Chapter 12...Finally
And I'll just leave it at that. Thanks for being patient, you guys. A promise is a promise. Okay, I won't just leave it at that, after all. It's been a crazy year for me and I honestly started working on this the first second I could. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter 12: Surprises
Those eyes are like guns. Or they’re like bullets. I’m not sure. Are they the assault or the battery-the threat or the delivery? They would be locked into mine, except I refuse to make direct, consistent eye contact with her for fear that I’ll begin a nervous outpouring of adjectives and conjunctions and never stop. When I’m accused of behaviors that feel foreign to those that I live with the most, I ramble as though enough words will bring me back to myself-or a person close enough that I wouldn’t know the difference.“Talk, Spencer. Tell me what happened.”
“I’m not even sure I…I’m not even sure what I’m allowed to say.”
“Allowed to say?” she asks, pale fingers leaving the handle of her coffee mug and resting on the arm of the chair.
“It’s weird, Kat. She’s your friend. You’re her friend.”
“And you need a friend because that elfish slut monster you socialize with is angry at you-perhaps for refusing to inform her that she has an unfortunate face and personality and should dive into the shallow end of a plastic, child-intended, K-Mart pool. The world may never know the real reason. Either way, she’s not here. If I had an acid bath in which to dip myself or the ability to switch brains with a rabid squirrel, then I’d pretend I was her. But I’ve yet to evolve this far, so it’s me, okay? You’ve got me,” she says with a smirk, “start talking, little Spencer Carlin. This coffee ain’t free.”
I laugh, nodding and taking a deep breath before scooting closer to the edge of my chair in anticipation, “Where do I even begin, Kat?”
“You begin at the most important part. The rest is all validations and soundtrack.”
“Well,” I start, watching my hands move up and down across my jean-clad thighs, “we almost had sex. Um…Ashley and I almost had sex. And now we’re…things are weird and I don’t know what to do or how to fix it. She looks at me like I confuse her now.”
“Like you confuse her or like she’s confused you?”
I think again, shaking my head as I continue, “Not like I confuse her, I guess. Maybe it’s like I’m going to ask her a question she doesn’t have an answer to or something.”
“Who stopped it?”
“What?”
“Who stopped it from happening?” she asks, turning away from me to stare at a child who had wandered into close proximity.
I thought back to that day, tensing slightly at the memory as it suddenly made its way back into the present for an unexpected visit. I could feel her lying on top of me, fingers painting myself onto myself as she waited to slide inside. She was shaking.
I’m almost sure I remember that correctly.
Her skin smelled like men’s deodorant and the ocean. I wanted to kiss her shoulder with my nose, but I was scared to move. Once, she smiled at me, but there seemed to be so much occurring behind it that it made me feel lonely.
“I did. But I’m positive that she would have done it if I hadn’t done it first.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know. It was just something about how hesitant she was with me. I mean, I haven’t been a fly on the wall to any of these millions of sexual encounters she’s had, but I imagine she’s not known for her hesitancy.”
“Ashley is a complex creature. I don’t attempt to fill in her blanks. However, I’d wager that you are correct.”
“Not only that,” I say, feeling myself growing irritable, “but like, she’s brought so many girls home lately. And that’s weird because there was the one-I can’t remember her name-and it seemed like she was into her or whatever. So now there are all these random girls and I don’t get it. I really don’t. And it’s fine. I’m not jealous, I’m just surprised.”
“I think that surprise and jealousy are the same thing for the most part, but that’s neither here nor there.”
She appears to be formulating some sort of thought or theory in her head, and so I sip my chai and wait. Watch the child pace back and forth and attempt to send him telekinetic mind warnings not to get too close to her. The swinging light fixture above us needs a new bulb. It flickers every three seconds or so, adding a sinister presence to an otherwise ordinary coffee shop-Kat’s choice.
I had called her two hours ago, frantic and bubbling with the unsaid. I needed to talk so badly that I simply couldn’t go another day. I couldn’t watch Ashley look at me like I was someone she used to know but no longer had anything in common with as I cleaned the kitchen countertop for the hundredth time. I just couldn’t. And no, there was no Jonica to call. No mother to offer advice. Instead, I had this new acquaintance who I sort of wished was my best friend instead. Even if it was just for an afternoon or two.
“Spencer, I want to make this complicated for you. I really do. But unfortunately for everyone, it’s not,” Kat finally says, shaking her empty coffee cup and frowning as though she had run out of loved ones instead of caffeine.
“It’s not?”
“No, it’s not. You fine young ladies are lesbians-which I’m slowly learning to accept-and you’re also roommates. Shit happens, you know? What do you guys want? It was a mistake. Don’t do it again.”
“Kat, I know you’re just trying to help, but…”
“No, I would never try to help. Look, Ashley is fucking bananas. She always has been. And she gets in these fucking moods where she thinks she’s the only person who’s ever done anything or been anywhere or felt anything. Give her a few days and she’ll snap out of it. If she doesn’t, call me and I’ll threaten her.”
“Are you sure?”
“I didn’t want to tell you this until I felt like I could trust you, Spencer, but you must know that I’m a psychic whose only gift is the ability to see what type of idiot Ashley’s going to choose to act like on any given day,” Kat says, smiling as though she’s a proud, yet knowing parent, “it’s generally a waste, but it comes in handy for moments like this one.”
“But I think we should talk. Like, if I could just let her know that I’m fine…that nothing has to change…”
“No, no, no. It does have to change.”
I groan, rubbing my temples with my index fingers, “Why would it have to change?”
“You’ve seen each other’s boobs. She’s familiar with your grand lady canyon. Let’s be real, here. You can’t just act like everything is the same as it used to be.”
“Then what? What do we do?”
“You have to acknowledge it! Say, ‘hey, Ashley, I realize that you’ve now met my grand lady canyon. I’m not choosing to ignore that fact. Instead, I’m choosing to accept this new step in our evolution as roommates and friends and when it’s appropriate and sometimes when it’s not, I’d like to make clever references to the fact that we almost fucked. Because guess what? It’s kind of fucking funny that we thought it would be a good idea to fuck. I mean, especially since I’m recovering from a horrible betrayal and you’re addicted to the temporary release that sex with strangers provides you. So yeah, we’re going to joke about it. This is a healthy thing to do, so get ready for some healthy. If you have any questions, Kat thinks you’re an idiot. Goodnight.’”
“Wow.”
“Thank you.”
I waited for her to come home from work, ready to follow Kat’s advice and put this “almost-sex” behind us. I would’ve done it immediately, only she didn’t return to the apartment until the wee hours of the morning and left for work looking miserable and more than a little hungover. Somewhere there was yet another girl waking up to uncertainty.
I did my best to make the setting for our conversation as commonplace as possible. There was a pot of vegetarian chili on the stove and a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge. If I couldn’t get her to open up, maybe red wine would. If not red, there was white, and if not white, there was vodka. Certainly anything was worth or could be made into a shot at this point.
Right as I went to stir the chili, there was a quiet knock on the door. I pictured Ashley on the other side, embarrassed to admit she had forgotten her key yet again. I smiled on my way to answering it, deciding that it was the right way to start this conversation. She would return my smile and shrug. Say, “What am I going to do the first time I forget my key and you’re not here?” Just like she always did. I would reply, “While you’re once again reminded of the incredible importance I hold in your everyday life, I think this is the perfect time for us to talk about what the hell has been going on with us.” We would figure it out. We would figure out how to be us again.
But that couldn’t happen. Not with Robin standing in the doorway instead.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, swallowing back a million harsh words and avoiding her eyes.
“You haven’t returned my calls.”
Her voice breaks slightly on the last word, but she looks as though she’s slept recently. Her button-down shirt has been ironed carefully. She appears to weigh the exact same number of pounds. The very least of what she owed me was a sign that this had affected her. That she missed who we could’ve been and couldn’t sleep, eat, or function without it.
“And this shocked you because?”
She reaches for my hand, but quickly withdraws as though the realization hits her that I’m not to be touched by her ever again.
“May I come in, please? Just for a second, Spence.”
“No.”
“Even if this is over…even if I can’t make you forgive me, could we at least have some closure? Don’t you want that?”
“I have it. You know what closure was, Robin? It was hearing you tell me that you were cheating on me. So unless you care to tell me that once more just for laughs, I’m done.”
A single tear rolls down her face, and she looks at me with such immense sadness that I feel my resolve begin to crumble. I don’t like watching people lose.
“Spence, please. I don’t deserve it, but I have to ask for it anyway. Five minutes…can I…”
“Three minutes,” I reply, ushering her in by her shoulder and closing the door, “talk. Go.”
She stumbles a bit, over her words and over one of Ashley’s spare yoga mats, “You look nice.”
“I’m serious. You have three minutes.”
“Okay, okay. I hear you. I just…you’re hard sometimes Spencer. Like, it’s hard to get to know you or feel needed. I don’t know. I guess there was always this block there for me…from you. And I wanted so badly to get past it, but I have no idea how to do that. I had no idea how to do that.”
“Don’t just stand there and say all of this shit you wanted to say to me before you slept with someone else. If this is how you felt, then we could’ve done something about it, Robin. I could’ve done something. It’s pointless to tell me now.”
“But it wasn’t…like, it wasn’t a deal breaker. I still wanted you.”
“You wanted everything, though. So that doesn’t mean anything to me.”
She starts to say something else, but I see her eyes are now looking past me. Towards the front door. When I follow them, I find Ashley there. She looks surprised to see Robin. Blinks several times in her direction, as if she’s only seeing things.
“Oh, hi,” she finally says, tossing her bag on the floor and heading quickly to the kitchen, “I’m just grabbing a Vitamin Water and showering and then I’m out of your hair.”
“No.”
“Seriously,” she replies, as if I simply don’t believe her.
“No, Robin was just leaving.”
Robin looks at me like a punished child before nodding. She doesn’t try to touch me again, though she looks like she wants to. Instead, she clears her throat and looks once at Ashley. Then she’s gone, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
“Are you actually back with her or…like, is that a good idea?” Ashley asked, studying me from the kitchen with a strange smile stretching awkwardly across her face.
“Not even close.”
“Because she’ll cheat on you again. You know that, right? She’s just one of those people.”
“Which people-who?” I ask, joining her in the kitchen.
“I’m seriously leaving soon. I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner or whatever. I’m sure you can still catch her.”
I grab her arm, silencing the words she hasn’t even spoken yet. She sighs, taking a large swallow of her Vitamin Water and waiting for me to say something.
“I wasn’t planning on having dinner with her. I was planning on having dinner with you,” I say, letting go of her arm and walking to the stove to stir the chili, “but you have plans, I guess.”
“You should’ve said something this morning.”
“Would it actually have mattered? I mean, Ashley…what’s going on?”
“I don’t-“
“Please don’t say anything dumb right now.”
She laughs, and it’s such a welcome sound that I feel my heart throb with excitement. I hadn’t heard her laugh in days.
“Spencer, nothing is going on, okay? Yeah, things are a little weird. But we almost had sex, so like, isn’t that to be expected?”
“When do things go back to normal? And how can they, Ashley, if you’re gone all the time?”
“I’ve been going out. I’ve always gone out.”
“No. What happened to that girl?”
“She’s…it didn’t work out.”
“I’m incredibly surprised.”
“Aren’t we all?” she asks, smiling and eyeing the stove, “what’s in there?”
“In the pot?”
“Yeah.”
“That vegetarian chili you like.”
“Are you going to throw mine in some Tupperware so I can take it for lunch tomorrow?”
“No, I’m going to eat it all because you suck.”
“Alright, but when you need a personal trainer afterwards, I suggest you find someone else.”
“Gladly.”
She’s still smiling, spinning the bottle around in her hands, “You have an hour and that chili better be dynamic.”
She’s making these tiny little noises of pleasure as she shamelessly scoops chili into her waiting mouth. We haven’t said much. We haven’t really done much with this designated bit of time, other than eat our chili and smile like we’re seeing each other for the first time in years.
I’m not sure what it is. I can’t really explain how it’s possible that I can miss her so much when she becomes that Ashley Davies that belongs to someone else. I don’t know why I wait with such unguarded anticipation for the one I know to drag her feet right back inside the reality that’s ours. Maybe she’s like family now. Maybe I miss her like I miss my family. Something I love that’s mine, and in spite of, and just because, and through presence and absence alike.
I shift nervously at the thought. I think it without really wanting to.
“You’ve got to stop looking at me like you think I think you’re going to freak out. I already know that you’re not, so stop it.”
I look at her, confused by her sudden statement, “What?”
“I feel like you’re thinking that I’m thinking you’re going to freak out about what happened.”
“Uh-huh…”
“But I’m not.”
“Okay.”
“It’s just that…I really like living here and being your friend. It’s been…it’s been really, really nice. Besides Kat, there aren’t a lot of people that get to see me when I’m not hunting for something or someone. So it’s important to me that you keep seeing me like that, instead of as that other person.”
It’s as though she was reading my mind a second ago and attempting to put in her own words so as not to arouse suspicion of her intrusion.
“I know that the other Ashley isn’t who you actually are. And you know that I know it so you feel comfortable with me.”
“Maybe…sure.”
“But you need to know me too. You need to know that I’m not going anywhere and I never think of you as anything less than the person that I love having as my roommate…as my friend,” I say, grabbing her spoonless hand, “I need to have you here.”
The realization comes after the words, and I worry that she’ll let go, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me in that inexplicably familiar way of hers.
“Well, I need you to be here.”
“Ashley…”
“I need you to be here, wanting to know me. I can’t tell you why, but it means something to me…to have you here, wanting to know.”
There’s a tension that settles, but it doesn’t separate us. Rather, it’s a bridge. It’s as if we have no choice but to cross the line again, if not for the fact that there’s something structurally allowing it to happen.
I hear her chair protest loudly on the wood floors and then her mouth is on mine. It doesn’t stay. It travels, and as if my physical self feels the urge to promote it, a recklessly needy moan travels from the pit of my stomach, to the expanse of my chest, and out through the same lips that are still burning from her visit.
I bury my face in her shoulder, suddenly at a loss as to what I should do. There are many giant parts of me that know I should stop her hands as they move under the harsh material of my favorite wool sweater. But her fingers are so light on my skin that it’s easy to pretend it’s not actually happening at all. They’re ghosts, and I’m not completely convinced that ghosts are real, even when I undoubtedly feel them close to me.
Her neck smells like our apartment-centralized-and laundry detergent. Altogether, it’s home.
When her fingers are pushing my bra up and exposing me even more intimately to her touch, I erupt. I literally just combust under the pressure of a heat that’s been rising for days, strengthened and stirred by confusion and hurt and disappointment and then the uncertainty of a touch that feels like so much but isn’t supposed to be there at all. I push everything out until I’m quaking from the release.
Ashley pulls away, looks at me with a parted mouth and wide eyes.
“Come on,” she says, lifting me up from my chair and holding me against her, “feet on my feet.”
“Feet on your…”
“Stand on my feet,” she says, calmly.
With her hands gripping my waist and her mouth still parted and releasing long, purposeful breaths against my ear, I follow her direction and place my feet on top of hers. Slowly, she starts walking us out of the dining area, down the hall, and into her room. She stops when the back of my thighs make contact with her bed.
“You know and I know too, okay?” she says a little desperately, pushing me down until I’m seated on the mattress.
For a moment, her statement is rather ambiguous, but then I remember how this all started anyway and I nod, “This is fine. We know.”
She nods too, and then kisses me again, her tongue moving softly across my lips until it’s allowed inside. She’s gentle with it, using it only as a reminder that it’s present when truly needed. My mind spells out exactly where its presence could be beneficial and I buck against her on her way down to a kneeling position in front of me. She whimpers uncharacteristically and grips my thighs with her fingertips.
“Spencer Carlin,” she whispers, moving her face until it’s resting in my lap.
I feel her drag her tongue down up and down the zipper of my jeans, and an unusual amount of wetness floods my panties almost instantaneously.
“Take them off,” I say, my voice barely audible.
She doesn’t say anything. Instead she quickly unbuttons and unzips and undresses until I’m sitting in my underwear, suddenly aware that her window is slightly open. I find that the time she takes slipping my sweater over my head is completely intentional. The wool moves over my skin centimeter by centimeter, heightening my senses and leaving me anxious for her fingers. She stands and leans over me, reaching behind to unfasten the clasp of my bra.
Once she’s finish undressing me entirely, she steps back to observe. It’s almost as though I can feel her gaze on my skin as it travels the length of my body. Finally, our eyes lock and she looks so serious that I swallow back something stupid that nerves would have said.
“Your equal doesn’t even exist,” she says, and then she takes everything off until she’s just as naked as I am.
I don’t have the opportunity to ask for clarification. She’s nudging me with her knees, crawling with me up the bed until my head is resting on a pillow that smells just like her shampoo. It feels like we’re doing something completely different than what’s happened before. Her fingers whispering words against my stomach as they move, skating over a nipple, curving underneath the weight of a breast-this is something new.
“You want me touch you,” she says, and I can’t distinguish whether or not it’s a question until she repeats it, “you want me to touch you? Tell me.”
I’m usually not one for talking before or during sex, but her voice was pulling things from me. It was another way of touching, but it wasn’t enough.
I wanted to tell her.
“Do you have any idea how wet I am right now?”
She dips a lone finger into where the proof is slowly dripping from me and groans, her eyes closing as she touches my clit in a fleeting, but unbearable moment that leaves me shaking.
“Yes, I have an idea,” she says, kissing me softly with a wet finger tracing the nipple that had previously received less attention, “but it’s not the same as you telling me.”
When I become too distracted to speak, she whispers it into my ear, “Spencer, I’m just as wet as you are.”
She grinds her hips onto my thigh, leaving evidence.
“Yes,” I groan, approaching my breaking point. I was going to need her soon.
“And I know you can feel it. But I need you to hear me tell you that I want you inside me so badly that it’s making me absolutely fucking crazy.”
Very soon.
“But…” she says, canting her hips again, “I can’t let that happen until you tell me you want me to touch you.”
“I need you to touch me. I want you to make me come,” I manage, desperate for her to crash into me.
She bows her head for a second, shaking it as though she’s in disbelief.
“I want to make you come, Spencer. I want to feel you soaking wet around my fingers.”
“Then do it,” I say, meeting her eyes.
She smiles at me before sliding two fingers into very little resistance.
Reading both my mind and body this time, she hums against my ear, “You’re too wet for just two.”
I let out an unnatural sound of pleasure, spreading my legs apart to allow her whatever it is she needs. When she slips a third finger inside, she groans at the sensation before setting a rhythm that has me moving furiously against the palm of her hand. I make a valiant effort to slide my own trembling hand down and press a thumb directly against her clit. She lets out a high-pitched whine, but her fingers don’t slow in the least. In fact, they get more precise, hitting exactly where I need them to hit to make me come, at a speed that will have me there in no time at all.
“Are you going to come, Spencer?” she asks, panting against my neck.
“Fuck…yes.”
“So soon?”
“It’s…your fault.”
“Good,” she says, withdrawing her fingers and sliding down until her mouth was resting against my inner thigh, “I want to taste you.”
She immediately starts tapping my clit with her tongue-fast, hard, rhythmic taps that made me feel like I’m losing my entire mind.
She makes sounds of approval as she does it. Sounds that I hear as, “Come in my mouth. Please, Spencer, come in my mouth,” over and over again until finally, she gets her wish.
My back arches like I’m in the last stages of a possession, hands buried in Ashley’s air, hips drumming against her face, noises leaving my mouth without my approval.
When my body finally calmed, I looked to where I could feel her resting against my thigh. Her face reminding me of things I couldn’t place.
“Sleep,” she says quietly.
“But, you…”
“It’s okay.”
I wanted to make her feel something. I wanted to feel her. But it was as if she called for sleep and it rushed quickly in to accommodate. Before it overtook me completely, I felt her move into the space behind me. Her arms wrapped around my waist.
Home.
When I woke up, the bright red 2:30 on her clock shocked me. The fact that I slept alone did not.
Chapter 12: Surprises
Those eyes are like guns. Or they’re like bullets. I’m not sure. Are they the assault or the battery-the threat or the delivery? They would be locked into mine, except I refuse to make direct, consistent eye contact with her for fear that I’ll begin a nervous outpouring of adjectives and conjunctions and never stop. When I’m accused of behaviors that feel foreign to those that I live with the most, I ramble as though enough words will bring me back to myself-or a person close enough that I wouldn’t know the difference.“Talk, Spencer. Tell me what happened.”
“I’m not even sure I…I’m not even sure what I’m allowed to say.”
“Allowed to say?” she asks, pale fingers leaving the handle of her coffee mug and resting on the arm of the chair.
“It’s weird, Kat. She’s your friend. You’re her friend.”
“And you need a friend because that elfish slut monster you socialize with is angry at you-perhaps for refusing to inform her that she has an unfortunate face and personality and should dive into the shallow end of a plastic, child-intended, K-Mart pool. The world may never know the real reason. Either way, she’s not here. If I had an acid bath in which to dip myself or the ability to switch brains with a rabid squirrel, then I’d pretend I was her. But I’ve yet to evolve this far, so it’s me, okay? You’ve got me,” she says with a smirk, “start talking, little Spencer Carlin. This coffee ain’t free.”
I laugh, nodding and taking a deep breath before scooting closer to the edge of my chair in anticipation, “Where do I even begin, Kat?”
“You begin at the most important part. The rest is all validations and soundtrack.”
“Well,” I start, watching my hands move up and down across my jean-clad thighs, “we almost had sex. Um…Ashley and I almost had sex. And now we’re…things are weird and I don’t know what to do or how to fix it. She looks at me like I confuse her now.”
“Like you confuse her or like she’s confused you?”
I think again, shaking my head as I continue, “Not like I confuse her, I guess. Maybe it’s like I’m going to ask her a question she doesn’t have an answer to or something.”
“Who stopped it?”
“What?”
“Who stopped it from happening?” she asks, turning away from me to stare at a child who had wandered into close proximity.
I thought back to that day, tensing slightly at the memory as it suddenly made its way back into the present for an unexpected visit. I could feel her lying on top of me, fingers painting myself onto myself as she waited to slide inside. She was shaking.
I’m almost sure I remember that correctly.
Her skin smelled like men’s deodorant and the ocean. I wanted to kiss her shoulder with my nose, but I was scared to move. Once, she smiled at me, but there seemed to be so much occurring behind it that it made me feel lonely.
“I did. But I’m positive that she would have done it if I hadn’t done it first.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know. It was just something about how hesitant she was with me. I mean, I haven’t been a fly on the wall to any of these millions of sexual encounters she’s had, but I imagine she’s not known for her hesitancy.”
“Ashley is a complex creature. I don’t attempt to fill in her blanks. However, I’d wager that you are correct.”
“Not only that,” I say, feeling myself growing irritable, “but like, she’s brought so many girls home lately. And that’s weird because there was the one-I can’t remember her name-and it seemed like she was into her or whatever. So now there are all these random girls and I don’t get it. I really don’t. And it’s fine. I’m not jealous, I’m just surprised.”
“I think that surprise and jealousy are the same thing for the most part, but that’s neither here nor there.”
She appears to be formulating some sort of thought or theory in her head, and so I sip my chai and wait. Watch the child pace back and forth and attempt to send him telekinetic mind warnings not to get too close to her. The swinging light fixture above us needs a new bulb. It flickers every three seconds or so, adding a sinister presence to an otherwise ordinary coffee shop-Kat’s choice.
I had called her two hours ago, frantic and bubbling with the unsaid. I needed to talk so badly that I simply couldn’t go another day. I couldn’t watch Ashley look at me like I was someone she used to know but no longer had anything in common with as I cleaned the kitchen countertop for the hundredth time. I just couldn’t. And no, there was no Jonica to call. No mother to offer advice. Instead, I had this new acquaintance who I sort of wished was my best friend instead. Even if it was just for an afternoon or two.
“Spencer, I want to make this complicated for you. I really do. But unfortunately for everyone, it’s not,” Kat finally says, shaking her empty coffee cup and frowning as though she had run out of loved ones instead of caffeine.
“It’s not?”
“No, it’s not. You fine young ladies are lesbians-which I’m slowly learning to accept-and you’re also roommates. Shit happens, you know? What do you guys want? It was a mistake. Don’t do it again.”
“Kat, I know you’re just trying to help, but…”
“No, I would never try to help. Look, Ashley is fucking bananas. She always has been. And she gets in these fucking moods where she thinks she’s the only person who’s ever done anything or been anywhere or felt anything. Give her a few days and she’ll snap out of it. If she doesn’t, call me and I’ll threaten her.”
“Are you sure?”
“I didn’t want to tell you this until I felt like I could trust you, Spencer, but you must know that I’m a psychic whose only gift is the ability to see what type of idiot Ashley’s going to choose to act like on any given day,” Kat says, smiling as though she’s a proud, yet knowing parent, “it’s generally a waste, but it comes in handy for moments like this one.”
“But I think we should talk. Like, if I could just let her know that I’m fine…that nothing has to change…”
“No, no, no. It does have to change.”
I groan, rubbing my temples with my index fingers, “Why would it have to change?”
“You’ve seen each other’s boobs. She’s familiar with your grand lady canyon. Let’s be real, here. You can’t just act like everything is the same as it used to be.”
“Then what? What do we do?”
“You have to acknowledge it! Say, ‘hey, Ashley, I realize that you’ve now met my grand lady canyon. I’m not choosing to ignore that fact. Instead, I’m choosing to accept this new step in our evolution as roommates and friends and when it’s appropriate and sometimes when it’s not, I’d like to make clever references to the fact that we almost fucked. Because guess what? It’s kind of fucking funny that we thought it would be a good idea to fuck. I mean, especially since I’m recovering from a horrible betrayal and you’re addicted to the temporary release that sex with strangers provides you. So yeah, we’re going to joke about it. This is a healthy thing to do, so get ready for some healthy. If you have any questions, Kat thinks you’re an idiot. Goodnight.’”
“Wow.”
“Thank you.”
I waited for her to come home from work, ready to follow Kat’s advice and put this “almost-sex” behind us. I would’ve done it immediately, only she didn’t return to the apartment until the wee hours of the morning and left for work looking miserable and more than a little hungover. Somewhere there was yet another girl waking up to uncertainty.
I did my best to make the setting for our conversation as commonplace as possible. There was a pot of vegetarian chili on the stove and a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge. If I couldn’t get her to open up, maybe red wine would. If not red, there was white, and if not white, there was vodka. Certainly anything was worth or could be made into a shot at this point.
Right as I went to stir the chili, there was a quiet knock on the door. I pictured Ashley on the other side, embarrassed to admit she had forgotten her key yet again. I smiled on my way to answering it, deciding that it was the right way to start this conversation. She would return my smile and shrug. Say, “What am I going to do the first time I forget my key and you’re not here?” Just like she always did. I would reply, “While you’re once again reminded of the incredible importance I hold in your everyday life, I think this is the perfect time for us to talk about what the hell has been going on with us.” We would figure it out. We would figure out how to be us again.
But that couldn’t happen. Not with Robin standing in the doorway instead.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, swallowing back a million harsh words and avoiding her eyes.
“You haven’t returned my calls.”
Her voice breaks slightly on the last word, but she looks as though she’s slept recently. Her button-down shirt has been ironed carefully. She appears to weigh the exact same number of pounds. The very least of what she owed me was a sign that this had affected her. That she missed who we could’ve been and couldn’t sleep, eat, or function without it.
“And this shocked you because?”
She reaches for my hand, but quickly withdraws as though the realization hits her that I’m not to be touched by her ever again.
“May I come in, please? Just for a second, Spence.”
“No.”
“Even if this is over…even if I can’t make you forgive me, could we at least have some closure? Don’t you want that?”
“I have it. You know what closure was, Robin? It was hearing you tell me that you were cheating on me. So unless you care to tell me that once more just for laughs, I’m done.”
A single tear rolls down her face, and she looks at me with such immense sadness that I feel my resolve begin to crumble. I don’t like watching people lose.
“Spence, please. I don’t deserve it, but I have to ask for it anyway. Five minutes…can I…”
“Three minutes,” I reply, ushering her in by her shoulder and closing the door, “talk. Go.”
She stumbles a bit, over her words and over one of Ashley’s spare yoga mats, “You look nice.”
“I’m serious. You have three minutes.”
“Okay, okay. I hear you. I just…you’re hard sometimes Spencer. Like, it’s hard to get to know you or feel needed. I don’t know. I guess there was always this block there for me…from you. And I wanted so badly to get past it, but I have no idea how to do that. I had no idea how to do that.”
“Don’t just stand there and say all of this shit you wanted to say to me before you slept with someone else. If this is how you felt, then we could’ve done something about it, Robin. I could’ve done something. It’s pointless to tell me now.”
“But it wasn’t…like, it wasn’t a deal breaker. I still wanted you.”
“You wanted everything, though. So that doesn’t mean anything to me.”
She starts to say something else, but I see her eyes are now looking past me. Towards the front door. When I follow them, I find Ashley there. She looks surprised to see Robin. Blinks several times in her direction, as if she’s only seeing things.
“Oh, hi,” she finally says, tossing her bag on the floor and heading quickly to the kitchen, “I’m just grabbing a Vitamin Water and showering and then I’m out of your hair.”
“No.”
“Seriously,” she replies, as if I simply don’t believe her.
“No, Robin was just leaving.”
Robin looks at me like a punished child before nodding. She doesn’t try to touch me again, though she looks like she wants to. Instead, she clears her throat and looks once at Ashley. Then she’s gone, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
“Are you actually back with her or…like, is that a good idea?” Ashley asked, studying me from the kitchen with a strange smile stretching awkwardly across her face.
“Not even close.”
“Because she’ll cheat on you again. You know that, right? She’s just one of those people.”
“Which people-who?” I ask, joining her in the kitchen.
“I’m seriously leaving soon. I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner or whatever. I’m sure you can still catch her.”
I grab her arm, silencing the words she hasn’t even spoken yet. She sighs, taking a large swallow of her Vitamin Water and waiting for me to say something.
“I wasn’t planning on having dinner with her. I was planning on having dinner with you,” I say, letting go of her arm and walking to the stove to stir the chili, “but you have plans, I guess.”
“You should’ve said something this morning.”
“Would it actually have mattered? I mean, Ashley…what’s going on?”
“I don’t-“
“Please don’t say anything dumb right now.”
She laughs, and it’s such a welcome sound that I feel my heart throb with excitement. I hadn’t heard her laugh in days.
“Spencer, nothing is going on, okay? Yeah, things are a little weird. But we almost had sex, so like, isn’t that to be expected?”
“When do things go back to normal? And how can they, Ashley, if you’re gone all the time?”
“I’ve been going out. I’ve always gone out.”
“No. What happened to that girl?”
“She’s…it didn’t work out.”
“I’m incredibly surprised.”
“Aren’t we all?” she asks, smiling and eyeing the stove, “what’s in there?”
“In the pot?”
“Yeah.”
“That vegetarian chili you like.”
“Are you going to throw mine in some Tupperware so I can take it for lunch tomorrow?”
“No, I’m going to eat it all because you suck.”
“Alright, but when you need a personal trainer afterwards, I suggest you find someone else.”
“Gladly.”
She’s still smiling, spinning the bottle around in her hands, “You have an hour and that chili better be dynamic.”
She’s making these tiny little noises of pleasure as she shamelessly scoops chili into her waiting mouth. We haven’t said much. We haven’t really done much with this designated bit of time, other than eat our chili and smile like we’re seeing each other for the first time in years.
I’m not sure what it is. I can’t really explain how it’s possible that I can miss her so much when she becomes that Ashley Davies that belongs to someone else. I don’t know why I wait with such unguarded anticipation for the one I know to drag her feet right back inside the reality that’s ours. Maybe she’s like family now. Maybe I miss her like I miss my family. Something I love that’s mine, and in spite of, and just because, and through presence and absence alike.
I shift nervously at the thought. I think it without really wanting to.
“You’ve got to stop looking at me like you think I think you’re going to freak out. I already know that you’re not, so stop it.”
I look at her, confused by her sudden statement, “What?”
“I feel like you’re thinking that I’m thinking you’re going to freak out about what happened.”
“Uh-huh…”
“But I’m not.”
“Okay.”
“It’s just that…I really like living here and being your friend. It’s been…it’s been really, really nice. Besides Kat, there aren’t a lot of people that get to see me when I’m not hunting for something or someone. So it’s important to me that you keep seeing me like that, instead of as that other person.”
It’s as though she was reading my mind a second ago and attempting to put in her own words so as not to arouse suspicion of her intrusion.
“I know that the other Ashley isn’t who you actually are. And you know that I know it so you feel comfortable with me.”
“Maybe…sure.”
“But you need to know me too. You need to know that I’m not going anywhere and I never think of you as anything less than the person that I love having as my roommate…as my friend,” I say, grabbing her spoonless hand, “I need to have you here.”
The realization comes after the words, and I worry that she’ll let go, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me in that inexplicably familiar way of hers.
“Well, I need you to be here.”
“Ashley…”
“I need you to be here, wanting to know me. I can’t tell you why, but it means something to me…to have you here, wanting to know.”
There’s a tension that settles, but it doesn’t separate us. Rather, it’s a bridge. It’s as if we have no choice but to cross the line again, if not for the fact that there’s something structurally allowing it to happen.
I hear her chair protest loudly on the wood floors and then her mouth is on mine. It doesn’t stay. It travels, and as if my physical self feels the urge to promote it, a recklessly needy moan travels from the pit of my stomach, to the expanse of my chest, and out through the same lips that are still burning from her visit.
I bury my face in her shoulder, suddenly at a loss as to what I should do. There are many giant parts of me that know I should stop her hands as they move under the harsh material of my favorite wool sweater. But her fingers are so light on my skin that it’s easy to pretend it’s not actually happening at all. They’re ghosts, and I’m not completely convinced that ghosts are real, even when I undoubtedly feel them close to me.
Her neck smells like our apartment-centralized-and laundry detergent. Altogether, it’s home.
When her fingers are pushing my bra up and exposing me even more intimately to her touch, I erupt. I literally just combust under the pressure of a heat that’s been rising for days, strengthened and stirred by confusion and hurt and disappointment and then the uncertainty of a touch that feels like so much but isn’t supposed to be there at all. I push everything out until I’m quaking from the release.
Ashley pulls away, looks at me with a parted mouth and wide eyes.
“Come on,” she says, lifting me up from my chair and holding me against her, “feet on my feet.”
“Feet on your…”
“Stand on my feet,” she says, calmly.
With her hands gripping my waist and her mouth still parted and releasing long, purposeful breaths against my ear, I follow her direction and place my feet on top of hers. Slowly, she starts walking us out of the dining area, down the hall, and into her room. She stops when the back of my thighs make contact with her bed.
“You know and I know too, okay?” she says a little desperately, pushing me down until I’m seated on the mattress.
For a moment, her statement is rather ambiguous, but then I remember how this all started anyway and I nod, “This is fine. We know.”
She nods too, and then kisses me again, her tongue moving softly across my lips until it’s allowed inside. She’s gentle with it, using it only as a reminder that it’s present when truly needed. My mind spells out exactly where its presence could be beneficial and I buck against her on her way down to a kneeling position in front of me. She whimpers uncharacteristically and grips my thighs with her fingertips.
“Spencer Carlin,” she whispers, moving her face until it’s resting in my lap.
I feel her drag her tongue down up and down the zipper of my jeans, and an unusual amount of wetness floods my panties almost instantaneously.
“Take them off,” I say, my voice barely audible.
She doesn’t say anything. Instead she quickly unbuttons and unzips and undresses until I’m sitting in my underwear, suddenly aware that her window is slightly open. I find that the time she takes slipping my sweater over my head is completely intentional. The wool moves over my skin centimeter by centimeter, heightening my senses and leaving me anxious for her fingers. She stands and leans over me, reaching behind to unfasten the clasp of my bra.
Once she’s finish undressing me entirely, she steps back to observe. It’s almost as though I can feel her gaze on my skin as it travels the length of my body. Finally, our eyes lock and she looks so serious that I swallow back something stupid that nerves would have said.
“Your equal doesn’t even exist,” she says, and then she takes everything off until she’s just as naked as I am.
I don’t have the opportunity to ask for clarification. She’s nudging me with her knees, crawling with me up the bed until my head is resting on a pillow that smells just like her shampoo. It feels like we’re doing something completely different than what’s happened before. Her fingers whispering words against my stomach as they move, skating over a nipple, curving underneath the weight of a breast-this is something new.
“You want me touch you,” she says, and I can’t distinguish whether or not it’s a question until she repeats it, “you want me to touch you? Tell me.”
I’m usually not one for talking before or during sex, but her voice was pulling things from me. It was another way of touching, but it wasn’t enough.
I wanted to tell her.
“Do you have any idea how wet I am right now?”
She dips a lone finger into where the proof is slowly dripping from me and groans, her eyes closing as she touches my clit in a fleeting, but unbearable moment that leaves me shaking.
“Yes, I have an idea,” she says, kissing me softly with a wet finger tracing the nipple that had previously received less attention, “but it’s not the same as you telling me.”
When I become too distracted to speak, she whispers it into my ear, “Spencer, I’m just as wet as you are.”
She grinds her hips onto my thigh, leaving evidence.
“Yes,” I groan, approaching my breaking point. I was going to need her soon.
“And I know you can feel it. But I need you to hear me tell you that I want you inside me so badly that it’s making me absolutely fucking crazy.”
Very soon.
“But…” she says, canting her hips again, “I can’t let that happen until you tell me you want me to touch you.”
“I need you to touch me. I want you to make me come,” I manage, desperate for her to crash into me.
She bows her head for a second, shaking it as though she’s in disbelief.
“I want to make you come, Spencer. I want to feel you soaking wet around my fingers.”
“Then do it,” I say, meeting her eyes.
She smiles at me before sliding two fingers into very little resistance.
Reading both my mind and body this time, she hums against my ear, “You’re too wet for just two.”
I let out an unnatural sound of pleasure, spreading my legs apart to allow her whatever it is she needs. When she slips a third finger inside, she groans at the sensation before setting a rhythm that has me moving furiously against the palm of her hand. I make a valiant effort to slide my own trembling hand down and press a thumb directly against her clit. She lets out a high-pitched whine, but her fingers don’t slow in the least. In fact, they get more precise, hitting exactly where I need them to hit to make me come, at a speed that will have me there in no time at all.
“Are you going to come, Spencer?” she asks, panting against my neck.
“Fuck…yes.”
“So soon?”
“It’s…your fault.”
“Good,” she says, withdrawing her fingers and sliding down until her mouth was resting against my inner thigh, “I want to taste you.”
She immediately starts tapping my clit with her tongue-fast, hard, rhythmic taps that made me feel like I’m losing my entire mind.
She makes sounds of approval as she does it. Sounds that I hear as, “Come in my mouth. Please, Spencer, come in my mouth,” over and over again until finally, she gets her wish.
My back arches like I’m in the last stages of a possession, hands buried in Ashley’s air, hips drumming against her face, noises leaving my mouth without my approval.
When my body finally calmed, I looked to where I could feel her resting against my thigh. Her face reminding me of things I couldn’t place.
“Sleep,” she says quietly.
“But, you…”
“It’s okay.”
I wanted to make her feel something. I wanted to feel her. But it was as if she called for sleep and it rushed quickly in to accommodate. Before it overtook me completely, I felt her move into the space behind me. Her arms wrapped around my waist.
Home.
When I woke up, the bright red 2:30 on her clock shocked me. The fact that I slept alone did not.