**Mentions of abuse, alcohol, and suicide**

Word Count: 4,284

LAST UPDATED: 1/29/22

The Ladybird was a sleek upper-class bar that sat on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Seventh Street. The glossy lit building was a few blocks from my apartment and a popular meet-up for any interviews or professional meetings I had with chess players or co-workers (chess players that weren't or were sometimes Benny). It was one of those bars that had broadway lights above tabletops, shiny floors, and high-top chairs with elegant menus and appetizers that cost as much as mine and Benny's rent probably put together.

I don't go into The Ladybird for personal meals or dates with Benny, but after an unusual phone call from the said establishment, tonight just might be the first.

Normally the lounge is cramped with upper-classmen and men in suits drinking to avoid their wives; but tonight at one in the morning, it's empty and abandoned with employees mopping, cleaning, and polishing glasses. Half the lounge is dark and only the glossy bar in the back is lit. Two people are arguing by the bar: a nicely dressed bartender and a skinny scruffy-looking man in a leather trench coat.

"Sir, the bar is closed." The bartender says.

"I'm just asking for water to sober up. Isn't that free?"

"The filter is off and I won't turn it back on until tomorrow morning."

"I'm not one of those upper suits who are allergic to tap water." Benny snaps, "I just want tap water or something."

"Sir," the bartender sighs, "We closed an hour ago. You need to leave."

The chess player scoffs and plunks back down on the stool, the metal squeaking under his weight. Benny isn't an alcoholic like most people think he is. He would only ever be like this unless something terrible happened. Like a loss or draw.

 "I can't leave until my girlfriend gets here," he continues not wanting to pick a fight, "can I just get water so I can have something in my system that's not beer."

"No."

I couldn't tell who I was angrier at my drunk boyfriend or the bartender refusing my boyfriend a glass of free water. (Then again the water here probably costs money.) There was a reason why I took higher-class chess players to this place instead of The Metro. These people always thought they were better than the lower hard-working class just because they got more money. They took things we worked hard to keep for granted. It took me a while to learn that.

I decide to rip off the bandaid and make myself known to the bartender. I needed to get Benny home as soon as possible, he looked dehydrated and sick just slumped on the barstool. 

"Please tell me your Miss Beaufort." The bartender sighs.

"See? She came. And now begins the lecture ... " The last part was muttered but I could still hear it under his breath. He wasn't wrong. "Lia, I'm sorry for all this and dragging you uptown this late. Can I make it up to - ?"

"How much is his tab?" I ignore Benny's greeting not being either in the mood or having the energy to deal with his problem yet. I thought the cab ride over would clear my head but all it did was make me feel tired and more annoyed with him.

Benny stands up, staggers at the sudden movement, and pushes my wallet away. His shirt is half-buttoned and his hat is on the tabletop. "I dragged you all the way down here. I'll pay for my own fucking tab."

"Benny, you're --"

"No, no please." He leans forward and kisses my temple instead of my cheek. With his breath stinging with beer, alcohol, and smoke, he digs into his jeans and opens his wallet. I nervously glance at the bartender who equally gives me the hardest and most tired glare.

There's a moment of tension before Benny groans and quietly asks with a strained look, "I'm short a ten ... "

Unbelievable.

"Just - " I grab the bill from the bartender's hands and pay for it myself, being grateful that my boss gave me a bonus for my employment review. I shove the cash toward the bartender and take Benny's hat from the bar. "C'mon, let's just go."

The bartender doesn't say anything but mutters a growled, "have a nice night" behind our backs. I shove my wallet back into my jeans and drag Benny out of the bar, ignoring his shuffles and stumbles and excuses.

"Lia, please the ground is spinning and I don't want to vomit on you," Benny stumbles to a stop outside and shakes his head as if trying to ground himself back to reality. "Okay, look," he says after catching himself. "I know you're pissed at me and you have every fucking reason to, but right now I can't tell you because ... because ... " He claws at his hair and his eyes tick wildly. "I - I just cant'. So can we just ... go back home and I promise to tell you in the morning?"

"Benny, what's going on?" I curl my jacket inwards and sigh at his name "You never go to bars and drink like this. I know you probably feel like shit but ... this is something different." It's the middle of the night with only the streetlamps and glows of the buildings and cars rushing past us, but I can still see his face and nose are red and his eyes are puffy. "What's going on, Benny?"

"I ... It's just - ... I- " His stutters make me quietly panic. Benny is a cocky and confident guy that never stutters or hesitates on what he has to say. Hearing him trip over his words so carelessly and with fear, it makes my heartbreak. "I ... don't know, Lia ... "

I didn't want to force Benny to tell me what happened. From the afterglow of the surrounding buildings, there were no bruises or cuts on his face so he wasn't jumped or robbed. I was tempted to ask him if he got overwhelmed in his past gambling addiction, but he's been doing well on saving money and I didn't want to open that can of worms right now. His face is red and puffy and his fingers gently shake through his hair as he tries to desperately calm down. Something outside the chess world must have happened and it hit Benny hard. 

The annoyed side of me wanted him to just spit it out. What had happened that made him waste $60 on beers or shots, and why was he trying to keep it a secret? The empathetic side saw his tear stains and labored breathing showing that my interrogation wouldn't help. It would only work him up more. He shouldn't be alone tonight, whatever had happened was bad and had shaken him up to his core - which was in itself a rarity.

"Okay," I loosen my grip on his hat and take a deep breath. Benny copies me and nods back, finally starting to calm down. "You promise to tell me tomorrow?"

His nods quicken and he reaches out to me, "I promise." I would be a heartless monster to not accept his hug. 

His entire bony body is trembling in the faintest, like the tremble of a butterfly's wings. I cling to his chest and make myself small so he can hold me and squeeze me for however long and tight he needed. The cigarette smoke that always seemed to be imprinted on his clothes was stronger tonight, with the added stench of different alcohols on his breath. 

When his arms finally let me go after a long while, I reach up and hold his cold face in my hands. Those big brown eyes focus on me in the dark, blown wide and soaking in my face and hands. I catch a few loose tears with my thumbs and kiss his cheek.

"You know I care about you, Benny," I say. "You know I do. And when something hurts you, or bothers you, or makes you upset where you don't know what to do, I want you to come to me, wherever you are. Even if you're in Paris on your newest chess tournament and you feel scared or nervous - and like that would ever happen," Benny smirks through wet eyes. "Call me and tell me, and I'll listen."

"You wouldn't be with me in Paris?" His voice is so quiet and childlike I can't help but smirk.

"Not unless you want me there."

"I always want you with me," He says it quietly again as if he doesn't want the entire world to hear it, just the two of us. "You make me feel better."

"Well I am your lucky charm, so ... " I try to humor him and his laugh eases my mind. His fingers drape over my necklace and he smiles. "You wanna head home?"

Benny quickly nods, "Yes. Please. I feel sick," he snaps from our happy moment with a coughed gag. I quickly step away from him and take his hand to the nearest waiting cab.

* * *

My mind is still hazy and buffering late the next morning. Last night was hard to process and staying awake with Benny to make sure he didn't vomit or get sick was exhausting and rather gross. The poor boy had headaches and a horrible stomach ache from what mysterious alcohol he drank. He told me while he coughed over the toilet that he had somehow drunk something with vodka or tequila.

"Vodka and I have a seriously fucked up relationship," He moaned. "I hate drinking ... "

I woke up before Benny the next day around 9:30, and I was forever grateful that he decided to get drunk on a Friday night. He was exhausted in his hangover and stayed asleep for hours after I had gotten up. I kept wondering about the reason for last night's events and how worked up and overwhelmed Benny was when I found him. 

I know Benny. And in the last year and a half I've known and dated him, he never lets himself get worked up to the point of shaking and holding back sobs. Benny never lets fear or anger control his emotions. Being somewhat of a celebrity in the chess community, he's learned to keep his cool when young chess scholars or fans approach him on trips abroad and in tournaments. Yes, there have been some moments where he's lost his cool - but for good reason. 

Last year, when Benny brought me to California for a chess game, a narcissist reporter with old beliefs harassed me and purposefully tried to corrupt my notes or photos of the game. Benny saw the whole situation unravel and publicly and politely told the man to "fuck off." 

My mind coiled and created awful scenarios as Benny slept the morning through. Maybe he lost a game? Maybe the Federation refused to pay for a certain trip that he couldn't afford? Maybe he was summoned to court because of his parking tickets? (No, he'd never cry at that. More like call the police department and rant about how ridiculous it was.) My blood ran cold at the possibility of someone close to Benny dying or being killed. 

Oh god, what about Beth?

Was she alright? Did she die or overdose? I've heard through rumor magazines and Benny himself that Beth had a drug addiction to a certain supplement or drug called xanzolam. I've never heard of it, but I once read in a magazine that Beth's poor mother died of a similar addiction to alcohol.

No. If Beth Harmon had died and left this earth, the whole chess community would be in an uproar about the World Champion's death. It wasn't Beth who died. It was someone else Benny knew or was close to. Cassie first came to mind and y heart dropped through a trap door. Benny's little sister. The only person in his family that loved and supported him through his chess career until she was sent away by her father. She always wrote to him where she was and promise when she had earned enough bills and pennies, she'd see him in one of his famous chess games. Oh god, poor Cassie would surely stab Benny's heart to the point of shaking on the floor. 

Perhaps it wasn't a death, but more of a fear. In Connecticut, I used to cry and shake at my job sometimes because he had visited me. Threatened me in front of customers and harass me further at home. My mother could never do anything for she would get the same beatings. I remember always crying and begging my preschool teachers to stay after school instead of climbing into his car. 

Benny's father and mine would get along for a drink if they could. His father was almost the same, but crueler. All I knew about his father was that he was the reason he played chess in his room and spent all afternoons playing small chess games to earn money. 

Benny ran away from home the second he had earned enough money for a bus ticket.

His parents never knew where he went.

Until now.

Did his father send him a letter threatening him? Is he coming to New York and dragging him back to his hometown? 

No. God no. Not if I can help it.

"Hey."

A scratchy voice slowly pulls me back into my apartment and I find Benny staring at me from under my crumpled duvet. Tramp is still lying beside him with ruffled fur and sleepy eyes, his paws slowly making biscuits. 

"Hey," I duck into the kitchen and grab his mug of coffee I had made in my thoughts. "I kept it black as you like it. Two spoonfuls of sugar, right?"

A small smile peeled across his face and he gently took the warm mug with a hoarse, "Thanks, angel," and sips his mug of liquid burnt coffee. 

"How're you feeling?"

His chest collapses with an exasperated sigh, "Not too bad. Tramp is helping." he scratches the old cat's chin and is rewarded with purrs. "So um ... about last night."

"No. You don't have to tell me." I stop him and grab his other hand, "It's okay."

"No. No, you gotta know." He surprises me by sitting up and dropping his coffee on the nightstand. "I shouldn't have scared you like that." I sit still but my body trembles with a racing trembling heartbeat. It was racing faster than Mary on her fifth coffee of the day. This was it. Who had died? When had his father contacted him? Was Beth okay?

Benny avoids my eye as he takes a deep breath and reveals the news. "My uh ... my mom died."

His mother. A selfish part of me was relieved that it wasn't Cassie or Beth. I had known about Benny's mother: she spoiled him as best she could being he was the runt of his two older brothers. She nurtured the part of him that didn't want to seem strong or cold like his father wanted him to be. She was the one that bought him his first chess set and urged him to express himself and grow. Unlike my own mother that was scared to go against my father, Benny's mother was fearless and showed no fear or mercy toward her abusive husband. They would constantly fight and bicker. And on more difficult nights, she would lock Benny and Cassie in the basement closet with the key to protect them from more bruises and scars.

"Benny ... " I rested a hand on his shoulder, "I'm so sorry ... "

"To be honest I'm uh ... I'm a bit relieved,"

The response shook me so hard I almost flinched, like his words were a slap to the face.  "W-what?" 

"He can't hurt her anymore," Is what he muttered. "She finally got the nerve to do it. She's always planned that. Framing him for what she would do and making sure he rotted behind bars, so he wouldn't hurt me or Cassie again."

Benny didn't cry or fight off tears like the other night. His fingers tapped and shivered under the blankets. I covered them with my own and kissed his hands warm. "I don't know if I should be relieved like you or ... feel bad."

"She would have loved you, though." Benny suddenly said, squeezing my hands with a hidden strength. "She would have liked how stubborn and independent you were like her." He swallowed and laughed with a hollowed tone. "I wrote her letters before she died. I told her all about you after our first date. She told me to hang on to you. She said I would ... 'need' you're stubbornness to stop me from doing something stupid."

A broken chuckle left me and I smile at him as Benny smiled back, eyes now glossy and wet. "I wish she could have met you. At least once."

"Don't worry. She'll kick your ass in spirit."

A good full laugh left Benny. His laugh was short and sweet, but it was long enough for me to vow to Benny's mother that I would protect him. Don't worry Miss Watts, your son is in good hands. He won't do anything stupid as long as we're together.

"I don't want to guilt-trip you into this relationship now," Benny mumbled, "If there's ever a point in the future where you don't love me anymore. Tell me. And I won't be mad."

"Benny," I sighed, "you think I'd leave a U.S champion for some other guy on the street?"

I was happy he coughed another laugh as I continued to sugarcoat him, "Oh my god. You must be out of your mind. You're like the best fried piece of chicken in the bucket. You're like ... like the gold of all medals in the dating industry. No other man would get me a blueberry muffin in the mornings and leave love letters in my portfolio about how you'd compare me to a chess move."

"Okay, I get it."

"No other man's mustache is as great as yours. The way it's so ... meticulously patched and god that hair I mean - women would fight over the rights to touch that hair - "

"Alright - "

"And my god that luxurious apartment. I mean, that free AC flooring and low water pressure in your shower. Like, oh it's like a luxurious waterfall in the Bahamas or bathing under a river it's just so tropical and modern. Who would have thought of combining the kitchen and the bathroom? Like wow, modern twenty-first-century tech!"

"Alright!" Benny tackles me to the mattress and I snort in his face. "I'm 'amazing' and my apartment is a dungeon. I get it." He smirks at my amusement and playfully bites my nose. "You could still do better than me."

"With who?" I challenge.

"With ... someone, I dunno."

"See! You know I couldn't do better than you." I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him better. He doesn't try to go deeper or press on me. He basks in the kiss like Tramp laying in the sun, purring and making biscuits in his sleep. His hair felt like warm soft sunshine between my fingers and the weight of his chest on mine was comforting. 

"I'm really grateful you told me what happened." I reluctantly bring the conversation back down from its bubbly  "Does Cassie or the other know ... ?"

Benny's happy smile fades instantly and he shakes his head, quickly getting off me and leaning against the pillows. "I dunno. The police were the ones that called me," he says, "they said they found her and then asked me if I could come down to answer questions or plan for that but I ... I just ... hung up." His eyes glanced at me for a moment and then he says, "It's been off the hook all day."

I could hear the cracking echo of my heartbreaking at his words. My body felt hollow and twisted and hot and broken. It felt as if someone had poured hot vomit down my throat and is twisting my intestines with an equally hard hold on my air pipes. I force myself to swallow and hold on to him a little tighter. 

"Before you even ask I'm not talking to them." Benny suddenly blurts. "Cassie I will. But Charles and Benjamin can go fuck themselves they never stood up for Mom. Only Cassie and I knew what she went through, they didn't care."

"I wasn't gonna ask that," I admitted, "I was gonna ask if ... you would need help with the service. Or ... um ... "

"God," His fingers ran like knives through his hair and he hissed out a breath. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry it's too soon - "

"No, no it's just ... I completely forgot about that how am I gonna pay for that."

"I'll help. I can give you as much as I can and - "

"No, angel, no - "

"Yes. I'm doing this. It's my money I can do what I want with it, and what I want is to give your Mom a service." I snap at him, "If you won't accept it I'll just pay for it all myself."

Benny's look was hard like a warm stone found on the beach, soft and round around the edges but heavy and solid with hidden strength that not even years of crushing tide could wither. I wanted to hold him like a crying child; tell him sugar-coated lies that everything would be okay and that he didn't have to cry or scream or shake. 

Grief is one of the most desperate emotions anyone will feel. It can make you do anything like you have a gun to your head. It's why grieving mothers steal babies at hospitals because they're done with infertile shots or measuring their tempature every four hours. It's why people kill their loved one's murderers for justice, to force the same pain and fear and grief they forced on them. It's why some lost souls shut everyone out and scream and yell at any signs of comofort because they know it won't help. It's a false reality.

But the hardest thing about being a person looking in, is being helpless. Staring at Benny now, with his face freckled with red spots and chest shaking as he fought desperatly to keep calm. From a glance he looks fine, maybe out of breath, but fine. As someone who has been able to slip into the first couple layers of Benny Watts, you'd know this wasn't him trying to catch his breath after chasing a missed bus. You'd know that this was a confident, independant man that was trying so hard to keep that reputation. That false reality.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and ribs, not saying a single word of comfort. Words can only do so much. Words can be like a single stream of water; it flows wherever it wants and is impossible to control unless frozen and silent. It can lead to disasters, life, death, and distruction. It's the reason us as a human race is alive. We can't survive without words, but we can't control the tsuamni when it comes.

"So," Benny pulls away from my arms after a long moment and roughly wipes his face with his sleeve. "Do you wanna ... grab some breakfast? I'll pay this time."

I scoffed at his efforts to flirt in a time like this and debate on his idea just for spite. Benny glares at me as I think. "I could go for some brunch if you want."

"At the Metro?"

"Where else?"

"Well, I mean it's the only place that has good pancakes on the weekends," Benny admitted honestly, "And they're only fifty cents each."

The laugh that erupted was in no means pretty or beautiful. Benny joined me in my laughter when a snort suddenly came. He teased and tackled me to the bed, saying things like he had never heard a laugh like mine.

"What? Like a fucking pigs?"

"No," he said, leaning dangerously close to my face, "I dunno. It's real. And fucking hilarious."

"Okay I'm never laughing around you again," I climb out of our warm nest of a bed and grab the closest shirt that smelled clean to throw on, "Maybe we could bring Tramp for some pancakes?"

Benny had never heard of such thing, but the Sammy at the diner reacted was the oppostie. He created a small bowl of scrambled eggs and few crumbled pieces of bacon. He stayed beside us on the booth as Benny and I talked and played chess like we always did. This time Benny and I sat together on the same end of the booth, our fingers laced under the table as he stared at Tramp the cat eating his breakfast.

*~* OKAY I wanted to update this because I hated the beginning. I'd never make someone tell me something that traumatized them just so I knew. I would let anyone (Benny in this example) take their time in telling me their feelings or something traumatic that happened to them to make them feel this way (harassment, death of a loved one, abuse, etc...). I just wanted to change that part of this story. *~*

*~* Also, I based Tramp extremely off @thatorangecat on TikTok <3 *~*

Take care of yourselves <3

- your Lost Girl