Heaven
Fall Quarter started on a Monday that year– the 22nd, specifically. Fragments of light, though dull and languid, scattered across the bus and the few faces inside. Shady leaf prints distorted and smoothed features in the hazy morning. My face left an oiled mark when I peeled from the bus’ glass, something I would have otherwise been embarrassed of if it were not 6 AM on the 22nd. Bile boiled my throat on the short jog to the humanities building. First day jitters.
Heaven is an empty classroom, seats neatly arranged with plenty of space to move the desks about. Heaven is the solemn choice at the beginning of the year. Heaven is a silent routine. But maybe that’s all a bit pretentious. I’ve been trying, lately, to avoid that. Regardless, the seat closest to the window, one that opened far too widely for a fifth floor classroom, fit me snugly. It wasn’t my first class in this room, therefore, I felt acutely aware of the optimal sitting position. Sitting too close to the lectern meant risking professor spit during heated discussions; sitting too close to the door meant getting hit on late entries and early exits; sitting in the back was a bad look.
I still cared about that– the look. At the time, I had only really dabbled in self expression. Maybe out of duty, mostly out of fear, I did what mum asked. It seemed a bit uncomplicated, at the time, to agree to her standards– her view of the world. Sure, it was a small world, narrowed by fear and prejudice, but it made the open mouth of everything else feel less toothy. At least that's what I told myself. When all the pens were pulled and my papers neatly arranged on the small desk, I had the Brief In Between. The silence that prepared me for everyone else and the fleeting moments I could empty my brain of everything– thinking only of the cool breeze and the rising sun. Routine, I love you so.
The 22nd’s Brief In Between wasn’t like that, though. After I was prepared, looking much like a teen at war, the door’s knob twisted unnaturally– causing a loud whine, from the door or me, I still don’t know. With the breeze, she floated in. Magenta and grown out, brown roots exposing her dye job; her hair caught me. She was lean, her arms not quite as spindly as mine, with broad shoulders that neatly hung her wilted button up. It seemed a strange gesture, to wear a collar shirt in a way that exposed so much skin, that invited so many looks. As the thought passed, I realized she had stopped, moments earlier, to meet my stare with her own. I cleared my throat and forced my eyes to the chalkboard. Nonchalant. Nonplussed. She didn’t move. The feeling I tried to swallow was that of a mouse in a trap.
“This is Eng 301, right?”
Not caught, thank god. “Yes. With Professor Lenkier.” I refused to move my gaze back to her, lest I relive the last minute.
“Cool, thanks.”
I focused on the shuffling she did, attempting to discern where in the room she would be. I wondered if she knew about the optimal position in the room, would it be cruel to let her sit against the door knowing she could be hit? Wrong to let her experience potential waves of spit on in the front? I needed to tell her, say something, warn her–
“Did you do the summer stuff? I got all the readings done, but I didn’t get to the writing stuff. It’s, like, my third creative writing class so I was kinda banking on bullshitting something in the 30 minutes before class.” She chuckled, her voice behind me but still close.
I relented, turning to see her in the second best seat. “Yes, I did both.”
“Yeah? Very studious of you.” Her mouth pulled to one corner as her head tilted, “I’m Violet. I’m a Junior.”
“Caitlyn Kiramman, senior.” The issue with private schooling, private lessons, private parenting, is entering a public space– for me, a public university. Against the wishes of everyone in one’s life, eventually, socializing outside of ironed shirts and academic experts would take place. Like a sinking boat or a crash landing, I hoped my curt response would kill this conversation quickly.
She was unmoved by my efforts. “That’s cool! So, you’re almost done. I am really excited to be out, honestly. I get to start my undergrad assistant teaching soon, but I really think that’s just going to make me itch to graduate faster. What are you studying? I am doing English Lit with a teaching endorsement.”
“I, oh.” Fighting this would only prolong the inevitable. “I am just doing English Literature. I am going into my master’s program next year. I am certainly excited to be done, soon.”
As I lost our brief war, I watched her more closely. Her bag was messy, but upright and seemingly full of books, papers, pens, and gloves of some sort. Her smiles were mostly smirks. Her eyes were pale and blue– like an old illustration of the moon; her voice seemed to be just as familiar. She refuted any icy behavior with a confidence that said she knew I couldn’t help but orbit her– like a new moon entering her atmosphere.
“It’s kinda crazy that I haven’t seen you in any of my classes before.” Violet laughed, gathering her collar-bone length hair into her fist and tying it loosely, exposing the dark undercut below.
“I mostly take advanced classes.” I said, smoothly, before fully realizing the insinuation– “Not to say that you don’t or anything, it’s just being a year under me–”
“Ha, I got it, cupcake, no worries.”
Heat pooled in my cheeks and before I could interrogate her about her word choice, the door ushered new bodies into the room. I turned back to the blackboard, firm in the choice to never speak to her again. When the class ended, I hurried out across campus to make another lecture. I shook the memory of her from me, like a dog in the rain. Damp, still, but otherwise unaltered.
Blurry and unmemorable, the remainder of the day exists in my memory as a smudge mirror of sorts. I forgot about her by the next day, where the pattern would repeat itself. Foggy morning, early arrival, surprise entrance, involuntary conversation, motion sickness, class begins, amnesia. This was the first week of my final year of university.
—
“So, Caitlyn, anything interesting going on at campus?”
I sat up straighter at the table, jarred by her sudden interest in my academic experience. My mother had stopped asking long ago, after pestering me (to no avail) about a private university and then a private relationship– both of which would have required more investment into her delusions than I could muster. Dinners were usually solemn events; Guests were invited to bring a novel along if they wanted entertainment. I grew to appreciate the silence between us, it was easier.
“It’s going… Well? I suppose. Nothing new. Nothing particularly difficult.” I pushed the greens around my plate, waiting to be excused from conversation before taking a bite.
She peeled her eyes from her paper and set her glasses neatly beside her plate. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, eyes crinkled in a way that told me that was the incorrect answer. “I think you need… an extracurricular. Or something to get you out. I know it’s been hard, lately, I know.” Her voice trembled and I feared she would cry. I couldn’t handle crying, not anymore. All dried out of tears and patience. But, mercifully, she continued dryly, “After speaking with some colleagues about grief, I have heard it is best for a young woman to build a community around her. You do not have one, yet.”
“Ouch, mum.” I winced, lowering my eyes back to my cooling plate. “I have plenty of friends, they are just all in grad school right now…”
“I don’t know that Mel and Jayce count if you only speak with them at Galas.”
“Mel texts me, sometimes.”
“Caitlyn–”
“And, I have made a new friend on campus already.”
She paused, tilting her head in disbelief, she eyed me carefully. “On campus?”
“Yes. She is in my mandatory creative writing class.” I was vigilant enough to include ‘mandatory’-- otherwise the class would be deemed an unnecessary elective, a waste of time. “She’s from the undercity.”
“Oh Caitlyn, I didn’t mean friends… Not like, how do I say it diplomatically?”
I groaned, pushing my seat away from the table, “First I need friends and now my friends aren’t good enough? Shouldn’t you just be happy? I’ve done it all as you’ve asked.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means.” I stood, gathering my plate and silverware up. “I’m going to finish my dinner in my study. Goodnight.”
—
The following weeks, I slowly gained the courage to inquire more about Violet during our Brief In Between’s. It began the first week of October, another dull morning with a filtered sunlight exposing the space between us. I didn’t appreciate its knife divide between my desk and hers. “Do you have any siblings?” I blurted.
“Woah, Cait, ask me on a date first.” She laughed, furiously writing her poem for the day's class.
A shiver tore through me, letting embarrassment or maybe something worse inside the composure I desperately tried to hold around her. As I opened my mouth to apologize, she smirked and looked up at me over her pencil. “I’m fucking with you. I’ve just never spoken to you about anything other than school before, it’s funny.” She went back to her work. “I’ve got a little sister. She’s only a couple years younger than me, but I’m worried she’ll pass me in intellect if I don’t get my degree soon.”
“Good news for her, degrees don’t increase intelligence– I’ve met a lot of credentialed idiots.”
She snorted, “Thanks for the easy let down, Cupcake.”
A brief moment passed between us before I finally asked her, “Why do you call me that, is that your thing?”
Again, she laughed at me, finally putting her pencil down to fully face me. “My thing?”
“Yeah, like when some people from the undercity say ‘baby’ but they mean it… like, in a condescending way, I suppose...” My voice trailed off, as if I was trying to suck it back in before it could make it to her.
“Do you think I mean it in that way, Cait?”
I couldn’t look at her, I tried to laugh whatever shade of pink my face had turned away. “No, not you– I just mean, is it just a word you like to use or if it is special?” I was digging my heels in on a hill I didn’t want to climb– let alone die on.
Finally, she shrugged and offered a small smile. “You always wear this, like, purposefully wrinkled skirt thing. Makes you look like a cupcake… In a good way, of course.”
I looked down at myself. I had never really gotten used to not being in uniforms, so I had simply adopted the look for university– a black polo, navy vest, and white pleated skirt. Mel once told me that I looked like a faculty member cosplaying a student. I preferred cupcake. I laughed, perhaps a bit too much, wiping tears from my eyes, “Oh no, I do look like a cupcake–”
“No, don’t cry, it’s cute!” She rummaged through her bag and brought me a tissue. “I think it’s cool. No one can pull it off like you.”
“Now you are just trying to back track!”
“Shit, maybe I am,” She laughed.
Again, the door interrupted our time together. Class went on as usual– though Violet’s poem, seeing as it was only half finished and written in four minutes, violently attacked all sense of poetic inspiration. When she finished, she gave me a thumbs up and trotted back to her desk. I knew then, I was getting in too deep as I, alone, clapped for her work.
—
The semester passed too quickly, taking Violet with its end. We wouldn’t have another class together, despite my best efforts. I tried to forget her; It was silly, really, to hold onto someone like her. Someone I only knew for 10 weeks. Someone so ephemeral as a classmate. I wish I could say that she sought me out on campus, followed me around– maybe forced my hand on a friendship. But she didn’t. I didn’t tell Mel about the whole affair until months later, right after graduation.
The Gala was held in the Merdarda ancestral home, meant to celebrate someone or something– but truly as a triannual parade meant to emphasize the elite’s wealth and power. My mother, of course, appreciated the invitational gesture, but could only manage to send me, alone, as a sacrifice. The heavy walls, built less like a gaudy palace and more like an institutional building mocked me. Strong, unwavering, beautiful– like the Merdardas. The perfect estate. I was ushered inside by house staff, as my presence outside might cause congregations in the wrong areas– focus on the wrong aspects of the house. I attempted to elegantly pull the tight black dress I was slung into away from my sticky thighs to no avail.
“Kiramman!” Mel’s voice shimmered, her heels hitting a different note with each step like a xylophone. The epitome of grace and musicality all wrapped into one. In another life, I would devote everything to convincing her that she loved me. In another life, she would be interested in that.
“Please tell me I am late and the party's over.” I laughed, reaching out to her for a hug.
“Unfortunately, you are just in time.” She licked her thumb and cleaned up some of the eyeliner I had attempted to fix in the car. “There, perfect. You know, Jayce brought his new friend with him. A plus-one-of-a-plus-one situation. Maybe you two could talk.”
“Please, Mel, not you too.”
“Ah, Cassandra is already on it, I assume.” She laughed.
I groaned, letting her lead me through the hall and into a large ballroom, “What’s worse than a grieving mother? One trying to set you up with every man within a mile radius or one convinced you have no friends?”
“I resent that, Cassandra, we are friends.” Mel scoffed before sitting at, presumably, our assigned table, gesturing for me to sit beside her.
“I know– you want to know what’s even funnier?” I tried to laugh, reaching for the wine set out in front of me. “I made one friend, a singular friend, and she couldn’t even pretend to be happy about it. Whenever I brought her up it was like describing a prized goldfish.”
Mel’s eyes smoothed over me with a knowing look, chuckling softly, she lifted her own drink. “A friend? Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“Well,” I paused before gesturing around the room helplessly, “You seemed quite busy, Mel.”
“I am never too busy for that. And this,” She mocked my gestures, “is all to please my mother. You know that. I couldn’t give less of a shit about this; but if I don’t give it my all, Ambessa will have my head.” She slid back into her chair, exasperated— yet still elegant.
“Maybe, I was also a little bit embarrassed…” I mused, drinking as much wine as I could handle to smooth the blow coming.
“Why would you be embarrassed about a friend?”
“Because I didn’t like her.” My head lolled to one side before I sighed, “Well, I liked her. Just, like, not how I am supposed to like her.”
“Kiramman, do you think this is shocking to anyone here?” Mel laughed, setting her drink down and reaching out to my free hand. “Remember that math tutor in ninth grade?”
“Oh don’t bring up Vanessa– I know! I didn’t think it was so obvious, is all! And I know you know– it’s that… She’s not like us.”
“What is she like, then?” Mel smiled, leaning her head on her hand. Her hair was down tonight; Her locs were wrapped in tendrils of gold vines, each adorned sporadically with small ruby flowers and black curls that looked to escape the vine’s grasp. I tried to focus on her gold eyeliner instead of making true eye contact when I relented.
“She’s from the undercity.”
Mel waited.
“Which is… not good… for my mom.”
She laughed, “Nothing is good for Cassandra. Especially right now. But, if she is good for you, I’d say go all in.”
“Good news, I suppose. I cannot ‘go all in’.”
“Go all in on what?” Jayce’s voice cut through our conversation as he pulled out a seat across from me for a spindly gentleman that accompanied him. He then sat beside Mel and kissed her cheek, laughing softly, “God, I’m away for ten minutes and you are gambling already?” The thin man nodded politely toward me and then averted his gaze from the table.
“You’re funny,” Mel rolled her eyes. “Caitlyn met a girl and she’s going to pretend that girl doesn’t exist for the rest of time– does that sum it up, Cait?”
My face heated as I gripped my wine glass. “Yeah, that’s about it.” I chuckled before gulping the remaining liquid.
“Seems a waste,” The thin man muttered, turning back to smile kindly at me. “Might as well test the waters before giving up so soon.” His soft accent gave him away– undercity. His eyes moved solemn to Jayce before returning to me. “Sometimes the test is better than the outcome, but, eh, what’s so bad about that?”
“Viktor, how… Poetic?” Mel laughed, passing him a glass of wine.
“I think what he’s trying to say, Cait, is that it’s maybe worth it to try. But if you are set on failure, I’m not going to stop you.” Jayce smirked.
I shook my head indignantly, “When have you ever helped me avoid failure, Jayce?”
“Siblings?” Viktor asked Mel.
“Close, childhood rivals.” Mel laughed, raising her glass to clink against mine.
“We love each other.” Jayce assured. I raised my brow.
The rest of the night was spent in the company of strangers– Mel and Jayce needed to float around the floor and speak to potential donors for Ambessa’s guild, leaving me and Viktor alone at the table. Viktor seemed too dazed with the bright lights and meaningless conversation to hold me hostage, which meant I stayed by his side the whole night. In the end, much to Mel and my mother’s chagrin, I went home by 9 pm. I went home alone.
—
“Where are we going, again? Some undergrad’s house?” I groaned, fixing smudged lipstick while Mel’s car bumped along the broken street.
“Jayce’s TA is holding a small New Year’s party– one you will enjoy, or else.” Mel reminded, though it sounded closer to a reprimand.
“I wasn’t even invited.”
Mel scoffed, pulling up to the curb of a large home– one that was clearly that of a gaggle of university students considering the couch on the lawn and the ‘party o’clock’ sign above the front door. “You are my plus one. You are invited wherever I go.”
“Isn’t it unethical to party with a TA? I am sure it’s in some sort of handbook.”
“Handbook’s aren’t getting you out of this, Kiramman.”
I was once again resigned to wearing an ill-fitting black dress in a public space– an inconvenience I wouldn’t wish upon anyone, but one incessantly placed upon me within the previous few months. After hearing about my mother’s complaints– “Cassandra’s Curse” as Mel so lovingly called it– Mel had taken it upon herself to bring me wherever she went. Regardless of my kicking, screaming, begging, etc. to be left at home.
Admittedly, it wasn’t all bad. Mel was magnetic, almost ethereal, in every room– meaning, mercifully, I would be excused from most conversations in favor of speaking with her. Her charm seemed a shield to the socially awkward. She called going out together my “training wheel” sessions. If she weren’t so smug about it, perhaps, I would call her a social savior.
After exiting her much-too-expensive-to-be-parked-on-this-street car, I followed Mel into the ‘home’. Trailing Mel, though mostly comforting, does remind one of their place in the world– or maybe how out of place they are, how out of place I am. Politely, Mel hummed ‘hello’s and ‘how are you’s to young, mostly inebriated, undergrads. I recognized many as those who aided in the labs I often interrupted to meet with Mel. Familiar, yet distant, I tried to avoid too many greetings, lest I be trapped with someone without my shield.
Briefly, with Mel’s hand firmly intertwined with mine, Mel stopped in the kitchen. With nearing expert precision and one less hand, Mel poured two cups of dark liquor and ushered us further into the house– past the fleshy, singing, swaying masses cluttering nearly every room.
“You’ve been here before?” I called to her, almost as if there were a mountain between us and not the flashy, much too loud, electronic-pop that truly divided us.
“Of course I have, most of these kids have parents on the council. Great place to get dirt.”
“Ah, for business and not pleasure.”
“I wouldn’t call ‘doing my mother’s bidding’ a business.” She laughed, finally turning sharply into a small living room space. She looked back at me, thoughtfully, before conceding with a forced smile, “Okay, it probably borders on a business at this point– but it will all end when she finally runs the council. She will care too much to remember that I am floating about in the ether. Or something like that.”
“Crazy to say that without having even touched your drink.” I mused, peeling away from her to sink into the couch situated so divinely far from the door. It was the perfect room to hide in. The seats of the couch sunk so low that my head could barely be seen from the door. The windows faced only the neighboring houses, freeing me from the view of the pool.
“Hey, I did you a favor by taking you to the one Cait approved spot and this is the attitude you give me?” She chided.
“Thank you, Mel. Without you, I would be out there. Sweating.” I gestured to the previous rooms, trying to hide my displeasure.
“I didn’t entirely anticipate the party being so full. Jayce called it a ‘get together’. I don’t understand how someone so intelligent can fall so neatly into the category of moron.”
“Uh, oh. Trouble in paradise?” I raised my drink to my lips, careful to savor the liquor as I wouldn’t be leaving this spot until midnight.
“No, we are fine.”
“Yeah, sounds like it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Mel, everytime you talk about him, he is being an arse in some new and unique way. I love him to death, but he has dedicated more time to his rocks lately than to anything else. I’d get it if that bothered you. Fuck, it bothers me.”
She laughed, “‘Fuck’? I don’t think I’ve heard you curse in public before.”
“What if a teen walks in, I have to look cool.” I teased, reaching out to her hand and squeezing it. “He’s annoying. I know. It’s okay to just say so sometimes. You don’t need to defend him to me– I promise.”
“We are fine– better than fine. He’s almost, like, too perfect, really. There is just something wrong with me where I cannot be satisfied with where he is right now, and I am working on that.”
Before I could refute her, Mel clicked open her phone to read a text. She got to her feet and set her drink onto the low coffee table in front of us. “Sorry, Cait, Jayce is here and needs help carrying some things in, I will be right back.” Quickly, she left the room, swallowed up by the dark hall and its echoing bass.
I leaned back into the couch, hoping to simply be absorbed by the stained corduroy. The air filled my lungs like a syrup, sweet but too thick. The screen of my phone clicked on to remind me of the time before slowly dimming itself. I shouldn’t have spoken to Mel about it. I shouldn’t have mentioned Jayce at all. Especially if I planned to keep them both around.
I groaned and sunk deeper into the corduroy abyss– waiting to be gulped up.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone actually look comfortable on that couch.” A deep feminine voice hummed, clearly amused with me.
“Don’t worry, you still haven’t.” My arms folded close to my body, securing my plastic cup to my chest. I didn’t want to bring myself to meet the voice, hoping that my ambivalence would save me until Mel returned.
The spot beside me dipped down as the stranger occupied the remainder of the couch. “Thank god, I really wouldn’t like anyone enjoying themselves too much here.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t look up.
“Ah,” They cleared their throat and adjusted themselves, “Not a talker, well, good news: I can talk enough for the both of us. I’m Violet, this is my uncomfortable couch and you look lonely on my uncomfortable couch.”
At first, I believed I was dreaming– not in the cliche or romantic sense, maybe nightmare-ing is more accurate. The face of my sexual and social awakening, the one I couldn’t banish from my every thought– the girl from my poetry class, stood before me. She shifted, almost uncomfortably, and laughed. “You’re Caitlyn, by the way. We had a class together in undergrad. Mel told me to watch you, she got a phone call. I thought I could try to pretend like I wasn’t sent to babysit you but now I’m a bit afraid you think I’m going to mug you.”
“You’re muscular, but too short to mug me.”
“Eh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Her familiar smirk overtook her face, “I kinda took Karate in the 3rd grade, so one might say I’m pretty dangerous.”
I stared at her again, briefly, before conceding, “How do you know Mel?”
“Our moms grew up together, or something like that. Honestly, I have no idea, she’s just been around forever– especially after Vik got his teaching thing with her boyfriend. Mel said you work with her?”
“Are you asking me if she said that or if it’s true?”
“I guess… neither?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re kind of a terrible babysitter, more like a stepdad that doesn’t really know me but still tries.”
“Really? That’s exactly what I was going for.” She grinned at me, “I was hoping we could go out back and play catch later.”
“Sounds like a euphemism, like, are you a pitcher or batter?” I brought my drink to my lips, downing the burning liquid before fully turning to her.
“I mean, it could be.”
I followed her blue eyes as they traced my figure. “You are disgustingly flirtatious.” I thought I could hide my blush with some half-hearted cruelty, but she continued.
“I think you like it, though. Which is odd because this is the first time it has really worked.” She slid her arm up the couch and cooed, “So, that must mean there is less wrong with me and more wrong with you.”
“I don’t know if that is as sound of an argument as you are making it seem,” I was cracking, smiling up at her now, “Maybe we could start with acquaintances and then move to euphemisms.”
“Deal.”
“Mel and I are friends who work on the same campus. I wouldn’t necessarily say we work together, but I also wouldn’t question Mel.”
“Ah, just as selective, semantical, and succinct as I remember.”
We spoke for a little while about nothing; I was watching her too closely and she was speaking too recklessly to commit any of it to memory. After a half an hour of no Mel and slowly drifting closer to one another, I laughed, “You’re surprisingly kind to prickish people– I’m sorry to have spent so much time avoiding you.” I took another sip of my drink– the liquor slowly blurred her edges, warmed my cheeks, and gave everything a dull pink glow. “I appreciate it, or I guess, you? I appreciate you.”
“I’m gonna take that as a compliment. And I, uh, I appreciate you, too, Cait.” Something in her voice warmed, an earnesty I wasn’t previously privy to. “You know, I don’t have a New Year's kiss tonight.”
“There’s still time for you,” I assured, leaning my head against her lingering arm still on the top of the couch. “Get out there,” my arm moved limply, too heavy to really gesture around, “You’re very handsome. Plus, it’s your party– everyone should have to kiss you, legally.”
“Legally? Huh.” She adjusted, moving my head to her shoulder and her hand to rest on my side. “I don’t know that I want everyone here on me. I have some scummy friends. I love them, don’t get me wrong, I just don’t want a venereal disease. Tonight, at least.”
“You’re funny.”
“Only for pretty girls.”
“Bullshit, that’s just your line.” I could feel the cup in my hand slowly being removed as I closed my eyes. I felt heavy.
“Yes, and a damn good line at that.”
“Do you still listen to your mom?” The words left me before they could feel meaningful.
Violet paused, her hand rubbing slow and unconscious circles against my side, “She passed when I was young… Cancer from her work in a lab.” Her eyes closed, a soft smile spreading across her lips. “But, if she were here, probably not. I wasn’t ever great at listening.”
“God, I hate when they up and die. It’s so ridiculous to die.” I complained, she laughed. “I hate listening, Violet. I don’t want to.”
Again, she could only laugh, wiping tears I didn’t feel fall, “Then don’t, cupcake. Who cares? It’s your life, right? Your only precious life.”
“Don’t Mary Oliver me.”
“Fuck, I forgot who’s line that was.”
“You didn’t pay attention at all in that class, did you?” I smiled weakly up at her, still wiping globs of mascara from my face.
“I was busy trying to convince you to ask me out.” She hummed, smoothing my hair back to place.
“God, you are insufferable.” I couldn’t muster the strength to peel my eyes from her, to force a distance between us. And when the countdown began in the other room, when her lips finally enmeshed with my own, I worried about being fused with her. I worried we would now be intrinsically connected in a horrific and brutal way.
She pressed my body against her, tenderly and expertly moving her mouth in sync with my own. I tried to hold onto my fear and anxiety, but as she laid me back onto the couch and brushed hair from my eyes, it all fled me– like bleeding out.