“I fucking hate Christmas carols.”
Beth laughs as she flags the bartender down, “Scotch on the rocks, please,” she turns to her partner, “Me, too, Art. If I have to hear one more Jingle Bell Rocks, I’ll get suspended for using my gun off-duty tonight.”
They laugh together before Art tenses and takes a long sip of his drink, avoiding her eyes, “What is it?”
He purses his lips and shakes his head, taking a long sip. She turns her head towards the direction he was looking and feels the bottom of her stomach fall at the sight of her. She quickly turns back to Art and levels him a look, “Don’t start.”
He holds his hands up in surrender and shrugs, “I didn’t say anything.”
“Yeah, but you’re saying it all with your holier-than-thou eyes. Drop it.”
He opens his mouth to say something but stops, pausing to swirl the drink in his hand, “You brought Paul tonight. Things getting pretty serious, huh?”
Her grip on the glass is menacing, knuckles white, “Drop it.”
“I’m just making conversation, Beth.”
He gives her a look that tells her he’s doing everything but making conversation. It’s the same look he gave when he found out about the pills. Or the drinking. Or when her and Angie started-
No. None of that tonight. Their Christmas party is no place to bring up the past.
(She wonders, later, if the Ghost of Christmas Past showed up in her room, where they would bring her.
Or, really - who they would bring her to.
She doesn’t have to think about it that hard.)
“Paul is good for me, okay?”
She glances in Paul’s direction, watching as he mingles with some good guys from the Fraud division. He’s a trophy, gleaming in his pressed suit and perfectly trimmed hair. His movements are stiff, precise - almost rehearsed. The perfect boyfriend.
(When will she learn that trophies are just for display?)
“Whatever you say, dipshit,” he glances over her shoulder and something shifts in his eyes. He downs the rest of his drink in one gulp, “That’s my queue to leave.”
She barely has the word what? out of her mouth when a woman sidles up beside her at the bar.
“Childs.”
She clenches her jaw and finishes her drink, nodding in the woman’s direction, “DeAngelis.”
“Two scotches on the rocks - make them doubles.”
“No, Angie, I just-”
Angie turns to her fully, “What? You won’t share a drink with me, now? I’m disappointed in you.”
Her lips are painted like the blood rushing to Beth’s cheeks. Leather pants tight like the grip around Beth’s chest. Cream dress shirt pressed like the the walls around Beth’s heart. She grabs her new drink and looks down into the glass, “You look good.”
“I’d say the same for you, Childs, but I don’t want to blow up the ego in that pretty little head of yours.”
Beth smiles wide, dripping with a taste so sweet it makes her sick to her stomach, “And here I was thinking you weren’t going to be a bitch on Christmas. Guess you can’t take a break even on holidays, eh, Ang?”
Angie says nothing in response, sipping from her drink. A moment passes, “I see you brought Beefcake.”
“Angie,” it comes out through gritted teeth, “We are not doing this tonight.”
Angie leans in close, words hot against Beth’s cheek, “Doing what exactly? We’re just talking,” she tilts her head and makes a display of faux shock, “Or did you have something else in mind?”
She crosses her legs, clenching and unclenching her thighs together, “I can’t do this with you. Not here. Not now,” she glances at Paul out of the corner of her eye, sighing inwardly, “I’ve made my choice.”
Something flashes across Angie’s face, something Beth doesn’t want to identify as hurt, “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
That weight in the bottom of her stomach is plummeting - down, down, down - and she can feel herself drowning, “Ang-”
The other woman holds her hand up and shakes her head, downing the entirety of her drink in one gulp, “This was a mistake,” there’s a coldness chilling those familiar brown eyes and Beth clenches fists around her drink to stop herself from reaching forward, “I’ll see you around.”
She’s gone in a matter of seconds. Beth stares down into her glass, too afraid to glance back at her. The last time she watched Angie walk away it tore into her gut and felt like her insides were being ripped out.
She repeats the words she has been saying ever since the night:
You’re doing the right thing. You’re doing the right thing. You’re doing the right thing.
(Why does the right thing always feel so wrong?)
Three scotches on the rocks later she finds herself walking to the bathroom, a quiet buzz radiating from her veins.
She opens the door and is met with the very person she had been avoiding all night. She slumps against the back of the closed door, breathing out, “Angie.”
The woman tenses and looks up at her in the mirror. She finishes washing her hands, drying them off and facing Beth once she’s thrown out the paper towel. Beth flushes under her gaze, as Angie sighs out, “You’re drunk.”
“I hate you,” she spits out the lie before she can process the words.
Angie let’s out a humourless laugh and leans against the sink, “You’re such a fucking piece of work.”
Beth’s breathing through her nose - long and hard streams of air. She can’t stop staring at Angie’s neck, picturing the feel of her pulse under her tongue. The juxtaposition of soft flesh against sharp teeth-
“Beth.”
Angie’’s taken a few steps - so much closer - and Beth can almost reach up to run a finger through Angie’s hair, twirl a finger around a curl and forget about Paul or responsibilities ormistakes.
“When did you get so close?“
Angie doesn’t flinch - doesn’t move.
Beth’s head is swimming, scotch flowing free in her veins, sighing out, "How are you always - always so close, even when you’re gone?”
The resolve in Angie’s face breaks, and Beth watches as she avoids Beth’s questioning gaze. The liquor flows to the tips of her fingers and lifts them to Angie’s blouse, clenching hard around the fabric, “No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake you. Why is that?”
Angie pushes off and growls, “You’re fucking unbelievable. It’s like you’re trying to hurt me.”
Beth smiles, the perfect picture of self-deprecation, “It’s what I do best.”
She closes her eyes at the look of contempt on Angie’s face, slumping further against the door behind her. Angie’s voice is closer, low and threatening, “Move.”
She slowly blinks them open, eyes flitting around the expanse of Angie’s face, “I can’t.”
Her hand is up and ready to cup Angie’s face before she can help herself, but Angie is quick to stop her with a firm grasp around her wrist.
“Please move, Beth.”
(She doesn’t know how to look anywhere but Angie’s lips.)
“I can’t.”
The grip around her wrist tightens, “You keep saying that,” a sinister smile paints her lips, “By now you would think I would be used to hearing you tell me you can’t do things.”
Beth moves their hands down to her hips, shifting hers to maneuver it out of the grip and push Angie’s hand to rest there.
(Her heart is beating to the rhythm of the mantra screaming through her head:
Angie’s lips. Angie’s lips. Angie’s lips.)
The lips are moving but she’s so hypnotized that all she can hear is kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, “Uh, what?”
Angie sighs and pierces her gaze straight through Beth, “I said what do you want from me?”
Two answers simultaneously flash through her head: one from her brain; one from her body and heart. Her brain is yelling nothing, nothing, nothing and her heart and body are screaming you, you, you.
She settles for, “Help me forget,” before reaching forward and cupping Angie’s face, pressing hard against her lips.
Her hips keen forward at the feel of Angie’s grip against them, hard and bruising. Her breath still tastes like whiskey and she molds her lips around Angie’s to trap the air inside, hoping the alcohol will continue to give her the courage she needs.
Angie’s nails dig into the skin under her dress and she whimpers just as she’s pushed hard against the door, Angie pulled back from her like she’s been burned.
They’re breathing hard and slow, and she can’t look away from the dark pupils staring back at her.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Beth shrugs, a pained smile stretched across her face, “I wish I could tell you.”
Angie shakes her head and practically snarls, “Stop playing these fucking games with me.” There’s a pause and a switch flicks on Angie’s face before she stalks towards her, “You want me to make you forget? Fine.”
She gasps for breath at the sudden assault of lips and teeth against her mouth. Angie bites down hard on her lip - drawing blood - and she scolds herself for liking it. There are hands in her hair, across her neck, down her sides, up her dress.
She brings her hands forward to cup Angie’s ass but both of her arms are suddenly pressed up against the door. Angie nips at her collarbone, dragging her teeth up Beth’s neck, breathing into her ear, “No. You don’t get to touch me. Not anymore.”
“Angie,” the name comes out strained and desperate.
It’s a plea - a prayer off the tip of her tongue - but Angie just shakes her head before taking Beth’s earlobe between her teeth, “No. You wanted to forget. You don’t get to remember me.”
The words spur hundreds of memories that send a rush of wetness between her legs. She pushes her hips forward for friction and can hear Angie’s breathless laugh in her ear.
“You were always so impatient.”
Angie pulls back and Beth whines, her chest heaving and legs shaking. Angie grabs her hand and pulls her into one of the washroom stalls. Beth feels her heart pound in her chest as Angie closes the door behind them and shoves Beth against the door.
Angie nudges a knee between Beth’s legs, urging them apart. Beth sloppily presses lips along Angie’s cheek to seek out her mouth. Angie connects their lips and presses as hard as possible, the back of Beth’s head throbbing. Whether it’s from the alcohol or the pressure against the door, she’s not sure.
(She doesn’t care.)
Angie scratches her nails up Beth’s thighs and she quivers at the touch. Her hand is hovering along the edge of Beth’s underwear and she pulls back, lips still close enough to taste, “Tell me you want this.”
Her heart is ringing in her ears, “Ang.”
Angie grips her underwear, “I need you to say it.”
“Yes, just - please.”
Before Beth can even blink Angie has her underwear ripped to the side and is knuckle-deep inside of her. She lets out a hybrid of a gasp and a moan as Angie starts a slow rhythm.
“You’re dripping,” there’s a gleam in her eyes, mouth parting to display teeth shining like razor blades, “You were waiting for this, weren’t you?”
“Fuck,” a moan, “Off.”
“I’m trying to, babe.”
Angie is relentless, each movement of her hand more frantic and hurried. She brings her thumb up to rub against Beth’s clit and she almost loses her footing. She tries to catch her breath but her mind is swimming; everything is spinning and she feels so good and fuck - she is never going to forget this. She doesn’t want to forget this.
(She’s a fool to think she ever did.)
Loud music filters in through the crack in the bottom of the bathroom door but the only sound Beth can focus on is the hot panting of Angie’s mouth against her ear. She thinks that maybe two or three songs have played and Beth can feel the twisting pressure building up between her legs.
She bites down hard on her lip to try and drag this out a little longer - it’s embarrassing, really, how fast Angie was always able to get her - but the one downside of being with Angie is that she knows her tells.
(Angie knows everything, really.)
Angie grins, mouth burning against Beth’s lips, “You’re close.”
It doesn’t need to be a question. They both know it’s true.
(Still, Beth has some sort of pride. Maybe.)
“You wish.”
Angie smirks and bites down hard against Beth’s lips, adding another finger as Beth digs her fingernails into Angie’s shoulder.
“I could love you, you know.”
She breaks - her blood boiling from the effect those words have on her. She can feel pieces of herself snapping and falling apart while she holds onto Angie like she’s her lifeline.
(She’ll always be her lifeline. She’ll always be her life. She’ll always be.)
Her mind is crying out in anguish but her heart and body are soaring. They’ve been plagued by Paul’s empty words and meaningless touches, but now they’re liberated - free to fly and swoop and twist and turn as high as they want. They are free, free, free.
(She’s always wondered what it feels like to fly. Angie’s always made it seem possible.)
She’s coaxed down with soft kisses against her collarbone. One on her shoulder. Three on her neck. Two on her jaw.
(Never her lips. The moment has passed and Angie won’t go near her lips anymore.)
Her nails still dig into the pressed fabric of Angie’s shirt. She looks up and blinks back tears, allowing Angie to continue to pepper her jaw with her lips.
The rush hits her head all at once, and mixed with the alcohol she can’t stop the tumble of, “This was a mistake.”
(It wasn’t.)
Angie pulls back, and no fake confidence and apathy in the world could hide the hurt on her face, “Of course it was.” She pulls her hands out roughly, ripping an end of the toilet paper roll and wiping her fingers, “It was always a mistake, right? Isn’t that what you said?”
She says the only three words she has the courage to slip past her lips, and not the three that she’s desperate to let out, “Yeah, I did.”
(In another world she could have said this wasn’t a mistake or please forgive me or I love you, I love you, I love you.)
Angie scoffs in disgust and roughly shoves her aside, slamming the latch open and pushing past the stall door.
(She’s not in another world.)
Beth stumbles backwards a bit and tries to catch her footing, “Ang, wait-”
“It’s DeAngelis, okay?”
Tears spring to her eyes and she hates that she’s always been this emotional, “I’m sorry.”
Angie let’s out a hollow laugh, “You’re so full of shit.” She steps forward until she’s inches from Beth’s face, eyes flickering to her lips, “If you were sorry you wouldn’t have left in the first place.”
Beth closes her eyes and in the time it takes to open them again Angie is gone. She stumbles towards the sink and braces herself against the edge of the counter. When she looks up in the mirror she can see the remains of Angie’s lipstick smeared against her lips. She hastily grabs a paper towel and scrapes it off, blinking back tears. After a minute her lips are wiped clean.
(And just like that, she’s gone.)