheets from local shops, eager to get her hands on anything that could help her improve. She spent many late afternoons atop rooftops and summits, Bert’s head in her lap as she strummed her favorite riffs while the blonde sang along.
Bert also began to expand her contacts to a few others in the ring of local fraudsters, one of them being a drama girl (Jackie) who had graduated a few years ahead of them with a knack for pulling off illusions and an eclectic interest in various unique instruments. They also included Blas, a dark haired bassist who shared their love for rock and thievery. The lingering glances and touches he and Bert exchanged when they thought no one else was looking made Sam assume that they had fucked around at some point, although they never outwardly acknowledged their past. This marked the slow beginnings of a ragtag team of musicians and con artists who at first glance, wouldn’t cause anyone to bat an eye.
But ever since their very first group practice session after Bert had begged all of them to meet at the local park with bribery snacks and insistent letters, they all could unanimously tell that they had an unmistakable spark of raw talent together. Their instruments and vocals meshed together in a beautifully gritty, remarkable way that gave them a burst of optimism that they, too, could be the next big rock n’ roll stars on the radio. Bert coined the name ‘Mancini and the Marauders,’ telling them that it had a cutting edge and ring to it, and it just stuck. They practiced as much as they possibly could in whatever space they could find– from broom closets with barely enough space to stand, the stage of Jackie’s bar, or the back of the building of one of the members’ part time jobs.
After Sam and Bert spent countless hours getting bounced from bar to bar as they searched for one that would allow them to play, they finally scored half an hour at a dingy bar on the edge of town that would serve as the location of their first big musical debut. However, with Bert, every activity always came with an underlying con. The plan was to establish a name for themselves around the city by playing gigs a few times a week, perform onstage, come out to the main bar afterwards to exchange conversation with the fans and, of course, pickpocket them of their valuables. It was a foolproof, absolutely reasonable plan, Bert had promised. After all, who would suspect them in a crowded bar full of intoxicated, suspicious strangers?
Despite their present successes at obtaining gigs at small bars and gathering a decent crowd at each of their performances, tensions between the two girls only began to grow. Because organizing their band and consistently attending rehearsals forced them to be in constant proximity to each other, it was only a matter of time before their differences turned volatile and set off a nuclear reaction. Bert was always attempting to switch out the lines and setlists of songs mere days before their next live performance, driving Sam absolutely crazy with her spontaneity that collided with the brunette’s perfectly organized schedules. She even tried to expand their gigs to different settings and locations where they could pull off alternative cons, Sam immediately rejecting her ideas because of how risky and uncertain they could turn out to be. Sam was stubborn, set in stone with her plans, and when Bert disagreed with a decision, she’d push back until the fuse had been lit and their tensions completely exploded into full on fights. Like a moth drawn to the flames, contesting Bert was too addictive, too tempting to resist.
Their relationship was incredibly toxic, viciously covered with barbed wire and thick in the back of her throat like a spoonful of honey. But even though Bert knew exactly how to get on Sam’s nerves and hit her right where it hurt the most, she couldn’t help but need the other girl. Sure, she was an untrustworthy, cocky bitch at times, but when she was done running her rounds of rebellion she always returned with a ferocious loyalty.
The thought took her back to the time when she was hunched over the toilet, spilling her guts while Bert squeezed her hand the whole way through. The way she had gazed up at her with red-rimmed, glistening eyes and told her that she was pregnant. She still remembered the feeling of leaning sobbing and shaking, head buried in the side of Bert’s neck as the blonde let her get all of her emotions out. “It’s okay, I got you, Sam, just breathe.”
The way she had stood firmly at her side when she finally mustered the courage to tell her parents, cursing them out when they exploded on her and threatened to revoke all of her savings. Not out of any obligation, just for her.
The countless nights that she had stayed over in Bert’s room to escape the noise of her psychotic parents’ house, curled up together on Bert’s twin sized bed with her forehead resting against the other girl’s knee.
“Someday we’ll make it out of this hellhole together,” Bert promised her through the milky darkness, tracing the outline of the brunette’s matching cherry tattoo on her inner arm.
There was a time that Sam had truly believed her. But those times were long gone, leaving a hollow, twisted feeling in her chest that she just couldn’t shake. All it took was a shiny opportunity she just couldn’t pass up to truly splinter their bond into two.
She had let her guard down and gotten cornered behind an alleyway by a law enforcement officer, and he told her that he knew of the thievery schemes that their band had been up to. He also told her that he knew about the networks Bert was involved in, that she would quickly become wrapped up with dangerous people and be forced to face the harsh consequences of a life in prison if she didn’t put a stop to the cons. In exchange for working as a double agent and effectively turning Bert into the police, she and the rest of the band would be cleared of all of their petty misdemeanors and would be given a significant sum of money as an incentive.
Maybe it was the countless nights Sam had tossed and turned in a restless state, her throat raw and Bert’s cocky smirk burned into the back of her eyelids. The way she felt completely and utterly powerless when they argued, the other girl’s twisted manipulation making her feel absolutely worthless and insignificant. Maybe it was the possibility for Sam to truly lead the band as her own, to grasp a sense of control and escape her shitty, unsupported life in Spain. Whatever the reason, Sam accepted the job.
It was efficient and simple– she convinced Bert that she had found another con at a bar at the edge of town– knowing that the girl could never pass up a chance at a new mark. And just like that she received the thick stack of cash that she used to fly her and the rest of her band to Los Angeles, abandoning their petty fraud lives for a whole new experience in the bustling city of rock n’ roll and opportunity.
Sam convinced herself that she had made the difficult, yet right decision. That she had protected Bert from getting so caught up in the game and ending up dead, that she had escaped the shackles of their codependent, obsessive friendship. That their band would find newfound success and experiences in the city that fostered rock n roll from the ground up.
Still, it was impossible to forget the look in Bert’s eyes when she was pinned up against the bar by the police that night. Her jaw slack with disbelief, a twitch in the corner of her mouth, her eyes glazed a deep, charred creme brulee color, consumed with a deep betrayal. It was that singular glance alone that created a slight falter in the brunette’s step, a twinge of uncertainty in her resolve.
However, the act was inevitably over and done with, and Sam didn’t have time to dwell on foolish guilt. So she pushed the thoughts of the blonde to the very back of her mind, repressing them deep inside a carefully locked box. The last thing she would have expected was for Bert to show up on the doorstep of their Los Angeles studio 10 years later, sporting that same mischievous grin.
“Hey, Sam.”