Chapter Text
She can’t help but compare him to Sebastian. Her brain drifts naturally in that direction. Almost all the time these days. Not like there’s really all that much to compare really. As far as fucking goes, they’re apples to oranges. This guy might not even be fruit.
He’d looked so promising, hovering over produce at the bodega down the block, a six-pack of Southpaw tucked under his arm. Dressed well but not too well. Good haircut, strong shoulders. He looks almost nothing like Sebastian which is, honestly, her only set of criteria these days. But man, as far as fucking goes, they’re not even playing the same sport, much less in the same league.
He did a few cursory passes over her clit and then, apparently satisfied that Joni was at least wet enough to fuck, flipped her onto all fours where he’s been pounding her into the mattress for the past ten minutes. Miraculously hitting her cervix with each uncoordinated thrust, but missing her clit entirely.
Joni doesn’t even try to get herself off, decides to rest her head against her pillow instead, trying to occupy her mind with something else, anything else. She checks between her legs every so often to make sure he hasn’t slipped the condom off or something equally nefarious. But after a while, he finds his rhythm and Joni’s thoughts overtake her. They’re precise, completely out of her control, tracking only Sebastian’s scent. Traitors. No matter how hard she tries to shut her body down, every touch wakes it back up and reminds her harshly and suddenly of the man who evacuated himself from her life. Her heart aches. Yoba, this is why she hasn’t fucked in months.
Each clumsy, accidental brush of his hand reminds her of the way Sebastian’s fingers would walk down her spin as they fucked, his mouth hot on her neck. The memories of him are so vivid that when this guy finally finishes, she’s nearly in tears. He mistakes the way she’s whimpering for pleasure, wearing a self-congratulatory smile as he tucks himself back into his pants. He tosses the condom into the trashcan by her bed without even bothering to tie it off and when the light from the rickety wall of windows catches on him Joni finds a dozen other things she doesn’t like about him.
Joni shoos him out of the apartment, only letting him stop to write his number down on the pad by their phone because she’s not in the mood for confrontation. She shuts the door firmly and presses her forehead against the old wood, listening as his footsteps fade further and further down the hall. She pushes herself off the door and runs her fingers across her scalp. “Fucking hell.”
The kitchen is long and narrow. A clear afterthought built long after the construction of the rest of the building. Its single narrow window makes it the darkest room in an apartment solely held to the whims of the sun. With Leah babying a kettle on the stove, the room is almost too narrow for them both to be inside at once. Joni slips behind her, heading for the fridge. She scans the contents before settling on a lone apple on the second shelf. When she closes the fridge door, Leah is looking back at her, eyebrow raised, just the hint of a mocking grin on her lips. “Don’t even.”
She smiles, laughing softly. “Sure, sure. Just tell me. Was it as bad as it sounded?”
Joni hefts herself up onto the countertop and starts in on the apple. “Were you listening to me fuck?”
Leah shrugs, still smiling. “Sure. Why not?”
“Gross, quit.”
Leah laughs again, the sound echoing pleasantly along the apartment’s rickety, vaulted ceilings. She pours herself some tea. “So?”
Joni sighs, discarding her half-eaten apple in the sink. “Probably worse than it sounded honestly. I can put on an alright show if I need to.” She touches her lips, suddenly aware of how raw they feel. “I don’t think he kissed me. Like even once.” She glances up at Leah. “How fucking weird is that?”
“Did you want him to kiss you?”
“Not especially.”
“Well, it’s definitely a statement,” Leah says, taking a long sip of her tea. The light spilling in from the window makes her look enveloped in flame, her hair a livid red loose around her shoulders.
Joni’s lips feel tender now and the touch of her own fingers to them fills her with longing. She can’t stand to be inside anymore, the scent of her latest conquest’s cologne still lingering in the air. “You wanna go up?”
Leah glances out the window. It’s a clear evening. Stars scattered across the darkening sky, a pale blue, the gold of the sun going pink at the horizon line. “Why not?”
The rooftop covers half the top of the building, the other atrium apartments taking up the rest of the space. The floor is an uneven concrete, more often than not dotted with puddles, rusty discoloration swirling along the remaining dry surfaces, ghosts of older flooding. Someone put an old couch on one end of the rooftop, so worn out it’s practically sinking into the ground, a rotating crowd of empty liquor bottles, beer cans, and cigarette butts paying tribute to the ancient piece of furniture. On the other end, a rickety grill. It’s smoking now, one of their neighbors balancing a plate of burgers in one hand as she tries to wrestle with the burning coals with the other.
Leah waves, but steers them away from the grill. She’s the kind of too cool girl that Joni would expect to find at one of Beth’s parties. Head half-shaved, long chunky earrings hanging so low they almost reach her collarbone. She’s a sculptor, Joni thinks. Or maybe a tattoo artist. She and Leah have been quietly and intermittently fucking since they moved in. Joni knows better than to ask about it, no matter how badly she wants to tease her about this girl’s resemblance to Emily.
Joni’s spot is on the far end of the rooftop. A sea of pots that she’s been babying for the month she’s been here, trying to get them used to the city’s occasional smog and frequent rainstorms. She’s been mostly successful, the flowers blooming so vividly you can see them from the street. Her neighbors have, for the most part, left the little sanctuary alone. But one morning she found a guy from downstairs sitting in front of her big pot of dahlias, almost rapt. This is so beautiful, he’d said to her, I’ve never seen anything like this.
Leah plops down on the far edge, her back against the squat little wall that keeps the roof contained. She pulls out a few rolling papers and nods toward Joni. “If I roll a joint, you have to smoke most of it.” Joni quirks an eyebrow. “I’m heading out in a few.”
“Oh yeah?” Joni sits down cross-legged beside her, running her fingers along the veiny leaves of the peonies in the pot next to her.
“Picked up a late shift at the restaurant,” Leah replies, taking a long toke of the joint and passing it over.
“Hell.” The weed here isn’t as good as Emily’s, but it does the job. Joni lays her head on the top of the wall, resting on her forearms like a tired dog. The city spreads thrumming out beneath her.
“Yeah, no kidding. You got an early morning tomorrow, yeah?”
Joni nods. “At the bookstore till three.”
“Let’s meet up after. Get dinner somewhere. Maybe that new Chinese place on fourth.”
Joni passes the joint back. “Sounds good.” The night glitters. It wasn’t really all that long ago that being up this high would have incited inside of her a dark urge to go tumbling to the pavement. She used to imagine the way her bones would sound as they shattered, the way blood would pour out of her mouth as she took her last, rattling breaths. It was satisfying then, to imagine her ultimate demise, so complete that nothing of her body would even be recognizable. The idea makes her vaguely nauseous now. Now, all she wants to do is go back inside to feed Goose and crawl into bed. Progress, surely.