#but my boyfriend and I have created the safest of spaces for each other where we can be little weirdos without judgment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

welcometophu · 5 years

Text

Into the Split: Havenhill 4

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Havenhill 4

[ Previous | First | Next ]

Amaranth lets them be for a while. When Nikolai glances over, he sees her bent close to something held in her hand, speaking into it. By the time he looks back to Seth again, he has stopped at the very edge of the grove, standing under the branches of the tree. He has his hand on the trunk and is staring out.

“What is it?” Nikolai asks. He slips in behind Seth, dropping one hand to the middle of his back; Seth flinches under his touch and Nikolai pulls away.

“No, it’s okay.” Seth says. “You startled me.” He drifts closer, and Nikolai silently answers by sliding his arm around Seth’s middle and drawing him in. Seth raises a hand and gestures, careful not to go beyond the line created by the trunks of the trees. “Look,” he says quietly. “You can see them out there, in the darkness.”

It’s late enough that the overhang from the leaves creates deep pockets of shadow that almost seem to move. “Can they get this close?” Nikolai whispers. “This is the first grove. I got the impression there were more and while this is the safest space, it’s safe all the way in from the outermost grove.”

Seth shrugs; Nikolai feels it against his side rather than seeing. “Maybe I’m hallucinating,” he says. “It’s possible I’m just that worried. Or it’s possible that with this many Talent in one place, they can’t quite keep them out, and that’s why we need to stay within the first grove. We all just arrived. You have to wonder if the Shadows would have followed us here.”

There’s a low rumble in the distance, distinctly coming from outside the grove. Nikolai’s gaze narrows and he tugs at Seth, pulling him back. “Something’s coming.” Shadows don’t make that noise, but Nikolai isn’t going to just let the unknown creep in unattended, either. His hand falls to Seth’s, and he feels the wash of calm over him, the indication that if he wants to—if they need to—their Talents are linked.

Amaranth shoves something in her pocket as she approaches. “You don’t need to worry,” she calls out. “That’s just the Jeep.”

Nikolai remembers Jeeps on the roads years ago—shiny and bright, bulling along through the snow with their all wheel drive and over-confident drivers.

The vehicle that comes into view is not that.

It’s old and battered, the creamy white of its paint stained by the rust along the bottom of the door panels, and the hood is a dark, matte grey. Instead of being open, there’s a hard top in that same white, and Nikolai can’t quite see the driver. Amaranth, however, seems happy to see them, waving one hand as the Jeep cuts off the road and toward the grove, swerving through an opening in the trees.

It comes to a stop just inside the border, and Nikolai has to assume it’s friendly since it made it through whatever warding is in place.

Still, he feels a trickle of anxiety from Seth, and feeds him back his own.

The Jeep’s doors creak open, but Amaranth holds her hands up and both are yanked shut again with a creak and thump. She turns to face Nikolai and Seth, her hands still in the air in a placating gesture. “So. After hearing your story, I just thought—I want you to meet my boyfriend. And his brother.” Her voice is tight, and a little hopeful, lilting up at the end like a question. When she gestures, the doors to the Jeep creak open again, and two men spill out. They’re both tall and skinny, light-haired and bearded over what look to be sharply cut features. It’s easy to see that they’re related from the similarities, not just in looks but in the way they move, as if they’ve traveled together a long time. The differences become more obvious as they walk, one moving with a heavy limp, while the other shortens his stride to stay with him.

“They live on the edge of town,” Amaranth continues. “They got here maybe a year ago, and Josef— he wasn’t my boyfriend then—was injured. I stayed with them both for a bit while he healed. Genevieve could fix the break, but she couldn’t do anything for the trauma, and he needed to recover from the infection that had set in as well. He’s lucky to be alive.”

The two stop; the one without a limp grabs the arm of the other, leaning in to say something before taking off a run toward them.

Seth shoves Nikolai behind him, a wave of don’t come near us stopping the newcomer in his tracks. It’s awkward to hide behind Seth, with Nikolai being so much taller, but he appreciates the sentiment.

“Nikolai,” the stranger says, the other moving as quickly as he can to catch up to where the first has stopped.

Wait. Nikolai knows that voice, and Amaranth said Josef, so that means…. His heart thumps loudly, and he pushes past Seth. “Mikhail?” He only has to take a few steps before he’s caught up in a hard hug that squeezes the breath out of him, his brother’s familiar voice murmuring words that are impossible to hear through the buzzing in Nikolai’s mind. Another moment and there are more arms, and Josef’s voice, and someone is crying. Maybe all of them. Nikolai’s cheeks are wet and his chest aches, and when he draws back, Mikhail’s eyes are rimmed in red.

Josef pulls Nikolai in, framing his face with his hands, and kisses him soundly, once on each cheek. “We thought you two were dead.”

“God, I’m glad I guessed that right,” Amaranth mutters. “If they hadn’t been the right people this would’ve been awkward.”

“Where the hell did you find our brother?” Mikhail asks.

Nikolai doesn’t want to step away. He burrows close as if he’s nine instead of nineteen, dragging Seth into the mix because he’s family, too. They’re all family.

Wait.

“What about—?”

Josef doesn’t let Nikolai finish the question, shaking his head in negation. “Burned in the fire,” he says quietly. “We thought you two were as well, and we just never found the bodies. We barely found Mom as it was. Dad helped us get out, but it got into his lungs and he never recovered. Neither did I, really; I still have trouble breathing some days. And when I wasn’t able to run away, the Shadows came damned close to taking us out. I was hurt badly, and Mihail refused to leave me. If Alia hadn’t sent out a mission to ransack the houses where we were hiding, I would’ve died.”

“It was closer than I care to think about as it is,” Mikhail says. He slides his hands to Nikolai’s shoulders, looking at him. “You’ve gotten tall in the last couple of years.” His gaze slide to Seth, and he grins. “You haven’t.”

Seth pushes his glasses up with his middle finger; it’s a familiar gesture, although the smile eases it. “You do remember my dad, right? I was always going to be short. Don’t worry, I’ve still got Talent to make up for it.”

“I remember how big you are emotionally,” Mikhail says.

When Seth takes his hand, Nikolai has to close his eyes against the onslaught of emotions. He knows Seth is filtering them, but at the same time, Seth is letting him feel the relief in the air around them, the joy at finding family and the sorrow at imparting dark news. Tears spring to Nikolai’s eyes again, and he brings up his free hand to rub them away.

“You can stay with us,” Mikhail offers. “The house isn’t big, but everyone needs a place to stay other than Alia’s. It’s not bad to start out here, but it’s easier once you have a place of your own.”

Nikolai glances at Amaranth, not sure how that works. “I wouldn’t want to put you out.”

“It’s complicated,” Seth says at the same time.

Josef laughs when they speak in stereo. “How complicated could it be?” he asks. “You’re family.”

“I live in Alia’s house still,” Amaranth says. “You wouldn’t be putting me out at all. There are times I stay with Josef, yes, but they have an extra room. It’s filled with crap and they could use the excuse to clear it out.”

“It’s filled with research and logging of weather patterns,” Mikhail counters. “It’s an office. But yes, we could easily set it up so you can sleep there. You two may want your own place eventually, but it’s a way to get started.”

Too much. Too fast.

It’s hard to move past being on the run to knowing that they’re safe and then be dumped into the deep end of being potentially stable. Nikolai knows that this is good, that it’s not a reason to worry, and at the same time his chest goes tight enough that he can’t catch his breath. Seth wraps his arms around him, cuts him away from the group to draw him off to one side, gentle waves of calm battering against the furious crests of panic. In the background he can hear low voices, wonders just how much Amaranth is saying, and that makes everything feel worse again because Nikolai is drowning in a problem that isn’t even his.

He shouldn’t feel responsible for the strangers from another world, and at the same time, he somehow does.

“We should get back,” Nikolai says quietly. “Find out how the others are doing. I don’t think we can unlink from them this easily.”

“I don’t think Nikita is going anywhere,” Seth points out. “And she’s the one you’re most worried about.”

It’s true. It’s a little like looking in a mirror, and he thinks that at some point he needs to introduce his brothers to her.

“They’re still new arrivals.” Amaranth’s voice rises, loud enough to hear clearly. “And yes, you can take him home when he’s ready, but right now, we should go back to the house and let them settle in. You remember what it’s like.”

“Our friend is injured,” Seth says loudly, as if they’re all standing together in one conversation. It’s odd to hear Seth refer to Nikita as a friend. “Things really are more complicated than you think.”

“Amaranth was saying.” Mikhail is there, one hand on Nikolai’s shoulder, the other on Seth’s. “We’ll drive you back to the house. It’s late, and you’ve been on the road long enough that you’re probably exhausted. We’ll come by the house tomorrow to meet these other people that you arrived with. It sounds like a hell of a story.”

“We barely know them, but—” Nikolai cuts off, uncertain how to finish that statement.

“It’s complicated,” Mikhail says.

After all this time, Nikolai just wants to sink into the idea of having an older brother again. The idea that someone else is responsible, someone else can be the adult. He smiles slightly when he looks at Mikhail, even though he doesn’t really have any better words than that. “It’s complicated,” he agrees, pushing his hair out of his face. “It’s probably going to take some time to uncomplicate it. Not to mention that Nikita seems determined to rescue me.”

“I think that’s already been done,” Mikhail says softly.

Nikolai laughs, a short, sharp bark of sound. “According to our experiences, yes. Her world is like ours was before the Split. She thinks we’re still in dire trouble.”

“Aren’t we?” Seth says, and that’s a sobering thought. That even though they’re here, and they’re safe, it’s not the end yet. There is still a blade hanging over them, and Nikita is more aware of it than they are. To Nikolai, this feels a little like bliss.

Nikolai shakes his head, determined not to let go of the good feeling of finally being safe. “No, and she’ll figure that out eventually. This isn’t like her home. This is the best we can get here, and I’ll take it.” This time when he smiles at Mikhail, looking past him to see Josef and Amaranth standing together, there’s honest pleasure in his expression. “We have so much more today than we thought we had yesterday. And I’m glad of that.”

Mikhail claps his shoulder, nudges him toward the Jeep. “Get in, and I’ll take you to the house.”

The Jeep is louder on the inside that it was to hear it coming from the outside. Nikolai sits, crammed into the back seat with Seth in the middle and Amaranth on the other side. Josef keeps turning to talk with Amaranth, but his gaze lingers on Nikolai like he can’t believe it.

Nikolai stares at his brothers, searching for the shape of their faces beneath weathered skin and facial hair. He can see them, and when he closes his eyes their voices spark memories, but the shape is just enough different to leave him reeling. For a moment he wonders if he’s the one who walked into a different world, or if a Dream’s come to take them.

Seth squeezes his hand, holds on tight.

This is real.

It’s later than Nikolai thought, the house quiet when they arrive. Amaranth opens the door and gestures for them to go inside. When Nikolai and Seth hesitate, she leaves Josef and Mikhail in the entryway so she can lead them up to the suite of rooms they’ve been given.

Nikolai and Seth nudge open the door, trying to be quiet.

The beds are all taken. Alaric stirs briefly, rolling over and opening one eye, peering at them through the darkness. Nikolai isn’t sure if Alaric fully wakes to recognize them, or if their scent is enough to ease his beast, because Alaric goes back to sleep quickly.

They step back into the hallway, almost bumping into Amaranth. Seth pulls the door mostly shut.

“There’s a recliner,” Seth says. “We could probably squeeze into that and honestly, it’s still more comfortable than most of the places we’ve slept recently.”

It sounds feasible, and Nikolai takes a step toward the room before Amaranth catches his arm, holding on.

“You can stay in my room,” she says. “I’ll make sure Ethan or Marybelle lets them know where you are in the morning, and this way you can sleep comfortably and not have to leave the house.” When neither Nikolai nor Seth replies, she spreads her hands. “You both deserve to sleep in a bed as much as they do. Probably more, from what I understand.”

Seth bites back a smile. “She has a point.”

“I don’t want to—”

“I’ll stay with Josef,” Amaranth interrupts him. “That’s not a hardship for me, and you’ll have a bed and bath to yourself. So let me show you where it is, and get you settled. I’ll put Ethan in charge of helping you find things in the morning, and I’ll let Alia know what’s going on. Then you guys can be comfortable.”

“Yes, please,” Seth agrees for both of them.

They silently follow as she leads them into a different wing to find a small single room on a hall with many doors. There’s one narrow bed in the room, made up with cotton sheets and a hand-sewn quilt. There’s no other furniture—no desk, no chairs—but there is a door to a small indoor bathroom, with a small tub and a spigot high on the wall.

“The water will be hot, but wait until morning,” Amaranth says quietly. “Rest now. You deserve it. I’ll go back with Mihail and Josef, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nikolai sits down on the bed, surprised at how firm it is without being hard. When he looks up, Amaranth still lingers in the door, twisting a thick curl around one finger.

“Josef missed you,” she says quietly. “He still has nightmares about the fires, and about the attack that hurt his leg. He told me about you, enough that I feel like I knew you when we were younger.” Her mouth twists up fleetingly, before going sober again. “Like I knew what you were like as a kid. Both of you. He loves you fiercely, and I am so glad that you made your way here, for your sake and for his.”

Nikolai doesn’t know what to say in the face of that, and thankfully she doesn’t seem to need an answer. She ducks out, closing the door behind her.

She trusts them. She doesn’t even know them, and she’s letting them stay in her room, all because she’s heard stories about them. But she helped Josef, and because of her, Nikolai has his brothers back.

It’s overwhelming.

He’s incapable of doing anything more than sitting on the edge of the bed, his mind reeling, trying to assimilate everything he’s been through in the last few hours, let alone the last few days. Seth helps him strip, lays them both down on the bed and wraps his arms around Nikolai, spooning him from behind.

Seth might be shorter, but he’s always the big spoon. Nikolai closes his eyes, sinking into the safety that Seth offers.

It’s overwhelming, but they’ll get there. They’ll figure it out.

After all, he has family.

[ Previous | First | Next ]

#welcome to phu #welcometophu #into the split #phu twinned #twinned #its havenhill

4 notes · View notes

maevefiction · 6 years

Text

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 23

When we arrived at Estelle J Wilson, there wasn’t a parking spot to be had. Even those earmarked for funeral attendees were taken, and as we drove past the main entrance to head around the block in search of one for ourselves, there they were…news vans from local affiliate stations WWL, WDSU and WGNO. A few feet down I spotted the paparazzi, four or so as best I could tell, lurking and waiting.

I turned to Tom, smirking. “Weh-hel, THIS is going to be a lot more interesting that I anticipated. Apparently.”

He pulled into an open space two blocks down from the funeral home and put the car in park. His right arm rose, then settled on my shoulder, hand grasping the back of my neck, massaging gently. “You okay to do this?”

I shrugged, enjoying the way the fabric of my dress seemed to float around my arms. His massaging continued in spite of my movement. “I’d like to tell you to turn around and go back to the hotel, but somehow I don’t think me not showing up for my mother’s funeral would improve upon the situation. And I know I’ll have to talk, because, hey-o, I can’t even run past them. But, on the bright side, at least I had the sense to wear my yoga shorts underneath the dress so there’s no chance of a wardrobe malfunction during any of this.”

Tom laughed, lines appearing around his eyes, relaying the story of a man who enjoyed doing so and had for his entire life. “Thank god for small favors. If I happened to get a look under there at this point they’d all be in for far more of a show than they’re equipped to handle.”

“Dude. Was that supposed to help? Because…not helping.” I leaned over and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips, then opened my door. The ibuprofen I’d taken had helped immensely, and I was fully capable of walking without crutches, albeit slowly. Chances were that using them, though, might garner some sympathy from the press. Tom watched me pull them out of the car, eyebrows raised. “One, I can move faster if I use them. Two, I want everyone to feel sorry for me. Sorrier. Don’t ruin my moment, Hiddleston.”

“Perhaps I should carry you instead if it’s attention you’re seeking.”

“Not attention. SYMPATHY. If you carry me, people will feel LESS sorry for me. Not part of the plan. Plus, it’s like, two blocks and you’d fucking keel over. Also not part of the plan.”

He got out of the vehicle and came round to the passenger side, my messenger bag slung over his shoulder. “Thomas, you are a god among men, unashamedly carrying your woman’s purse.”

His eyes lit up, and he pointed at it. “This? This is NOT a purse, darling. THIS is a EUROPEAN CARRYALL.”

I raised my forearm up as far as the crutch would allow. “Nice. Second Seinfeld reference of the day. High-five.”

The palm of his hand connected with mine, tenderly, and our fingers twined together. “Remember, I’m going to be right there with you. And if you don’t wish to say anything, simply don’t say anything.”

“Um, I’m sorry…I’m supposed to be the one telling YOU that, yes?”

He grinned impishly. “Tables, Maude. Oh how they turn.”

As we reached the news vans, the noise began, seven people shouting out questions all at once, cameras and mics pointed in my direction. The cacophony caused my brain to shift into crisis management mode, and I stopped dead in my tracks. Tom stood at my side, transferring his weight from one foot to the other. My gaze moved from one reporter to the next, looking them straight in the eye. The noise died down, then out. I took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Hello there. How’s everyone doing today?” They turned to one another, shoulders shrugging, faces contorting into expressions of puzzlement, unsure as how to proceed. “Under normal circumstances, I’d be happy to give you all the time you need, but I’m running behind as it is and have in inkling that it would be just a wee bit disrespectful if I were to be late for my mother’s funeral service. That being said, I think I DO have enough time for one question from each of you.” I pointed to the young, dark-haired woman in the floral print dress holding a WWL microphone.

She cleared her throat, then motioned to her cameraman to begin recording. The other two crews followed suit, and I assumed the paps were recording as well. “Ms. Gallagher, do you have anything to say regarding your ex-husband’s arrest?”

I had plenty to say. So, so much to say…ninety-nine percent of it unsuitable for television. “First, allow me to mention that the Winchester family has been in my thoughts ever since I heard the news. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to have someone invade the sanctity of your home, where you’re supposed to feel safest. And someone armed…it must be terrifying. Mr. Bonaventura’s actions were deplorable, and I trust that the Louisiana justice system will dole out the appropriate punishment when the time comes. Next question, the gentleman from WDSU. And please, call me Maude.”

He was short, chubby and dressed in a tweed jacket that I was certain made him feel like he was in the ninth circle of hell. “Maude, is it true that he intended to break into your mother’s home but chose the wrong house in error?”

Suppressing the smile that fought to spread across my face was a daunting task. “That’s my understanding, yes.”

The reporter from WGNO didn’t wait his turn, and exceeded his inquiry limit within seconds. “Why would he need to break into her home? I’ve seen a copy of the will…it was to go to him, without question. Are you contesting it? Have you taken possession illegally? Did you lock him out? Is that why he did it?”

What a total douche canoe. I wanted to slap him, but stared him down instead as I prepared my reply. “Gosh, I think that was five questions, not one. I know, I know…math is hard, right? Anyway. My mother died intestate, which means the entire contents of her estate passes to me according to Louisiana law. The will that was in Mr. Bonaventura’s possession was revoked, and another was not created. You can contact her attorney, Bartholomew Stevens, if you have additional questions regarding the matter. As to why he did it, my guess is he came back to New Orleans expecting something, and when it turned out that something was actually nothing, he grew rather malcontented. Next question, you in the red T-shirt.”

He held out his phone to better capture our exchange, sun creating a halo around his blonde, curly hair. “Maude, is it true that Mr. Bonaventura cheated on you with your own mother, and that your father killed himself because of it?”

Tom muttered something under his breath, and I hoped I was the only one who’d heard. The inner calm I felt in the face of a question that would have caused a breakdown just days earlier made me feel damn near invincible. “Absolutely correct.” I pointed at the young Asian woman dressed in a bright purple track suit and pink Converse Hi-Tops. “You’re next, please.”

Her face was an expressionless mask. “According to Passages Hospice, you never visited your mother there prior to her death. Is that accurate, and if so, why?”

“Yes. That’s correct. As to why…my mother suffered from alcoholism and Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Though, in actuality, it was everyone close to her who did the majority of the suffering. Her cause of death was alcoholic cirrhosis of the liver. The last time I saw her was in 1998, when I walked in on her and Mr. Bonaventura during an intimate encounter. No-contact is a widely accepted method for dealing with toxic people in order to facilitate recovery. I was contacted by the hospice when she passed as I’m the only next of kin. Gal in the tank top…your turn.”

The tank top was an old-school wife beater, paired with khaki shorts that reached her knees. Her white- blond hair was short on one side, long on the other, with pink tips. “My sources tell me that you’re an alcoholic too. True or false?”

My jaw tightened. They’d obviously been speaking with ‘mourners’ in spades, and it was no surprise that a good number of people here still thought of me as drunkard Mary’s drunkard daughter. “In September of 1996, my boyfriend was killed in a car accident. Shortly after his funeral, I discovered I was pregnant. Soon after THAT, I miscarried. I found myself unable to cope with such profound loss and used alcohol to self-medicate. Since I honestly can’t say whether I wasn’t capable of stopping or just chose not to during the time I was drinking, alcoholic is probably an applicable term. I’ve been sober for seventeen years, though. Last question, gentleman with the man bun.”

He laughed briefly, then frowned slightly, as if he was reconsidering asking what he’d planned to. “Hello, Maude. I spoke with Mr. Bonaventura’s current wife, Anna Beth, this morning via phone. When I asked her how she felt regarding his arrest, she expressed relief and indicated that he abused her verbally and physically. Is that something you experienced during your marriage to him?”

I gave a curt nod. “Yes. It was. Unfortunately, it was something I’d endured for years in my own home prior to marrying Mr. Bonaventura, so it didn’t seem abnormal to me until after I removed myself from the situation. If my sources are correct, Anna Beth was very young when she met and married him, as was I. It is my hope that this incident will allow her to move on with her life, heal and find the peace she deserves. Okay, folks. Apologies, but that’s all I have time for. Thanks so very much for your cooperation.”

Man bun raised his hand, then pointed to my walking boot. “Maude, I’m pretty sure we’re all wondering how that happened. Would you mind…”

My eyes rolled skyward. “Damn, and here I thought you wouldn’t notice.” Laughter rang out. “I wore heels to dinner last night, and they got the best of me. Right down on my ass in the middle of the Palm Court Café. It’s just a sprain, two weeks and I should be good. Seriously, though…gotta go. You all enjoy the rest of the day.”

They stepped back and to the side, allowing us to pass. Four crutch swings later Tom appeared in front of me, the admiration in his eyes flooring me completely and freezing me in place. Two steps brought him close enough to lean in to kiss me, admiration replaced by ardor and fire, grasping the back of my neck with one hand, sucking my bottom lip into his mouth so forcefully that I came. It was a tiny orgasm, over and done in two seconds, but an orgasm nevertheless. His grip on my neck tightened, and I knew he must have felt me shudder. He deepened the kiss, and as our tongues met I heard camera clicks, faint, as if they were down at the end of a tunnel, far away. A distant repetition of ‘Excuse me, Ms. Gallagher?’ grew ever louder, finally snapping me back to reality. I pulled back, looked past Tom to discern the source, and was mildly humiliated upon seeing Reverend Thompson standing there. His face was as red as a cherry tomato, the flush extending down his neck and, I assumed, beneath his clerical collar.

He cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back. “Ms. Gallagher, we’re about to begin. Follow me, please.”

Tom remained in front of me, a look of astonishment on his face as he mouthed the words ‘Did you…?’ I plastered a polite smile on my countenance, nodding at him as I addressed the reverend.

“Apologies, Reverend Thompson. Thank you for your patience. Lead the way.”

As we walked toward the entrance Tom fell into step beside me, whispering in my ear. “An orgasm. From a kiss. MY kiss. Man alive, I feel like a fucking rock star right now.”

My head spun in his direction, ponytail swishing back and forth across my neck in its wake, eyes narrowed. His mouth dropped open, then closed again as he reached out to touch my bare shoulder.

“Maude, I’m sorry, that was a dreadfully self-centered thing to…”

I grinned and shook my head, speaking softly as he removed his hand. “I’m just screwing with you, Thomas. That lip thing…it…DID something to me. Anyway. Allow me to assure you that you are a fucking rock star. MY rock star. And as an added bonus, it would have REALLY pissed my mother off to know that I was making out with the sexiest man alive at her funeral.”

“That’s not a title People magazine has bestowed upon me as yet, Maude.”

“I’m well aware of their prior woefully inadequate choices. But I just did.”

“And that’s infinitely more meaningful, of course.”

“Nice save, Hiddleston. If they don’t put you on the cover soon, though, they’re going to be getting some…calls.”

We’d reached the front door, and Reverend Thompson held it open for us. The service was being held in the same room as the viewing, and as we approached I could see it was packed well beyond its limit. After pausing for a moment to prepare myself to walk the gauntlet, I opted to do so without the crutches, resting them against the wall to the right of the doorway. Reverend Thompson motioned for us to enter before him, and Tom offered his arm. I gratefully accepted, and as we crossed the threshold all heads turned, row by row, gazes fixed upon us. Tom’s face was expressionless, the dark blue of his button down shirt reflecting in his eyes, black trousers sitting low on his hips, black leather tie perfectly knotted at his neck. Even less graceful than normal due to the height difference of my walking boot and my black Birki, I kept myself in check by counting the number of steps it took to reach the front of the room where the closed casket rested, covered in a blanket of pink roses. Two seats were vacant in the front row, on the aisle and next to Anne. The whispers began when we were halfway there, fifteen steps in. My head remained high, jaw firmly set, as I passed by the throng of people who’d decided attending the funeral of someone they hadn’t given the remotest shit about in order to obtain a firsthand account of the event so they could later spread any juicy gossip they managed to gather was an ideal way to spend a summer afternoon.

Tom continued to hold my arm until I was comfortably seated next to Anne, then took his place at my side. Anne patted my knee as Reverend Thompson half-jogged to the front and began. I put my right hand over hers and squeezed, and Tom reached out to take my left one in his. After the introductory portion of the service, I zoned out, Reverend Thompson’s voice becoming very similar to that of the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon. All I heard was ‘wah wah, wah wah wah wah wah, wah wah’, and eventually even that faded away into nothing. Man bun’s words haunted me, and my thoughts turned to Anna Beth. I’d been strong enough to get away from Will on my own, but I’d actually had somewhere to get away TO, the funds to get there, AND enough to start over with. Those were luxuries she did not possess, and there were three children she’d need to support on her own going forward as well, another hurdle I hadn’t had to clear. Marrying at such a young age had more than likely put her in a position wherein she had little to no employment experience, and few marketable job skills…or none whatsoever. Though I’d intended to donate the proceeds of the estate sale to the Metropolitan Center for Women and Children, I found myself seriously considering sending them her way instead. It would have to be done anonymously, of course, and Barty already had a way to contact her. Part of me felt as if I’d be slighting the many to help the few, but in this instance it was personal. We had an ill-fated kinship, Anna Beth and I, born of lies emanating from a man who’d used us for his own nefarious purposes, violence and mental abuse his means of controlling us so we’d never dare to question a single blessed thing as he fulfilled his unscrupulous objectives.

The sound of the crowd around me rising to their feet derailed my train of thought, and I left my seat as fast as I possibly could, not wanting anyone to have the slightest indication that I hadn’t been paying any attention to the service. At all. Tom’s arm slipped around my waist, and we remained where we were until the rest of the room cleared. Anne offered to join us at the cemetery, asking to hitch a ride in our rental car as she’d taken a cab to the funeral. I was pleased to discover that the news trucks had departed, but the paps remained, photographing and filming Anne and I as we waited for Tom to bring the car round for us. At Greenwood it was just the three of us, the hearse driver, and the folks responsible for the interment procedures. I remained back at least fifteen feet from the crypt, silent the entire time, having already said my final goodbyes to the people who’d brought me into this world. We left for as soon as they began the closing process, and I looked back over my shoulder one last time as we made our way out of the garden, wanting this moment to be my last memory of my mother. Dead. Gone. Sealed inside a coffin, inside a mausoleum, never to speak new words that could hurt me ever again. And that was enough to shift the specter of the past from translucent to transparent…what used to only allow light to pass through while masking the details was now completely clear, entirely visible. The thing about the past is this…it’s always present. There’s no escape from it. You can run, you can hide, but it will inevitably find you. There is, of course, a better solution, one I’d finally been brave enough to attempt. Face it. Embrace it. Remember it. Learn from it. And, most importantly, try your best to not let it fuck your life up too badly along the way as you moved further and further beyond it.

Tom and I bid Anne adieu as we dropped her off at Café du Monde, then hurried back to the hotel so we’d have enough time to change, pack, check out, and arrive at the airport by four. Our flight was scheduled to leave Louis Armstrong International at five-thirty and arrive in New York at nine-thirty, and if the gods were feeling generous we’d be settled into my apartment an hour or so later. Or, I should say, our apartment. A foreign concept as far as I was concerned, but one that made me deliriously happy. And that was something I could totally get used to.

**************************************** The duration of our first-class flight was primarily spent sending each other naughty text messages, each one filthier than the last. Afterward there was much debate as to who started it, but I refused to confess even though I was guilty as sin. He was just sitting there, in his cargo shorts and white V-neck T-shirt, up against the window with the sun reflecting on his pretty fucking face, driving me insane.

The hollow at the base of your neck, right above your collarbones. My tongue needs to be there. Like, now. – M

Go ahead. No one will notice. We’re in the last row. – T

Hmm…is it me or did that make your nipples hard, Thomas? I can see them right through your shirt. Guess they’ll be the next stop for my tongue. – M

The first stop for MY tongue is going to be your mouth, Maude. Running it over your lips, your teeth, then thrusting it in and out over and over until your moaning alerts the passengers in front of us. –T

Back and forth we went, until the final exchange.

I’m going to work my cock into your ass, inch by inch, until I’m buried inside you. Then I’m going to slip three fingers into your pussy and fuck you with them as well, so I can feel my cock from the INSIDE through the oh-so-thin wall that gives both of us so much pleasure as I pound your ass relentlessly, my thumb massaging your clit until you want to scream…but since you can’t, I’ll be forced to cover your mouth with my hand in order to keep you quiet. – T

And just as you’re about to come, I’ll invite you to fuck my mouth. As soon as you pull out of me, I’m going to drop to my knees and suck your cock so hard you’ll see stars. I’ll sneak my index finger in my beside it at some point, get it nice and wet, then run it between your ass cheeks until I find that glorious pucker. My finger will keep moving round and round the rim as I keep licking at and sucking on your cock, loosening you up, stretching, until you’re ready…then in it goes. Then out, then in. Again and again. I’ll wait until I feel your rhythm start to falter, then I’ll press my finger down on that magical spot inside you and swallow you whole as your come shoots down my throat, hot and sticky. You’ll have bruises on your knuckles for a week from biting down on them so hard. – M

That broke him. He stood, put his hands in his pockets to hide his raging hard on as best he could, pushed past me and locked himself in the bathroom. When he returned he was smirking, and I’d thought I wouldn’t need to, but he kissed me, long and slow, and I found myself in the loo a few moments later, pants around my ankles as I attempted to rub one out so I could make it home without fucking him in the back of the car that would be waiting for us. Or on the plane. In front of everyone. My phone dinged, and I bent to pull it out of my pants pocket. He’d sent me a video he’d made during his turn, hand on his cock, jerking himself off, standing right in the same spot I was in now. That was all the inspiration I required, and then some. I deleted it as soon as I finished, then texted him to remind him to do the same. Even though his face wasn’t visible, it still wasn’t something that should be kept around. Despite the fact that I wanted to watch it a thousand more times.

As we circled LaGuardia, I began singing Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York’. Quietly, I might add, until Tom joined in, then a good number of the other passengers in first class, turning it into an impromptu sing-along that grew loud enough as we reached the final chorus to warrant a shushing from the flight attendant. We disembarked, picked up our luggage, and found the driver holding a sign with GALLAGHER written on it. Tom had given the company my name in an attempt to avoid any unnecessary scrutiny, but it turned out to not make a difference as this was New York, where no one gave much of a fuck about how famous you were. I’d seen Madonna try to cut line at a bagel shop once, only to be rebuked none too gently by everyone already waiting, resulting in her taking her place at the back of the queue, laughing and saying she should have known better than to do such a thing on her home turf. There was not a single soul standing still as we followed the driver to the curb, everyone looking down and walking quickly as they sought to fulfill their own personal missions.

Forty-five minutes later we arrived at 250 Mercer Street in Greenwich Village/NoHo, a wide smile spreading across my face at the prospect of being home, growing ever wider when I turned to Tom and it hit me that for the first time since college, someone I loved was coming home with me.

He leaned over me, peering out my open window, craning his neck to see how high it went despite the fact that it was dark.

My hand found his thigh and settled there. “It’s 16 floors in some spots. Building was erected in 1888, renovated in 1979 and remained rental apartments until 1986 when it went co-op. My dad bought it in 1995, for exactly how much I don’t know. He signed it over to me for a dollar a few months later, and I didn’t pay any attention at all to the paperwork. Surprising, right? I’d have to pull the deed to find out the amount. Now it’s worth around eight hundred thousand or so, but I don’t care, because I am NEVER selling it. I’m on the 5th floor. And yes, there are elevators. Thank god.” I opened the door, stepping on my right foot gingerly. The pain was back, mainly because I was a fucking moron and not only forgot to take my ibuprofen but had packed it away in my suitcase instead of my carry on. The crutches were in the trunk, and the driver brought them around first for me, the followed with our luggage.

Tom came out on the curb side as well, stretching, arms up over his head, T-shirt riding up just enough to reveal his belly button and the start of his happy trail as he glanced around at the street signs and location. “The Village, yes?”

“Technically it’s right on the border of Greenwich Village and NoHo. Best of both worlds and all that. Washington Square Park is right over that way…” I pointed in the correct direction, but it looked like I was pointing at air since it wasn’t visible. “You can totally see it from my window.”

Tom tipped the driver, who’d brought the luggage right to the door for us when he realized it was way too much for one person to carry. The glass door opened towards us, and out stepped Murray Goldberg, my favorite doorman. His uniform was black, with gold trim and buttons, exactly the same as it had been when I’d moved in, and, according to him, as it was when he started back in 1987. He was in his mid-sixties, not much taller than I was, with thinning white hair and gold-framed John Lennon glasses.

“Well, well, well…look what the cat dragged in. If it’s isn’t Miss Maude Gallagher. You were supposed to be back for the July 4th weekend…how I worried and worried!” He chuckled as I half-embraced him, crutches tucked to my side with my elbows.

“Oh please. You are so full of shit, old man. You didn’t even notice I was gone. And besides, look what I brought back with me!” I released him and gestured to Tom. “Murray, this is Tom Hiddleston. Tom, Murray Goldberg.”

Murray glanced at Tom, then rolled his eyes at me. “So THIS is why you went AWOL.” He held his hand out to Tom, who shook it vigorously. “Nice to meet you, Tom. Welcome to 250 Mercer.”

Tom grinned. “Thank you, Murray. Pleasure to meet you as well.”

Murray looked puzzled for a moment, and I knew it had dawned on him that Tom was an actor, but he shrugged it off and poked my arm, suddenly switching to a thick Brooklyn accent. “Englishman, eh? Whatsamatta, New York guys not good enough for ya anymore?”

I snorted. “Nice. Offend him before he even has a chance to see the place.” We all laughed, and I pointed to my walking boot. “I’m injured. I don’t suppose you can dig us up a luggage dolly from somewhere?”

He shook his head at Tom. “Been back less than five minutes and she’s already a giant pain in my ass. Wait here.”

They loaded the cart while I watched, and Murray wished us a good night as we headed for the elevator. Tom wheeled it inside and I punched the 5 button quickly, hoping to avoid company. My strategy was successful, and less than a minute later the stainless steel sliders opened, my white apartment door visible from where we stood. It turned out that crutches were useful for holding elevators, but I felt completely useless as I watched Tom struggling to drag the cart up over the lip and onto the grey carpet.

I pointed to the left. “C503. That’s us, right over there.” Grabbing my messenger bag off the pile of luggage, I fished out my keys, put the correct one in the deadbolt, then pushed down on the handle. The door swung inward, and I reached in and flipped the light switch. I turned around to see Tom, his eyes wide and slightly misty. I grinned, leaned my crutches against the sideboard and threw myself at him, arms wrapping around his waist. “Welcome home, Thomas.”

****************************************

To the right of the door, behind the bathroom, was a metal staircase that led to the loft. Tom unloaded all the luggage there, then brought the cart back downstairs to Murray. I fumbled around in the sideboard drawers, looking for my spare apartment key. It was way in the back, buried under entirely too many takeout menus…all of which reminded me that I was starving. The stove clock said it was 10:55. Most of the Thai and Chinese places would be closing soon, but The Bagel Café/Ray’s Pizza was open, and they had a huge menu to choose from.

“New York, I have missed you so very much. Where else can I get breakfast delivered to my door in the middle of the night if I want? And cannolis. And cake. And…”

My musings were interrupted by a knock on the door. I opened it just a crack, peeking out and pretending to be wary. “Yes?”

Tom raised a brow and grinned.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

He feigned exasperation, arms crossed, frowning and tapping his foot.

“Oh, right. You’re that totally hot guy who followed me home from Hawaii.” I opened the door fully. “Well, come on in, I guess.”

Tom grabbed my waist, bending down to kiss my neck. “Totally hot guy wants to drag his totally hot woman to bed, but he’s suffering the effects of food deprivation and fears his performance will suffer unless calories are consumed forthwith.”

I passed him the extensive Ray’s menu, pulled my phone from my pocket and hefted myself onto one of the kitchen bar chairs, mentally noting that finding the ibuprofen should be next on my to do list. “Let me know what you want. I’m going to add my stuff to the order while you’re deciding.”

I ordered a Meat Lover’s Omelet with bacon, home fries and toast, an everything bagel with scallion cream cheese, a slice of strawberry cheesecake, a large orange juice and a large black tea with cream and sugar. Tom was still perusing the menu. I managed to be patient for a bit, but then leaned forward, putting my face between him and the paper.

He laughed. “Someone’s nearing hangry level orange.”

“Mmm, not quite yet but if you don’t make up your mind soon things may get ugly before the delivery guy gets here.”

“Well, no one wants that, do they? I’d like a large Irish Crème coffee, a cranberry scone, a Gone Bananas smoothie, a Greek salad and a deluxe cheeseburger with bacon, please.”

“Dude, your order is even weirder than mine. I’m impressed.” I entered his items and my credit card info, then pressed the submit order button. Forty minutes according to the website, which was unusually fast. I slid off the chair and stood on my left foot as I reached for the crutches. “It’ll probably be an hour before it gets here. There should be some water and soda in the fridge, though, in case you’re thirsty. I’m going to go scare up some ibuprofen so I can maybe walk upstairs at some point this evening.”

Tom shook his head. “No, stay. I’ll get it for you. Where is it?”

“In one of my suitcases. I think. All I really know is that I packed it.”

“Do you keep any here in the house?”

My mouth dropped open. “Well, shit. Yeah. The bathroom, cabinet under the sink. Wonder how long it would have taken me to come up with that? Oy. It’s the door behind you, on the right.”

He came back, shaking the bottle, then went around the corner into the kitchen, opening the stainless-steel refrigerator door and letting out a low whistle. “Soda, water, basic condiments and some whipped butter. Toss in some ancient moldy leftovers and a few bottles of beer and it would be identical to mine. Though mine’s just white. Not fancy and shiny like this one.”

He passed me a bottle of water across the counter, and I quickly swallowed two tiny red pills and stuck my tongue out at him. “It used to be much shittier, trust me. Back in 2011 everything was in such bad shape I said fuck it and decided to put the money into renovating it. Plus, I needed more storage options. For books. Want the official downstairs tour?”

“Indeed I do.”

I pointed at the kitchen. “Where you’re at…that’s the kitchen.” He smacked my hand gently and rolled his eyes. “Countertops are concrete, back splash is glass tile. Gas stove over yonder, mainly used for boiling water and reheating takeout food. Next to the fridge is a Fisher & Paykel DishDrawer. It’s a dishwasher, but it pulls out like a drawer and takes up a lot less space. We won’t talk about how much it cost. It’s embarrassing, and I didn’t really NEED it but damn, it’s really fucking cool. Don’t open it, though. I think I may have forgotten to do them before I left. After seeing my mother’s house I don’t like the cabinets as much as I used to, but at least they have stainless pulls instead of gold. Bathroom next.”

Tom rounded the corner and followed me the seven steps to the washroom. “You’ve already seen this. And you’ve looked in the cabinet under the sink. Hopefully there’s nothing too embarrassing in there, though I tend to keep most of that stuff in the loft. Floor is teeny tiny marble tiles, walls are subway tile, because, New York, and the shower is black glass tile. I love glass tile. I have no idea why, but I do. The overhead light in there is awesome…I abhor showering in low light. Can’t see shit. The fixture is a Grohe, and it’s got a rain head AND a massager. In retrospect, I would have gone with just the massager because the rain head gets water in my eyes constantly. And here we have a sink, and the excrement receptacle. Very exciting, no?”

He chuckled. “Excrement receptacle. I’m stealing that one, if you don’t mind.”

I waved my hand. “Sure, fine, why not. Now, let’s adjourn to the living area. To your left is the sideboard, where I keep all the crap I don’t have another place for. The mirror above is handy for making sure there are no boogers hanging from my nose before I leave the house AND for watching myself burn things in the kitchen. Up next are these very cool metal lockers that function as my coatroom and general storage. They all have a different combinations and I don’t know the two on the far end so please don’t turn the dials. To your right is a dining set that is not anywhere within the scope of my usual taste, but it was a gift from Anne when I first moved in and part of her parent’s estate so it remains. Recovering the seats in black leather made them more palatable. There’s a matching hutch on the wall behind it, which I use for books instead of dishes. The rug is from her, too. Sorry, am I rambling? Just let me know if you want me to shut up.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m enjoying this immensely. This…this is the place you call home. I want to know every detail, the how, the why, the significance of each and every thing and what it means to you.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, well, we’re only going to be here for three days and I did plan on leaving the house to do stuff so…anyway.” I gestured to the windows. “Those are eight feet high, the ceilings are twelve. There’s a remote on the coffee table that opens and closes the shades. Some people don’t mind parading around in the buff in front of the entire city, but I try to avoid it. Emphasis on TRY.” He laughed. “The bookshelves are custom…I designed them myself. Underneath are storage cabinets, which hold more books, my speakers, and some DVDs and CDs. The rug under the coffee table is also from Anne, and the white sofa…I have no explanation for it other than it had clean lines and metal feet. How it’s remained unscathed in light of my clumsiness is a mystery. The chaise part is pretty cool, though, and the TV’s on a swivel so I can turn it in that direction. Both pieces of art are things I found while traveling. The one by the windows was at an estate sale in Boston, and the big one is from a gallery in San Francisco.” I held my hands out to the side at shoulder level. “So, that’s it, I guess. If you turn around you’ll see the loft, and as soon as my meds kick in we can go up and unpack. Oh, wait. One more thing. Here’s your key.” I reached into my pocket, then held it out to him, allowing it to lay flat on my palm.

He lifted it slowly, the pads of his fingers brushing delicately against my hand, the connection creating a current of what felt like a thousand volts. It surged through me, and when I met his gaze he burst into tears. I wound my arms around him, crutches falling to the floor with a metallic whump, kissing each wet cheek in turn as my own eyes began streaming.

Wiping at his eyes with the back of one hand, his other arm around my waist, he smiled softly. “Wow. Sorry about that…I just…I…not even seven days ago I was certain I’d lost you forever and here we are, actually, finally in New York and you’ve welcomed me into your home…into your LIFE…and I’m just…I’m…so…so…GRATEFUL, Maude. And thankful. All that we’ve learned about each other, how much closer we’ve grown…which, honestly, I wouldn’t have believed to be possible, given how close we already were…I feel…unburdened. Lighter. Freer. I feel…ALIVE. So very much alive.”

His mouth was on mine before I had a chance to speak, and when he did the lip thing again I lost my mind completely. One hand was up my shirt, caressing my breasts first over then under my bra, the other down my shorts, inside my underwear, two fingers abruptly thrust inside me, pumping in and out. I glanced at the stove clock as I undid his zipper and wrapped my hand around his throbbing cock. It read 11:25. At least fifteen more minutes before dinner arrived. Plenty of time.

He whimpered pitifully as I began stroking him, voice breaking when he managed to speak. “Oh…Maude…I wanted to wait and take my time but…ohhhhh, GOD…I’m afraid I’m more than a little desperate for you, my love. May I have you, please? Now?”

I walked him backward toward the coffee table, fumbled for the remote and hit the button to close the shades, then grabbed waist of his shorts and pushed them down over his hips until they fell unceremoniously to the floor. He did the same with mine, dragging my panties with them, pausing to allow me to lean on him as he lifted my right leg to pull them over the boot. Our mouths met again, mine open and waiting for his tongue. His kiss was at first gruff, then yielding, gasping as I sought to imitate the forcefulness he’d displayed when sucking on my lip, pulling his into my mouth with a ferocity I hadn’t known I possessed. I felt myself being lowered onto a surface, which I assumed was the chaise portion of the couch, but wouldn’t have cared if it was a bed of nails.

Suddenly his weight was upon me, cock hard and leaking against my entrance. He broke the kiss to hold my head in his hands, our foreheads almost touching, gazes locked. “I love you, Maude. I will love you all of this life, and in each and every one that follows. I will love you as the world turns to ash around us. I will love you as the universe collapses into itself, and in the blackness of the eternity that awaits, I will remain, with you, at your side, holding your hand, never to let go. This love…it knows no bounds. It is forever. Two souls made one, together unto infinity. I love you. I love you.”

He shifted his hips, pushing himself inside me, slowly, stilling when he hit bottom, and I wept against his shoulder, hands at his waist under his shirt and grasping his hips. He wrapped his arms around me, hands in my hair, his lips on my neck, kissing every spot over and over.

“I love you, Thomas. Never let me go. Please. Never let me go.”

We began moving together, all gentleness cast aside as we raced at breakneck speed to feel the completeness that resulted only when the physical and the spiritual combined. His hips slammed against mine so savagely I knew I’d wake tomorrow to bruises, and my hands moved further up and under his shirt, fingernails digging in, then raking down his back as the head of his cock nudged my cervix and I came, pleasure and pain intermingling, a chasm opening and suspending us in a single instance of time and space as I felt his cock pulsing in tempo with my walls, then erupting its liquid fire inside me, like a volcano buried deep in the ocean floor.

The only sound in the apartment was our breathing, both of us panting and gasping. Tom rose up on his elbows, conducting a visual inspection to determine if I’d incurred any damage.

“Fuck, Maude…I’m so sorry…that was positively barbarous of me…are you all right? And your ankle…I forgot about THAT altogether…”

I placed my palms on his chest. “Barbarous is a bit harsh, don’t you think? I’d go with delightfully uncivilized. Either way, it was electrifying. And I’m fine. How’s your back, though? Let me see.”

“My back? Why?” He whipped his shirt off and slipped it under me as he pulled out and turned around. Eight welts stretched from his shoulders to his waist, four of them bleeding in spots.

My hand flew to my mouth, dampening a loud gasp. “Now that there, THAT’S barbarous. You. Are. Bleeding.”

He craned his neck to see behind him, then got up and went to look in the sideboard mirror. I got up, and hobbled over to stand next to him, clad only in my T-shirt.

“Tom…shit…I’m like…SO sorry. Yikes. I’ll go get some peroxide…”

He started at his reflection, head tilted, puzzled. “I didn’t feel that. At all.” As he turned around to face me, his hands reached for mine, grasping them. “What I DID feel was you. Us. I want you to know, Maude, I meant every word of what I said. Every word.”

“I know. Thank you. I…I…I’m not sure if I can formulate a reply that would convey my own feelings adequately…”

A kiss cut me off, his tongue forcing its way past my lips and teeth to reach mine, and when he pulled away he pointed at the couch. “You already did, my love.”

The blush began in my already flushed cheeks and spread all the way down to my breasts. My gaze shifted from his face to the floor. “Oh.”

Tom chuckled. “Suddenly modest, are we?”

I let go of his hands in order to cover my face. “Oh. My. GOD. Shut. UP.”

He roared with laughter, the sound echoing in the open space that surrounded us. I turned on my heel as quickly as my injury would allow and opened the bathroom door, looking back at him over my shoulder.

“I’m still going to get you some peroxide, in spite of the fact that you’re a complete and total asshole.”

The laughter continued as I searched the drawer, then abruptly ceased as someone knocked on the door and loudly announced ‘delivery for Gallagher’.

I took off my T-shirt and tossed it to Tom. “Here, put this on. And don’t forget your shorts. I’ll hide in here. There’s tip money in the dish on top of the sideboard.”

Figuring I might as well pee while I was in there, I giggled as I sat down on the seat. “Excrement receptacle. Damn, I’m fucking hilarious.” I could hear Tom thanking the delivery guy as I finished up and washed my hands, followed by the sound of the door closing. He was in the kitchen when I came out, removing the food from the bags and placing it on the counter, sorting it into two piles. I put my underwear back on and dug a T-shirt out of my luggage. There was no way to be sure whether it was clean or dirty, but it passed the sniff test so I deemed it wearable.

We ate at the dining table, him snatching half my bagel and a good sized chunk of my omelet. The cheesecake and the scone went in the fridge so we’d have something on hand that passed for breakfast, and as he loaded the silverware into the dishdrawer (which had been empty, thankfully) a yawn escaped him, so powerful he dropped the fork he’d been holding.

I bent to pick it up, remembering he’d been up hours before I had. It seemed a physical impossibility that the press encounter and funeral had occurred earlier that same day, and suddenly all I wanted to do was lie down with him snuggled against me. He closed the drawer and pushed the start button, and I reached for his hand.

“Come on, you. Time for sleep.”

He let go, shaking his head. “We haven’t unpacked, nor have we texted Luke and Simon to let them know we arrived safely and to find out if they have as well, and we still have to call Norman…”

I grabbed my phone from my shorts, which were still on the floor where he’d dropped them. “There. Luke and Simon texted. Where’s your phone? Let’s text Norman, too.” He passed it to me. I typed quickly.

Hey – just wanted to say thank you for reaching out, and no worries. The internet, as they say, is forever. Appreciate you noticing and providing clarity as to the source. Hope filming the rest of the season is going well. Best, Gallagher & Hiddleston

I turned the screen so Tom could read what I’d written.

He nodded. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

I hit send, set my phone on the sideboard and turned off the downstairs lights. “Let’s go. Move that ass.”

He snorted and followed me up the stairs. It felt like it took forever with the stupid boot, and I dreaded having to pee during the night. I turned back the covers, then stood by the dresser at the bottom of the bed and removed my shirt and panties, Tom’s arms winding around my waist from behind, holding me in place so I didn’t fall over as I wrangled the underwear over the boot.

His voice rumbled in my ear. “So, this is where the magic happens…”

“Ummm…if you’re referring to solo magic, yes. Lots of it. But other than that, no. Not in a long, long time, anyway.”

His grip loosened and he stepped back, silent until I turned around.

“Maude, I’d forgotten he lived here with you…I’m…”

I raised my hand to stop him. “Shush. There’s no longer room in my heart, or my head, for anything other than what’s right in front of me. What happened can’t be changed, nor would I want it to be. Life is meant to be experienced in the moment. If you dwell on the past or focus on the future, you miss everything in between. Trust me. I know. And I’m so very, very done with missing out. Now get those clothes off.” I held out my right arm, palm up, towards the platform that held a queen size mattress. “This way to my bed, sir.”

#your light in the mist #chapter 23

10 notes · View notes

enigmaticbughead · 7 years

Text

“I Love You, Betty Cooper” - Bughead

so here is the (not so) little one-shot i’ve been talking about writing. it’s actually hilarious, because i initially set out to write a nice little fluffy drabble with just a touch of angst and then i got all kinds of carried away. so now we have over 4k words of almost pure smut. you’re welcome. also this is my first time ever really posting any smut (i’ve written it, but up until it’s basically stayed hidden away in my computer files) so i’d really love your feedback, but pls be nice, i’m fragile. xx

P.S. if you have any requests or ideas for future one-shots/drabbles, please let me know! i have a feeling the idea of jughead sneaking into betty’s room may be a common theme here, because hello, it was fucking precious in 1x06

Jughead Jones x Betty Cooper

Word Count: 4022

Warnings: nsfw (duh), strong language

In which Jughead makes a surprise visit to Betty’s bedroom in the middle of the night and they discuss the Serpents and Fred’s condition among other things ;)

Set about twenty-fourish hours since the events of 1x13

“I Love You, Betty Cooper”

After what seemed like only a few minutes, but what was likely over an hour, a sudden burst of cold water forced Betty to finally turn off the shower. It was late, but after everything that had transpired the last twenty-four hours, her mind was too busy to let her sleep. She sighed as she stepped out of the tub, grabbing a towel, using it to dry herself off before putting on a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt that was so big on her, it covered the shorts, reaching her mid-thigh.

She padded down the hallway to her room as quietly as she could, careful not wake her parents or Polly, who had been asleep for hours. When she got to her bedroom, she eased the door closed before turning on the lamp on her desk.

Her attempt to be quiet, however, was nearly thwarted as soon as she saw him sitting on the edge of her bed. Thankfully, all that had escaped her was a startled gasp before she recognized the dark mop of her boyfriend’s hair.

Although, after last night, she wasn’t sure if he even wanted that title anymore.

“Jesus Christ, Jughead,” she exclaimed, “how the hell did you even get in here?” She placed her hand over her chest and tried to coax her heart back into beating.

“Your window was unlocked. I climbed up. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The first thing the blond girl noticed was that his raven hair wasn’t hidden away by his beanie, like it usually was. It looked wild, strands going every which way, like he’d been raking his hands through it anxiously, which was exactly what he’d been doing. He fidgeted the grey hat in his hands, waiting for her to say something, anything.

She only nodded.

“I tried calling you…I’ve been trying to call you but—” he started to explain himself but she cut him off.

“I’ve been at the hospital with Archie and…” her voice broke, still unable to process everything that had happened. Just a few short hours after Jughead had all but kicked her out of his trailer, she’d gotten a phone call from Archie.

Fred Andrews had been shot, right in Riverdale’s local diner, Pop’s Chock ‘Lit Shoppe. Where she and her friends bonded together in booths over milkshakes and burgers. The one place in town where Betty had felt the safest, most herself.

“How is he?” Jughead asked, genuine worry taking over his features.

“I don’t know. They don’t know,” the blond pushed some of her still-damp locks back and away from her face. “They took him into surgery pretty much when they got there. He’s still on a ventilator. They’re talking like they’re going to take him for another surgery sometime tomorrow.”

“What about Archie?” he inquired, his eyebrows raising.

“He’s scared. Really scared,” she quickly blinked away tears that had threatened to spill over her eyes. “Why’d you come here, Jug?” she asked as calmly as she could, crossing her arms over her chest. She had to work very hard to resist the urge to clench her fists and dig her nails into her palms the way she typically did when she was upset.

She’d promised herself she’d do her best to never do that with Jughead when she’d let him see the crescent wounds that she had embedded into her skin, because for her it was a way of pushing away her emotions. She didn’t want to do that with him. She wanted to be open, wanted to let him see her as she was, the way he’d let her do with him. But as of late, he was making that very difficult.

“I needed…we need to talk. About what happened last night.”

“You’re the one who told me to leave,” she murmured defensively. “I wanted to stay and talk it out but you told me to go.”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he responded, “but you made it out like I was set out to be some sort of crime lord.”

“They’re a gang, Jughead.”

“Wasn’t it you who literally just wrote an entire article about how the Serpents aren’t as bad as they seem? About how they weren’t to blame for Jason’s murder?” he countered. “And besides, it doesn’t mean anything. The jacket was my dad’s. They wanted me to have it so I’d have some piece of him while he’s stuck in there.”

“They’re the reason he’s in there to begin with!” she said, raising her voice as loud as she would dare with her family sleeping in such close quarters.

“No, Betty, I’m the reason he’s in there,” the dark-haired boy tried to retort with equal resolve, but his voice wavered, and his eyes filled with tears that he allowed to spill over unapologetically. It was the first time he’d cried so openly in front of her like that.

The first time he’d cried in front of anyone like that, as far as she knew.

“Oh, Juggie…” her demeanor immediately softened, and she broke into the small amount of space she’d created between them, crawling up beside him on her pale pink duvet. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“He helped cover up Clifford’s tracks to protect me. He confessed to protect me. All of it, because of me.”

“Juggie,” she tried to calm him down, to get him to look at her, but he wouldn’t. She straightened, gently taking his face into her hands, using her thumbs to swipe away his tears. “Jughead Jones, listen to me,” finally he looked her in the eyes, tears still making trails down his cheeks. “You are not responsible for your father. He made his own decisions, his own mistakes. He has to live with those consequences and unfortunately, so do you. But it is not your fault.” Her own eyes began to well, “He wanted to protect you, yes, but that is only because he loves you, Jug. Despite everything he’s done, he loves you. If you want to keep the Serpent jacket, or hell, even if you wanted to join them, so that you would have some connection to your dad, none of it means anything unless you understand that. You have got to get it out of your head that nobody wants you, or that you aren’t deserving of the love you receive. You are worth every bit of it, Juggie.”

He looked at her, searching her eyes to make sure she meant what she said. “Am I, though?” he asked, “Do you mean what you said last night at the trailer? That you…” his voice trailed off, afraid of her answer.

“Did you really think you could get rid of me so easily?” she asked, smiling softly through her tears.

“Well, I’d hoped,” he smiled back, before cupping her cheek in his hand and bringing her mouth to his.

At first, the kiss was sweet and gentle, just like most of their previous kisses had been, but it very quickly turned, the burning desire they’d both felt just the night before returning with a vengeance.

Fingers found their way into hair, limbs snaking their way around waists, hands creeping under fabric, feeling each other’s skin. Betty had been so wrapped up in the moment, so wrapped up in everything that was Jughead Jones, she hadn’t even noticed that their positions had shifted until he pulled away, carefully brushing away the hair that had fallen into her face. She found herself back against the pillows, legs spread, with Jughead nestled between them, her knees hitched over his hips.

She smirked, her hands reaching for the hem of his maroon sweater.

“Betty,” he stopped her, gently taking one of her wrists into his hand, “I just…before we do anything, I want to make sure that we’re okay. That you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Juggie. I’m more than fine,” she assured him, stroking her index finger along the line of his jaw. “I want to.”

He smiled, pulling away from her just long enough to slip his shirt over his head, before coming back down, smashing his lips into hers. Their tongues danced together, and her fingers tangled themselves into his hair, tugging and pulling, needy for more of him.

One of his hands wandered up her shirt, happily finding that her breasts that uncovered by a bra, and palmed at them gently, smiling against her lips when she moaned into his mouth. He moved his hands down, to the hem, where he started to pull the cotton up.

“Wait, um…” he opened his eyes, looking down at her to find her breathing shallow and shaky.

“Bets?” he whispered, his voice filled with worry and concern.

“I’m okay,” she reassured him, drawing in a deep steadying breath. “But um…do you think…would you mind if we turned out the lights?”

He wanted to request that they keep them on. Jughead was done being afraid, and he was finally confident in his feelings for her and hers for him, both emotionally and physically, so he wanted to revel in that. He wanted to see her. All of her.

But he knew that she hadn’t gone through the same process of wall tearing he had. Betty hadn’t had the same epiphanies and revelations about their relationship, because in a lot of ways she didn’t have to. She wasn’t afraid of intimacy or being vulnerable in the same way he was; but she was afraid of rejection, for obvious reasons. And she was afraid of this new kind of rejection, a rejection of her body, a fear that she wasn’t pretty or sexy enough to be seen. And while that was the farthest from the truth in his eyes, he didn’t want to do anything that might make her uncomfortable.

Besides, he’d planned on having plenty more opportunities to have sex with the lights on.

“Yeah, sure,” he smiled softly, pecking her lips before pulling away and rising from the bed. He crossed the small bedroom to her desk and carefully switched the light off.

His eyes adjusted as he made his way back to Betty, and he watched as her silhouette, barely made out by the light of the street lamps pouring into her blinds, tossed the t-shirt onto the floor haphazardly. She got up onto her knees on the edge of the bed, so that she was level with him.

He kicked off his sneakers before stepping closer to her. He placed one hand at the small of her back and the other on the back of her neck, pulling her into him, and they both moaned at the feel of the skin-to-skin contact as their bare chests pressed together.

“Okay, so two things,” the blonde murmured as she peppered kisses along his shoulder, her hands reaching down and fiddling with his belt buckle, “One, my folks are asleep two doors down. So we’ll have to be quiet. Secondly,” she pulled her upper body away just enough so that she could see his face, dimly lit by the lights from outside her window. The nervousness returned to her tone, and he gently traced circles along her back instinctively, “I’ve never really done this before…” her voice trailed off, and he understood.

He smiled gently, cupping her cheeks between his hands. “Me either.”

“Really?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

“Too busy writing my manifestos, remember?” he joked, earning a small laugh from her. “We can go at your pace. Just let me know if we need to slow down or stop or anything, okay?”

She nodded, craning her neck up so that she could reach his lips and he bent slightly, meeting them halfway. It was as if their mouths were melded into each other, meeting over and over, wet and hot and urgent and needy.

Finally, she’d managed to work him free of his jeans, gasping as she felt his hardness against her stomach, only covered by the thin material of his plaid boxers.

She tentatively grazed her fingertips along his groin, and sucked in a breath through his teeth. She smirked against his lips at the reaction, and in a wave of newfound confidence, she carefully reached into his boxers, pulling his erection free of them. Once he’d kicked out of them and his jeans, which had previously been bunched around his thighs, she carefully took his member into her small hand, wrapping her fingers around the base. She gently pulled upward, stroking his length. He shuddered, and the sound wakened parts of Betty she hadn’t ever fully realized.

She had the sudden realization her panties weren’t so dry anymore.

She repeated the ministrations, causing Jughead to have to separate his lips from hers, nestling his forehead into her shoulder, a quiet moan escaping his lips. Betty giggled. “You okay, Juggie?” she teased.

His hands found their way to her backside and he gave it a sharp squeeze, causing her to gasp. “You’ll eat your words, Betty Cooper.” He hoisted her up, and she immediately wrapped her legs around his waist, their lips coming together again. They crashed into the bed, panting out breaths in between wet kisses. Jughead placed a hand over Betty’s throat, turning their heads and attacking her mouth from another angle, gently nipping at her lower lip.

God, she could just get fucking addicted to Jughead Jones’ lips.

His hand moved from her throat, replaced by his lips, and crept slowly down her uncovered torso, finding the soft mounds of her breasts, his next target. He started slowly, gently palming them in his hand reveling in the way it made Betty’s breath quicken. He then focused his assault, rolling a thumb experimentally over the rosy bud of her nipple, smiling against her skin as it hardened against his touch.

He dipped his head down, replacing his hands with his mouth, enclosing the nipple between his lips and sucking gently, before moving on to her other breast, offering it the same attention.

While his mouth remained occupied, his wandering hand moved further and further south, until it found her tauntingly short pajama shorts. He brushed his fingers along it, before brushing his hand downward, stroking her center over the thin material.

She bucked her hips, frustrated by the layers, however flimsy, that separated her from him, desperate for more friction, more direct contact. He chuckled darkly, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of both the shorts and her purple cotton panties, pulling them down her slender legs before bringing his hand back over her center, slipping his fingers in between her folds. She was wet, really wet, and even though Jughead didn’t think it was possible for him to get any harder, he did. His fingers slid up and down, carefully rubbing and caressing, looking for her clitoris.

Betty, sensing his struggle to locate the bundle of nerves that she was already familiar with, reached her own hand down and placed it over his. He blushed a bit at his own ignorance, but she just smiled at him, gently guiding his hand upward until his fingers landed over it; it was swollen, and he could feel it pulse with need.

He let his hand settle there for a moment, before he began to move, using the pad of his thumb to slowly circle the most sensitive part of her, immediately earning a desperate little whimper from Betty that was enough to drive him crazy. He quickened his pace, gently slipping a finger into her, and she bit on her lip in a failed attempt to hold back a moan that was just a little too loud.

“I thought you said we had to be quiet?” he gazed up at her through his dark hair, eyebrow raised, lips curled up into a smirk.

She giggled, grabbing hold of his face and bringing it to hers, kissing him soft and sweet and slow, and he moved his hand from her core, moving it to her thigh, gently coaxing her legs further open, nestling himself between them so that his member lined up with her opening.

“Wait,” Betty whispered urgently, her eyes flying open. Jughead bit his lip, trying to hide his disappointment at the thought of her changing her mind.

But when she turned her torso, reaching into the drawer of her bedside table, his disappointment turned to confusion.

“Betty, what the hell are you looking for?”

“Aha,” she hummed, turning back to her original position, holding something between her fingers.

It took him to make out the little foil packet in the dark. He took the condom from her, giving her a questioning look.

“After Polly got pregnant, my mom bought me a box,” she shrugged casually. “Of course at the time, I didn’t know why. And even though she’d absolutely freak if she found out I was having sex, I guess she wanted to make sure if I ever did that I wouldn’t end up like Polls.”

“Well I’m glad she thought of it,” Jughead chuckled as rolled the latex down his shaft, “because I totally forgot.”

Betty laughed too, reaching up to him for a kiss. He granted the kiss, and it was slow and soft, one hand cupping her face lovingly and the other gripping her hip gently, once again re-aligning himself with her entrance.

He pulled away just a bit, brushing away the golden waves that that had gotten strewn about them so that he could get a good look at her face.

“You sure?” he asked, and though his eyes were dark with lust and want, there was that softness in them that she loved so much. She knew that if she said no, if she gave even the slightest inkling that she wanted to stop, he would, regardless of what he wanted. Knowing that made her want him even more, if that were even possible.

“Yeah. I’m 150% sure. Are you?”

“Yeah,” he kissed pecked her lips gently and she smiled into his kiss. “Let me know if it’s too much, okay?”

She nodded and wrapped her arms around his neck, taking a deep breath to calm the small pool of nerves that built in her stomach. Even though she was a little scared, there was no doubt in Betty’s mind that this was what she wanted.

Jughead reached down in between them, taking his member in his hand and guiding it into her as slowly and gently as he could manage, muttering a quiet “fuck,” as he buried his head into the crook of her neck. The feeling of her around him was almost too much for him to bear, the newness of the sensations of her heat and wetness and knowing that this was Betty Cooper, a girl he loved, made it all so much more intense than it ever was in the quiet moments he’d spent by himself.

She gently stroked his raven hair with her fingers. “I love you, Juggie,” she whispered into the top of his head.

He looked up at her, pressing his lips to hers gently. “It doesn’t hurt or anything, does it?”

She shook her head, smiling at him softly, bringing him back in for a more lustful kiss. She began to rotate her hips against him, coaxing him to move.

He smiled against her, pulling out ever so slowly and then pushing himself back in again. His movements remained slow, but they built up in forcefulness as he went. Each thrust earned a delightfully sinful sound to come from somewhere deep in Betty, and each of those caused Jughead to mutter obscenities. Betty began to rock her hips up to meet his thrusts, and their bodies came together over and over in ways that meant more than either of them realized, their moans mixing in with each other an almost melodic way

He reached a hand down between them, circling her newly found clit, causing her walls to clench around him, and Jughead came undone, far sooner than he’d hoped he would. It was easily one of the strongest orgasms he’d ever had, and he had to fight hard against himself for the will to keep his eyes open. He knew she hadn’t seen her climax yet, and he wasn’t about to leave her hanging.

Betty chuckled when he collapsed into her, her hands tracing over the lines of his upper back. “Are you alright?”

“I’m more than alright, Bets,” he smiled, bringing his lips back to hers briefly. “Now it’s you turn.” He began to move down her body placing kisses as he went.

“Juggie, it’s alright, you don’t have to…”

“I want to get you off,” he growled, now between her legs, and her breath to hitched in her throat as she felt his hot breath against her center.

The first kiss he placed was soft, tentative, but it built the anticipation of the ones to follow it, and Betty shuddered, her body falling limp against the soft mattress. He then brought his mouth back to her heat, torturing her clit with soft sure licks. Jughead was gentle, careful – agonizingly slow. She tried to buck her hips, to arch into in an effort to create more friction, but he placed a hand over her stomach, holding her down. He wanted to build up her desire, so that when she finally got her release, it would be as intense as it could be.

When he felt she truly couldn’t take anymore, Jughead gently pushed two fingers into her, pulling his mouth away from her clit, replacing it with his thumb. He took his hand away from her stomach, and finally free, she ground herself into him.

“I love you,” he murmured, never pulling his focus away from her pulsing sex, watching in the dim light illuminating her from her bedroom window as she fell apart at his hands, “come, Betty.”

And that did it. Betty’s legs shook as the coil that had been winding itself in her belly since he’d first began to touch her came undone, and she had to bury her face into the pillow to keep from crying out. In that moment, she truly couldn’t tell where she stopped and his hand began; she couldn’t think of anything except how good she felt and Jughead Jones.

“Juggie…” she whimpered, gently pushing his hand away from her the aftermath of her orgasm made her so sensitive that even the gentle contact became too much.

Jughead immediately crawled back up, bringing the blankets up around them and lying down beside her on his side, pulling her to hers as well, so that they were nose to nose with each other. He brushed the hair that had gotten strewn across her face in the culmination of their passion, and kissed her nose gently.

It was a couple of minutes of them lying there, tangled into each other’s arms, before he realized Betty was crying.

“Hey, hey….” he whispered, wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

“I’m sorry, this is so pathetic, I just…” she sniffled before continuing. “It’s just…that felt so good.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, chuckling softly.

“No, no, it’s just,” she averted his gaze, focusing instead on the lines of his chest as her fingers brushed across his skin, “if I lose you now, it’s going to kill me, Juggie.”

Jughead had no intent on them losing each other anytime soon (in fact as they stood now, he’d be with her forever if he could). But he also knew that this was him, this was Betty and this was Riverdale, and all three of these things were incredibly volatile. He believed, though, that they could eventually work through their issues and really be something bigger than any of it. But, was still afraid of promises he didn’t have complete control over, so tonight was not the night to say those silent promises yet.

Instead, he took her face in his hands, giving her one slow, lingering, soft kiss, whispering against her lips the only thing he was really sure of anymore.

“I love you, Betty Cooper.”

�#��#�]�

#bughead #bughead fic #bughead smut #jughead jones #betty cooper #betty x jughead #jones x cooper #riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #bughead fanfiction #otp imagines #feedback welcome #requests welcome

189 notes · View notes

softboyscully · 4 years

Text

Looking for some critiques on my writing

hi, i was just wondering if anyone would mind helping me out? I’m just going to copy-and-paste a bit of my writing and see if anyone has suggestions about thing i could do better or change. or you could just read it and say if you like it or not. thanks either way!

EVA

“Okay, how about this one? The Twisted Arrow,” Maeve read out.

We were all lounging in my room, Maeve on the beanbag, Kacey on the floor, and James and I on the bed.

“Ooooh, that sounds cool,” James said, leaning over to see Maeve’s phone.

“I dunno, guys,” I said, playing with the bottom of my sweatshirt. “What if there are like… creepy people there? Or rapists?”

“Babe, there are always creepy people, no matter what bar ya go to,” Kacey replied with a laugh.

“I could go with ya, if ya want?” James inquired, ever the caring friend.

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” I sighed. “Guess I’m just scared, movin’ to a new place an’ all.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kacey exclaimed. “Babe, you got into Brooklyn Law School! According to the Niche, it’s the fifth best law school in New York! Or maybe it said Brooklyn.”

The room dissolved into laughter.

“What? What? Come on guys, you know my memory ain’t great,” Kacey pouted, sticking out her bottom lip like a petulant child.

“Whatevah, Kacey,” I said, still grinning.

James sobered up. “But seriously, Eva. You should have someone go with ya. It ain’t the safest place, NYC.”

“I’m not in NYC, I’m in Brooklyn,” I argued.

James shot me a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” I sighed. “James, you can come with. But just this once, ’kay?”

“Mkay,” my friend said, already plugging her phone in to get ready for our big adventure.

“Hey, by the way, thanks for lettin’ us come with ya to Brooklyn,” Maeve said tentatively.

“Are you kiddin’ me? Thanks for coming with me! It means a lot, guys.” I smiled softly at all of them, then opened my arms wide for a group hug.

My friends being my friends, I instead got to be the bottom of a pig pile.

=========

When me and James got to The Twisted Arrow, R U Crazy was blaring over the speakers, even though you could barely hear it over the sound of people.

“Since I’m kinda completely straight, can you protect me please?” James yelled over the noise.

“I told you I’d be fine alone!” I yelled back, but I grabbed her arm and pulled her to the bar, despite me being a good head-and-a-half shorter than her.

“Uh, do you have like, a menu or somethan’?” I asked the bartender. If she’d been my age, I would’ve given her my number as well.

“Yeah-huh, it’s that lady right over there,” the woman said, pointing to an Indian woman with long green hair.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” I replied, still dragging James along behind me. Getting to the human menu, I asked, “Sorry, the bartender said you… uh, you were the menu?”

Green-Haired lady laughed. “Yeah, that’s me! Name’s Ananya. Nice to meetcha. Whatcha lookin’ for tonight?” She said with a light New York accent.

“Oh, cool, my names Eva. I’m lookin for-”

“Eh-va, ey? ‘S cool. Never heard it pronounced like that befoah.”

“Heh, yeah. My parents wanted to be original, I guess,” I laughed. “Anyways, I’m looking for… Actually, do you have like, soda or something?”

Ananya grinned. “We sure do, sweetheart. Fanta, Coke, Diet Coke, Sprite, and Pepsi.”

“Uh, what kinds of Fanta?”

“Grape and orange.”

“Orange sounds good, I think. James, what do you want?”

“Uh, just, um. Whisky, I guess?” James mumbled.

“Huh?” Ananya said.

“Uh, she wants to know if you have Jameson Whisky?” I said, clarifying for her.

“Course we do,” Ananya scoffed. “We ain’t pussies here.”

I shifted uncomfortably. I didn’t like people using the word ‘pussy’ like that; what was wrong with a vagina? What made a woman’s body part more embarrassing than a man’s? Nobody said “We ain’t penises here”.

I kept my mouth shut, though; Ananya seemed like a genuinely cool person, and it wasn’t like she was putting too much thought into the word she used.

“Hello? Earth to Eva,” James said, waving her hand in front of my face.

“Oh, sorry, must’ve spaced out,” I laughed uncomfortably. “Here, let’s go back to the bartender.”

I was about to turn away when Ananya said, “Hey, by the way, I like your hair!”

“Thanks! My friends just did it,” I said, putting my hand to the shining barrel curls Kacey had worked her beauty-school expertise on.

“It’d look cool if you dyed it,” Ananya said.

It was just a throw-away comment, but I froze up.

Oh god, she doesn’t like it, of course not, I knew it wouldn’t look good on me, God I need to change it, where’s the bathroom?

“Uh, James, I’m gonna go to the bathroom, bye,” I spurted out, dropping my friend’s hand and running to the bathroom.

Oh my god I’m such an idiot, why would it look good on me? Gods, I can barely pull off straight hair, idiot, idiot, idiot-

I crashed into someone, spilling their drink on both of us.

“Woah, hey!” a semi-deep voice said. I glanced up and caught sight of a girl with rainbow hair looking at me with concern. “You okay? You look kinda freaked out.” She straighted up. “Someone botherin’ you?” She asked.

“Naw, I’m just goin to fix my hair, sorry for bumpin’ inta ya,” I said quickly before rushing off to the bathroom.

Tonight was going to be a long night.

LEONA

“I think your hair looks nice,” I softly called after the girl who’d just bumped into me. Hopefully she’d find a drunk girl in the bathroom who could restore her confidence.

“Anyways,” Brenda said, cutting into my thoughts as she continued our earlier conversation. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, I don’t really like guys,” I replied, taking another sip of my (much emptier) beer.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll find Mr. Right. Just give it time,” she told me, patting my shoulder.

I stared at her. “I’m a lesbian, Brenda.”

“Oh,” She said awkwardly.

I rolled my eyes and walked away.

“Yo, ya break’s over,” Macy said, stopping me.

Macy was the owner of The Arrow, and someone I’d known since day one of moving here. We may not exactly consider each other friends, but we did like each other. I worked at her bar, she payed me extra, and I gave her drink recipes I’d found or created. Also, sometimes I made guacamole.

I’m an ace at making guacamole.

“Yeah, yeah, here I come,” I sighed.

Only a few moments later, a girl with beautiful brown hair down to her ass came up to the bar.

“Could I get a Jameson whiskey, please?” She inquired with a thick New York (or was it Boston?) accent, sitting down on a barstool.

“Uh-huh, just need an ID,” I replied.

She handed me an ID with a picture of a girl with about the same color brown hair, except it was to her shoulders. I glanced at her, looked back down at the ID, and turned to grab her a drink.

“I know this is kinda cliché, but do ya mind if I vent to you?” She sighed. “Name’s James, by the way.”

“Got a friend named James,” I said. “Mine’s Leona. And yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Cool, thanks,” she replied, taking her drink from my hand. “So, me and my friend came here—"

“Friend? Or ‘Gal Pal’?”

“Phftttt, friend. I, ma’am, am completely straight. So I’m here with my friend, right? Just to make sure she’s okay on her first day out in the city—she just moved her from Massachusetts—and she totally left me alone! Ran off to the bathroom or somethin’. So now I’m just-”

“Wait,” I cut in. “She wouldn’t happen to be fixin’ her hair, would she? Pretty… uh… whatta you call ‘em… some kinda curls?”

James stared at me. “Yeah, maybe. Shortest person you’ve ever seen? Hispanic?”

“That’s the girl who bumped into me, yeah,” I said, the beginning of a smile starting to form on my face.

“Oh, cool! Yeah, that’s my friend. Her name’s Eva.”

“Eh-va, huh? Cool pronunciation. I like it.”

“Yeah, right? Oh, should probably order her drink in case she comes back to the bar. Can I get an uh, an orange Fanta soda?”

“Yeah-hm.”

“James?” A voice asked.

The brown-haired girl’s face lit up as she swiveled around in her chair. “Eva!” she exclaimed. “There you are! I was just talking to… uh… oh, I was just talking to Leona, see, she’s the bartender—” I waved hello. “—and turns out you’ve already bumped into her! You know, on your way to the bathroom!”

“Oh, hi,” Eva said, blushing. Her hair was now completely straight.

“Hey. You want an orange Fanta, right?” I asked, just to make sure.

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks,” she answered with a smile.

“I’d love to stay and chat, but that person over there either needs straight-up vodka or a large milkshake and some ice cream. See you guys around?” I said.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Eva said, her smile widening. James shot her a look. “Uh, I mean, I’ll be around. I don’t think James will, though. She was kinda just here to make sure I was okay on my first day.”

“And now you know the bartender,” I said, smiling.

“And now I know the bartender.”

“’Kay, well. See you around.”

“See you,” the two friends chorused.

I walked over to the woman (who, yeah, she needed to be swaddled under three blankets with a milkshake, ice cream, and something on Netflix) I’d mentioned to James and Eva. She, too, was sitting on a barstool. “You okay?” I asked her softly.

Her head shot up. “Oh. Yeah. Just… nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Don’t look like nothin’.”

“Hey, I appreciate your concern, but I’m dating some—”

“Nah, it’s not like that. I’m just the bartender. Hey, listen, this is gonna sound kinda creepy so you don’t gotta do it if you don’t want to, but—I know a guy, his name’s James, he comes here sometimes. He works at the Chick-Fil-A down the road and to the right, and babe, you look like you need a milkshake.”

She laughed humorlessly. “Maybe I do. Thanks for the tip, Miss Psychic. Not for nothin’, but did you just serve that girl a soda?”

“Yes I did.”

She gave Eva a once-over. “She does look like the kind of person who’d go for a soda.”

I laughed at the comment.

James (who must’ve been listening to our conversation)’s face flashed for a second, but I chose to ignore it. I’d known there was no way these girls were over twenty one; they must’ve been nineteen at most.

What I was doing, serving drinks to those two, was illegal.

Take me to jail, motherfuckers, I thought, watching as James downed her whisky.

MILA

Thanks to the nameless bartender, I was on my way to the local Chick-Fil-A for a milkshake.

Next to me in the passenger seat, my phone started ringing.

Jamie, the contact name read.

I watched it buzz and move across the seat for a moment before I remembered myself—and the road.

The phone stopped ringing.

I felt like crying.

I pulled into the parking lot and grabbed my keys and walked into the fast food restaurant, which was surprisingly empty at 12:00 AM.

“Welcome to Chick-Fil-A, what can I get you?” A thin black guy behind the counter asked me.

“Just a vanilla milkshake, please,” I sighed.

They glanced up at me. “Oooo, darlin’, you need more than a milkshake. You know what? Take a milkshake, and then you go on down to The Twisted Arrow and ask for Leona. She’ll give you a shot of vodka in it, ‘kay?”

I smiled. “So you’re James?”

He smiled back at me. “And you’ve already met Leona.”

We both stayed silent for a moment.

“Well,” he said. “Her skills ain’t gettin’ any less sharp.”

“No, I guess they’re not.”

“Why’d she send you here?”

“Hell if I know,” I answered, shrugging. “But it was definitely the right choice.”

He laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, Leona’s cool. Me and her go to the same college.”

“Oh, really? Where do you go to college?”

“John Jay College of Criminal Justice.”

“Nice. What’s your major?”

By now, James had started to make my milkshake. “Criminal Justice. Leona’s looking to be a CSI, but I’m headin’ more towards cop,” he replied.

#this is all i have #i promise its only bc i only started writing this like #three days ago #im so tired #writing #writing critique #constructive criticism #please #my writing #im writing a book #hopefully #wait what #no way is it one am

0 notes