She lived with static and feedback white noise. Or the jostle of people, there was no space between the lead-lined room that was enforced quiet and the galas and benefits, the events. No, Julia liked quiet. She liked stillness and she liked rumination and she liked the woods for the very fact it scared people who were frightened of quiet.
Nishka gave away secrets with each sip of whiskey and Julia held out a hand, long and white-fingered and the soft sort of pressure that came from having had to give an impression of oneself with every handshake to very important people, and shook. "Julia." She didn't comment on Nish or Nishka, in fact, Julia didn't use Nishka's name now she had it. She folded it away and laughed instead.
Not trailer trash. Once, she would have been thrilled. It was her life's work to look like she wasn't a foster brat, or a kid whose parents couldn't afford to live above the poverty line. Now she twisted her fist into the cashmere over her lap and shrugged. "It's a trailer. It's like living anywhere, but small."