"It's nothing."
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Delia watched as Patsy scrubbed at a small stain on the carpet for the third time in ten minutes. The redhead had already washed down nearly every surface in their room while angrily slamming her bucket of soapy water behind her.
The brunette set down the magazine she had been reading in Sister Monica Joan’s armchair. “Want to talk about it Pats?”
“It’s nothing,” The older woman said sharply, blowing a strand of crimson hair away from her eyes with frustration.
“Right.” Delia said, choosing which approach to communication would be best, as she tossed the magazine to the side table. “Well, it doesn’t look like nothing, you haven’t cleaned like this in ages.”
“Well, it was filthy in here. That’s all. Not everything is a thing Delia,” the redhead said, throwing the sponge into the water, splashing the floor. “Dammit all!” She said standing to get a towel to soak up the spilled suds.
“I’ll get it,” Delia said, crossing the room to retrieve the towel.
Patsy felt an angry remark about not needing help bubbling to the surface, but she caught it behind her teeth before it could escape.
Delia silently handed her lover the towel, watching as the older woman took it without taking her eyes off the carpet. “Thank you,” she mumbled quietly.
“Sweetheart, we can both go on pretending if you’d like, but I’m no good at it. And quite frankly, neither are you.” She reached up and let her palm rest on the older woman’s chest.
“I’m sorry you’re hurting. Would you like to be alone for a while?”
Patsy sighed and halfheartedly threw the towel to the floor. She closed the small distance between them, pulling Delia into her arms.
Surprised by the unexpected move, the brunette hesitated for a moment, then melted into Patsy’s embrace.
“I’m not sure what this one is Pats… nightmare? …memories? …or a hard day?”
“Day,” Patsy said so quietly Delia barely picked up the response. “A very bad day…” the older woman whispered as she let herself be soothed by the brunette’s arms wrapped around her.
“I’m sorry love. Do you want to talk about it?”
“I couldn’t say it even if I tried,” Patsy said, fighting to get her words out with vocal cords made tight by emotion.
“You don’t have to sweetheart,” Delia said
“But I think I may want to. I’ve never felt like this about it before… I think the groups may be changing it all even more…”
Delia pulled back and took both of Patsy’s hands, squeezing lightly. “That’s good Pats. Really good. Change is good with this sort of thing. Change means it’s moving,” she said, guiding the redhead to their sofa.
Patsy gave the brunette a small smile as they sat down, then looked toward the window. “This one has never moved before… not an inch. I haven’t let it.”
“Can you let it out now? Pats, do you think you can write it? Like you did with your mother and sister?”
The redhead thought for a moment, then felt her eyes begin to sting with tears at the mere thought of expressing all that was boiling within.
Delia placed her hand on Patsy’s knee, then stood and retrieved a pen and paper. She placed them on the small table in front of the older woman then looked into blue eyes full of questions, fear, and anger.
“Company or privacy?”
Patsy again felt tears building as she considered an answer.
“How about I go mail a few letters and make us some tea. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Sound alright?”
Patsy nodded with appreciation, feeling grateful Delia could understand exactly what she needed even when she couldn’t say it aloud.
The brunette rested her hand on Patsy’s shoulder. “Let it out if you can, love.” Then she turned and left.
As the door closed behind the younger woman, Patsy was surprised by how quickly the loud angry voice in her mind filled the silence in the room. She picked up the pen and began to write.
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