Chapter Text
It had been months of convincing before Therese had started dating Richard, secured in shame after she was caught hooking up with him. Drunkenly. In front of everyone. The months after the public display had felt longer, with her internal doubts screaming to get rid of his sickening touches, his bullshit excuses for drinking, the stink of his cologne as he pushed through the door and trilled her name, as if she would be ready on her knees, at his beck and call, a doting girlfriend. It was easy, he was easy, or as everyone continued to tell her, ‘as good as she was going to get.’ It had been a year, and it was her anniversary with him. As good a day to dump him as any, it seemed. Part of her felt it was unfair how she’d ended it with him.
No. It was horrible how she’d blasted him, as he got on one knee, drunk, and proposed to her at the dirtiest bar (called Aird of Apples, even, as if the bombardment of his masculinity wasn’t enough) on the strip of town. Like she was something to pluck. He couldn’t even do it in the connected restaurant. No, right by the dance floor in a bar that stretched into a club with dancers and booths. The classless act was an attempt to keep what he thought was the most stable relationship he could ever find. Therese simply said no, told him she could never marry him, and stalked out, wobbly and indignant. Gen didn’t even follow, nor had any of her other colleagues or friends. Therese assumed they were in full support of Richard, shocked at her response. After all, she’d tried so hard to make it work with him, to fall in love, but everything just felt so uncomfortable, so forced.
Now, she’s standing outside, questioning what the hell just happened. Did she just scream no? The look of shock, of hurt in his face was so visceral, so potent. And Gen had gasped. Even Dannie looked victimised, as though she’d lost her entire mind.
“You’re not gonna puke, are ya, muffin?” A curt voice asked from behind the pub, curled over a table with her hand on her forehead, a cigarette ashing in the other.
“No.” Therese spat, sniffling, and composing herself. She pulled her dress down and tugged her shoes off, prickling her toes down on the cold pavement in test, finally flattening her tender and tired feet. She sighed relief, staring up. Her phone was buzzing in her coin bag; there was no energy left in her to answer the expectations, let alone the phone calls relating to them. The cold air was pressing to her heated skin, flushing her with calm. The seated blonde took another look at her, and then returned to puffing her cigarette, nodding, “Good, because I hate seeing someone vomit.”
Therese went to sit, without asking, and looked at the woman. Her fur coat looked faux, but huge and enveloping her; a slim frame, perhaps? Tall. She had to hunch to rest her forearms on the table, and her clavicles looked broad, lean, highlighted by the street-lights. Her hair was short, but curled in lazy waves, with a soft and short side fringe. The woman sitting opposite her was dreamy, with creamy, supple skin, peachy cheeks, and a strong nose. The surprised eyes turned curious, and she pushed the box of Winfield select closer to her, an invitation to smoke. Blue-no, grey eyes met hers, and in spontaneous gumption, Therese pulled a cigarette from the box, whipped the lighter and took a drag, her nerves flooding her at once and silencing moments later; each drag made her dizzy. Dizzy and drunk, but she was determined to not cough or feign innocence.
“Where’s your group?” The woman spoke after a long silence, ashing her cigarette and clicking her knuckles. Her nails were short, painted blood red, like her lipstick, and there were rings on all fingers except one. Unmarried and hot. She couldn’t have been more than 35, holding herself in a way that Therese could never at just 25. Therese didn’t know if she had cotton wool over her eyes from all the booze, but something about the way this blonde older woman brushed the falling curls from her face made her mouth dry. She swallowed, realising the indignant blonde was expecting her to answer. She shrugged, “probably looking for me,” and she immediately turned around to scope the area. Nope, no one. No one calling her name. The woman laughed and sipped at her drink. Therese guessed the amber liquid was bourbon. All alcohol smelled the same from a distance.
“Hm, did the fool propose?”
Therese’s eyes flew wide, and her mouth dropped before closing quickly. Rage fuelled her, and her defences catapulted forward, “excuse me? What the hell?”
The woman’s lips quirked in the slightest show of amusement. Her teeth were straight and white, pearly even. Therese couldn’t look away as the smile touched the depths of her eyes, misty and teasing, “Dearest, your man was planning on getting you plastered enough for you to say yes. He’d been talking to my bartender the entire time, rooting for himself.”
Therese didn’t miss the small details, “your bartender?”
“Hm, yeah, I’m Aird, or was… Aird of Aird’s apples. Most of your drinks were not doubles, so you know.” It was sombre, a lot to unpack behind the notion. Therese nodded, lost, stabbing her butt out, as the silky voice chuckled “bet that sobered you up?”
Actually, it did. Her blood boiled a little more; why didn’t her friends defend her? She realised she was just fuming at the table, while the blonde woman watched her curiously. Finally, Therese realised how rude she was being and went to get up from the seat, “I’m sorry, Ms. Aird—”
“Call me Carol.” An outstretched hand anchored her in place, and she took it, feeling the firm thumb rub circles across the top of her hand, and she pulled her down almost, encouraging her to stay seated, “at least let me order you a cab, to see you home safe. What’s your name? Terry, was it?”
Therese swallowed, part of her unsure if she should correct the dreamy woman, shy all of a sudden. She nodded, and Carol’s keen eyebrows furrowed, her lips pursing, “did I hear it wrong?”
“No! No, that’s what Richard—my boy—I mean, my ex-boyfriend called me.”
Carol smiled, still holding her hand, and trailing her fingers on the inside of her palm. Little sparks and jolts bolted through her hand to her core, and Therese gasped at her own sensations. Carol almost preened, “what should I call you?”
Anything. Absolutely anything. Therese couldn’t say much, but choked her own name out, flustered when Carol’s touch darted to her wrist, and she chuckled, “Therese. I like it.”
The enigma faced her; Carol was the most interesting person Therese had ever laid eyes on, and her voice rendered her to melted butter, at the mercy of the quirk of her lips, the rise of her cheeks, the trill of her delicious laughter. Therese couldn’t remember much of the conversation, she saw an ocean of blue waves at the mere feeling of Carol’s touch, and dove right in, swimming for life. Her eyes scanned around them again, and Carol continued to smoke and drink. A bartender named Gary popped his head around and brought them both drinks. Therese almost declined, stating she would leave soon, tired, and Carol insisted she have one more drink. Gary supplied a martini for Carol, and a lemon lime and bitters with vodka for Therese. Gary blushed, “figured you’d be a bitters kind of gal. That’s the way Carol likes ‘em.”
Carol swatted him away with a devious glare, grinning, before turning her eager eyes back at Therese, “I have one question, before I let you go.”
Therese took a heavy drink, and nodded, “Sure.”
“Are you a virgin?”
“No.” She responded, indifferent for a moment. It took her a while to respond.
Carol’s brows furrowed with contemplation, her confidence intoxicating. She leaned back, tapping the olive in her drink against the glass, “How many people have you slept with?”
Therese never knew how to talk about this kind of thing, much less in a bar, with a stranger, after she’d just thrown and abandoned her whole life and comfort, “I’ve had sex with one person. My ex-boyfriend, Richard.”
Carol pauses, her eye-contact unwavering, “That doesn’t sound like you’re confident of that. Does that mean a man has had sex with you and you’ve just been there?”
Therese shrugged, flushing in the face. Her blush didn’t reach her neck, something Carol seemed to know was discomfort. Therese didn’t want to talk about it. It had been painful, uncomfortable, awful. Therese responded after several minutes, “It was complicated, and it’s just ended messy. I don’t think sex is for me. I just don’t… work.” Therese had no idea why she was confessing this to a complete stranger, but the words continued to exit her mouth without inhibition, “It just doesn’t work with me, I think I’m broken.”
It took some calculating, but Carol was clearly suspecting there was more to this story than Therese was divulging.
“How long have you known that you’re a lesbian?”
Therese scoffed, “I haven’t.”
“no?” Carol tipped her head to the side and straightened when she looked at the reaction; Therese imagined she looked like a deer caught in headlights and felt as though she had been burned by looking at the sun for too long, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, Therese. You fascinated me.”
Therese shook her head, and with whatever wispy gumption she had remaining from her previous drench in alcohol, she tossed back, “how long have you known?”
Carol grinned fully, a thrilled laugh escaping, her head tipping back. Therese licked her lips when the fine angles of her neck bared the creamy white skin, the soft and suppleness of her throat. She let out a sigh, which didn’t go unnoticed by the ever-observant Carol.
Grey eyes glinted their knowing approval, and Carol placed a hand on Therese, succumbing her to a firm grip, “I was a late bloomer.”
It was then that both women were staring at each other, a friendliness seeming to settle and heap atop the laughter that passed between the comments, the flowing conversation, the tipping of drinks. Until, Richard burst from the bar, finally, and found her. He was big and broad, tall. His eyes were bloodstained, his movements heavy and uncoordinated. His expression was feral, enraged, and possessive. A cat coming to claim its mark.
“Terry!” He called, his eyes somewhat hazy and his body not communicating well with its intention to reach her. He bounded towards her, to grab her and drag her away, “you made me look like a fucking fool in there!”
Therese stood and ducked his physical advance, seeing Dannie come from behind and try to pull him away, but not before Richard lifted his hand and –thwack!–
Therese felt the slap wretch across her face, jolting her neck in the opposite direction, winding her. The hot, sharp pain sprung tears to her eyes, and her cry of pain dizzied her. In an instant, Carol was on her, moving her, standing between her and him with an anger that radiated; Dannie was dragging him away, laying a punch here or there and slamming Richard into the wall, shouting directly in his face “fucking stay there!” Dannie was thankfully sober, having promised to drive them all home tonight. Gary swung in from no where and held him down, both men dragging the angry and heavily inebriated guff away. Therese had forgotten to inhale, her chest heaved when she finally felt black spots in her eyesight from starvation of oxygen. Then came the jagged, shocked breathing. Gen was running out of the bar to the main street, calling Therese’s name.
Carol had been up in an instant when the commotion began, sliding towards Therese and grabbing her waist, pulling her back to where the dumpster was, grabbing at her face to inspect her.
“Oh darling, are you alright?” She cooed, “talk to me, Therese, come on, baby. You’re okay.”
Therese’s eyes were still wide, tears falling freely. She felt lost, shocked, horrified. He’d been rough with her before, sure, but she’d never expected him to hit her. Gen’s voice calling and getting close renewed another sense of fear in Therese, and she hyperfocussed on the worried expression on Carol’s face. She was holding her close, pulling her towards her, both of them hiding in the darkness behind the pub. When Gen seemed to get further away, she pulled Therese away and sat her down.
“Thank you, I’m so sorry… he never… I’m so sorry.” Therese babbled, and Carol tenderly swiped her tears away, hushing her.
“No, don’t apologise. That bastard isn’t getting another finger on you. Does he know where you live?”
Therese whimpered, “we live together.”
Carol stood tall, towering over her, and her cheeks puffed for a second, before she pulled her phone out and dialled a number, “Hey, something’s happened. Can you keep Rindy tonight?”
The female voice on the other side of the call seemed to agree and ask if Carol was alright, “fine, talk soon.”
“Carol, what—"
Carol looked at her, determined, fierce and set in her motion. Her eyes softened and she smiled tenderly, rubbing her cheeks again, and wrapping her hands around Therese’s waist, drawing her closer as Therese fell into her arms and sobbed. Carol held her, like a life-raft thrown into trepid waters, “you’re coming home with me.”