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Ava’s decent at a lot of things. Or, well. She likes to think she is, anyway. She’s a damn good writer, at least. And also pretty gifted at putting her foot in her mouth.
But she excels in throwing pity parties for herself. And honestly? She got the boot from someone she really thought she had a connection with. And even though it had been her mercurial ex-boss, she’d been stupid enough to believe her and Deborah had something that ran a little deeper than that.
She stabs at the broccoli in her takeout container as she broods. Because, yeah. She’s doing that. It’s been three months since she last saw Deborah and she’s still doing that.
She swallows her bite of nearly cold noodles and sets the white container down on her coffee table, reaching for her phone to scroll through a one-sided text conversation she has memorized by now.
Hey, uh. Thanks for dropping the lawsuit. Saved me and my stomach from having to live off ramen for the foreseeable future. Hope you’re doing well.
So, if I buy the stand up mixer, do I get a discount for being a former employee?
I don’t actually need one of those things, btw. I burnt my grilled cheese last night, no one needs me to have access to real people cooking tools.
Is that a new wig? It looks really good on you. Still think you look smokin’ (no homo) with your natural hair, though. Not that I’m wig shaming!! You do you.
I did just do finger guns at my phone.
I really miss you.
That one had been after a night out with some friends from one of her writing gigs. The Ice Age one. Weirdly freaky people, that Ice Age lot. She’d been into it. Of course, it could have also been the seven barely spaced out shots of vodka she’d downed that night like they were fucking water. But still, she’d had a good night with them.
And the second she’d gotten home, she’d messaged Deborah. Because she hadn’t been able to breathe that night she’d missed her so badly. Had wanted to call her. Had tried. Had left a no doubt slurred and messy and embarrassing voicemail. God, she really needed to pull out that old brick of a phone she’d stored away whenever she drank. What was it with her and impulsive voicemails?
And the next morning she’d been more hungover than she had been since college. And when she’d checked her messages to see yet another lack of response from the older woman, anger had taken over.
You know, I get older people probably genetically suck at responding to text messages. But it’d be really fucking nice if you could just respond to at least one of mine.
And then, a week later:
Is this because you hate texting or because you’re ignoring me? Cause I’ve gotta tell you, being ghosted is the number one reason for serial murder in America. I googled it. You could be creating a psychopath, Deb. Remember when we binged Killing Eve? I could be the next red-headed Villanelle.
That was the last one she’d sent. Over a week ago. Three months of this. Of being ignored. Of being completely fucking left on read. Well, Delivered. Deborah doesn’t have her read receipts on. Ava remembers having to explain the concept to her. Deborah hadn’t been impressed.
But she knows she sees Ava’s messages. She caught the quick flash of a grey bubble one night almost immediately after sending that last message.
She’d shot up out of a slouch on her couch when she’d seen it, heart skipping up into her throat, skin buzzing at the excitement. The sheer joy at Deborah finally acknowledging her.
And then she’d completely collapsed back onto the indented cushion after about ten minutes of a stare off with her phone screen.
So, yeah. She isn’t coping well.
She’s cleaning up her mess - she does that now! So weird! - when her phone vibrates with a message. She drops the days’ worth of plates and glasses not so gently into the sink and sprints in her haste to get to her phone.
And deflates when she sees it’s from Kiki.
She swipes on the message, Face ID unlocking it for her.
girl, I know you’re re-reading your messages to Deb right now. I was meditating and got a message from one of my ancestors. Stop torturing yourself!!
She laughs, a sharp breath through her nose. She loves this insane woman.
Can you ask one of your ancestors to come fix my light in the kitchen? My subletter is a dick and refuses to do it. And I’m not tall enough. They can float, right?
The grey bubble pops up immediately and Ava really does love her and her quick responses so deeply in that moment she almost tears up.
Honestly they probably would if they weren’t so busy keeping Luna from climbing the cabinets. She watched Peter Pan with her dad last week and now thinks she can fly? Like girl, come on. That takes years of lessons you can’t just do it in a week
Ava snorts. She double taps the message and clicks on the “HA HA” icon.
She’s typing back a response when Kiki sends her another one.
I saw Deb today btw
Ava’s stomach bottoms out.
Oh yeah?
Yeah she asked about you. Told her you were busy juggling a million writing jobs and getting back together with Ruby
Ava groans.
Kiki! We aren’t back together!
But she doesn’t have to know that! Don’t forget I’m captain of the Ava+Deb ship - plus she was hella jealous
Ava pauses at that.
She was?
Did that whole avoiding gaze and everything - and then I caught her looking up tabloid stuff on her phone a little later
You’re a menace. A sexy, meddling menace.
You love it. And me. Gotta go put Luna to bed - she keeps leaving her window open and I’m a little worried that flying boy is gonna show up one night? Love you girl - no more wallowing!!! You’re a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man! But definitely don’t give up on Deborah - she’s just had too many people leave her.
Ava reads that last sentence again. And again.
And then she checks her calendar, pulls open Ecosia, and books a flight to Las Vegas.
In retrospect, she probably should have washed her hair. And done a load of laundry. And definitely packed one of her reusable water bottles.
She forgot how fucking dry this place was.
She’s fiddling with one of the zippers on her backpack she’d quickly and clumsily packed. She was so nervous she was in a perpetual state of nausea. Her Lyft driver must sense it too because he keeps shooting her worried glances through his rear view mirror and had not so subtly slid a plastic bag in the back seat to her.
She gives him a weak smile. “I promise if I upchuck it won’t be on your fancy leather seats, my guy. Relax. You’re making my anxiety worse. Also, get a reusable bag and properly recycle this one. Stop killing baby sea turtles.”
He concedes for a few minutes before giving her another concerned glance. She sighs, opting to look out her window and bob her leg up and down.
This was going to be fine. Deborah couldn’t ignore her if she showed up on her doorstep, right? And the worst that could happen was maybe just a repeat of the night of the taping but without the face cradling…right?
And then she sees a familiar gate slide into view, swallows down the massive lump in her throat, and attempts to steel herself.
You can do this, Ava. She’s just your ex-boss. She’s just a person. You’re both just people who shit and put your pants on the same way.
She’s feeling marginally more stable when the car pulls up to the gate. And then remembers she has to be let in.
“Absolutely fuck my life.”
Her Lyft driver looks alarmed. “Uh, want me to lie?”
She could kiss him.
“You’re gonna get such a fat fucking tip, dude. Yes, please, oh my god. Are you a good liar?”
She leans forward between the driver and passenger seats, wanting to see this in action, knowing that there isn’t a camera attached to the outer gate. It’s just the intercom box.
“Uh, sometimes?”
Ava eyes him. “That sounds promising.” She checks her phone for the time. She hopes to god it’s one of those nights where Josefina is still there. “Just tell her you’re here for Josefina. Pretend you’re a confused Postmates guy with her food.”
There’s a buzz from the intercom and a tinny, irritated voice erupts from it. “Who are you and what do you want?”
Deborah’s voice, closer than it has been in months, is like a defibrillator to Ava’s chest. The breath rushes out of her. Her Lyft driver looks spooked. Which, for his fake role, maybe helps.
“Um, hi? I - I’ve got the food Josefina ordered? She - ”
“Oh, for Christ sake - Josefina! I told you - ”
There’s another buzz as her voice cuts out and then the click of metal as the gate opens.
“Dude! You fucking did it!” She gives him a celebratory shake and he winces even as he chuckles, the sound a little strained.
Whatever. She really was going to give him a huge tip.
They’re halfway down the eternally long driveway when she sees another car heading toward them. She squints, realizes it’s Josefina, and panics. Ducks so she can’t be seen and then breathes out a sigh of relief when she peeks over the back window and Josefina’s car continues without braking.
Her Lyft driver eyes her but doesn’t say a word. She thinks, under different circumstances, she’d really want to be friends with this guy.
When they pull up to the front entrance she grabs her backpack and pats at his seat. He’s leaned forward in it, eyes wide and on the beast that is Deborah’s house. She gets it.
“You’re the real MVP, stay golden. And I’m serious about the plastic bags. There are so many alternatives.” And then she’s out of the car and walking toward the front doors. She unlocks her phone and clicks on her Lyft app, tipping him $100 and giving him a five star rating before her ADHD lets her forget.
And just when she’s about to look up, there’s the sound of a voice she could pick out of any crowd, anywhere, at any given moment.
Well, shit.
“Does Postmates really pay that well or do I need to have Marcus add you to my list of stalkers?”
Ava’s frozen, blinking up at Deborah probably very much like a deer caught in headlights. Or whatever that Midwestern saying is.
“Josefina just left, by the way, I’m sure you saw her on your way in. That was almost clever. I’ll have to have cameras installed on the outer gate now. Damien will be thrilled.”
Ava still hasn’t moved or responded and she watches Deborah pull a face at her.
She waves a hand. “Hello? Anybody in there?”
Ava shakes herself out of her stupor. And then marches right past Deborah into the foyer. And further into the house until she reaches the kitchen. Where she finds a glass in the cabinet to the left of the sink, flicks up the faucet head, and then downs the entire thing in four swallows. She feels more than hears it when Deborah makes her way into the room.
God, she’d been thirsty. Vegas was the worst.
She places the glass on the counter with careless force, the snick of it meeting marble echoing out around them, swipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, and then aims what she hopes is a molten glare at Deborah. She hadn’t prepared a speech. So she just wings it. “So, um. What the actual fuck?”
The older woman just lifts a brow. “Is this your version of a thank you?”
Ava snorts, crass and loud. That, too, seems to bounce about around them and Ava nearly swivels her glare to Deborah’s ceilings. “A thank y - why the fuck should I be thanking you?”
“For finally letting you off the hook. My lawyers were going to bleed you like a stuck pig.”
“Okay, first of all, hated that imagery. Second of all, no I’m not going to thank you again for using the dropped lawsuit against me as yet another way you can avoid me like the bubonic plague.”
“Oh, take a hit off your vape and calm down. I’m not avoiding you.” She even rolls her eyes. Like Ava was overracting. Like it hasn’t been three months with zero contact between them after practically being sewn together at the hip for so long. Like Deborah hasn’t noticed her absence at all; like Ava had just gone out to get them some food for one of their late nights and had only been gone for an hour or so.
Ava’s heart throbs at the memory. At the sudden onslaught of all their nights in the beginning spent together working on the special. She swallows it down, chases it with her growing anger.
“Want me to grab a dictionary for you, Deb? There’s probably a picture of you with your phone in your hand, ignoring my messages, next to the word by now.”
“Oh, did you call and have that arranged? Use your favorite picture of me, natural hair and all?”
Ava’s cheeks heat at the well-placed dig. The blatant acknowledgment of one of her messages. It’s just a little too direct for her current emotional state. The why of it. The very reason she’s in Deborah’s kitchen to begin with on a random Thursday night. It’s one thing for Ava to realize her feelings. It’s another entirely for Deborah to be aware of them enough to use it against her in one of their fights. Especially after Ava thought Deborah had been none the wiser. She guesses it’s her fault for underestimating the woman’s perspicacity when it came to her. So she does what she always does. She steps up to the line Deborah’s drawn. And hops right over it.
“No, actually. I just borrowed one from DJ. She still responds to my texts. And there’s a really good one of you with no makeup on, baggy eyes and everything - you’re even looking at your phone. It was a perfect fit and she was all too happy to oblige.”
Deborah lets out a breath through her nose. A bitter laugh that has Ava maybe feeling a little (only a little - she’s still so angry with her) guilty for using that sore spot on her.
“I’m flattered you sharpened your fangs for me.” She says it casually, like she isn’t really flattered at all. Like she was just humoring Ava and her…well, her tantrum. And whatever, she’s allowed to throw one. Right in Deborah’s face. In her annoyingly cavernous kitchen.
“Only the best for Deborah Vance.”
It’s meant to be a barb but it’s tainted with too much sadness. Too much nostalgia.
And a softness spreads out along Deborah’s otherwise statue-still face. Something she hasn’t seen since their night on that rooftop. Ava’s heart beats a little quicker and she thinks oh, I wasn’t just imagining it.
“It’s why I hired you.”
Ava can feel the phantom warmth of the older woman’s hand on her cheek. Her eyes nearly flutter with it. Her throat tightens with coming tears.
“So why did you make me leave?” She pours three months’ worth of hurt and ache and frustration into the words.
Deborah gives nothing away, her expression going unreadable once more. Ava wants to cry. To yell. To fucking uproot. Is half a breath away from doing so.
“I told you,” her words, unlike her face, give a little more away. They’re tight. Boxy in a way that, instead of fortifying her stoniness, contradicts it. “You have your own mountain to climb. And you weren’t going to take the first steps unless I cut you loose.”
It’s…well, it’s not what she was expecting. It’s raw and honest and a part of Ava expands while the rest of her fumes. Deborah wasn’t going to pull one over on her. Ava, unlike nearly everyone else in Deborah’s life, could see right through her bullshit.
“Oh, stop pretending like you did me some grand fucking favor. You pushed me away, ghosted me, because you were afraid I’d leave you.”
“You’ve already done that.” Her reply is instant, eyes cutting.
Ava steps forward with her words. “That isn’t fair and I came back!”
She eyes Ava, continues as if she hadn’t spoken. “Everyone does, Ava.” She shrugs, like she’s just announcing a commonplace fact, a brittle smile on her lips. Soft and sad and bitter. Just a little bit cruel. And then she tilts her head, as if conceding to a thought. “Except Marcus because he’s an idiot.”
Ava’s fury burns, sloshes up against her insides, and she feels a sudden, nearly violent protectiveness make its way through her body like a tidal wave. For Marcus and his love. Feels an unspoken solidarity bloom between them. Whether he’s aware of it or not. She makes a mental note to hug him the next time she sees him…or maybe not. She’s really emotional right now.
And maybe she knows the offense isn’t just for him, the anger and…ruffled feathers not just for him. Maybe not even a little bit. But loving this woman isn’t a handicap. It may be a health hazard for Ava but it isn’t a bad thing. And she isn’t going to let Deborah frame it that way.
“He loves you.” Because that has to mean something to her. Ava’s stomach twists. Right?
Deborah scoffs, shaking her head, a fleeting razor’s edge smile like she knew Ava would walk right into that trap. Ava feels a little sick. “Of course he does.” And then she pins her down with a look so piercing she feels it like a fresh needle, her skin Deborah’s thread. “That’s why he’s an idiot.“
Nausea turns into apoplexy and Ava wraps herself around it like it’s the only goddamn thing keeping her afloat. Because right now, it might be.
“So everyone who loves you, chooses to stay, is an idiot? That’s what you’re saying to me right now.”
“I’m glad to know your hearing is in working order.”
Ava could shake her. She laughs instead. The sound harsh and ugly and teetering on the edge of hysteria. When did she allow this woman to have so much power over her? Ava hears a gentle voice whisper she always has and bats it away.
She spreads her arms out wide, leaning into the impulse, the sudden compulsion, to fling every thought she’s ever had about the older woman in her face. Hard enough to bruise. “Well, gee, my bad, Deborah. I’m so sorry for being a colossal fucking idiot. So sorry for being someone who actually gives a damn about you. Maybe I should just start treating you like a third or fourth choice? Want me to screw you over again, too? Humiliate you a little?” She doesn’t realize she’s moving closer until she’s only a foot away from the older woman and whispers, “Want me to put my strap on and give you the most mediocre fifteen seconds of your life? Oh, wait. Does Marty even stay stiff enough to last that long?”
Ava watches Deborah’s face, drinks in every minute movement and flash of emotion like the addict she is. She sees it when her own fury is mirrored back to her in those icy blues. When it sparks, takes hold, and branches out like a forest fire. Deborah’s face twists with it and Ava’s body thrums with satisfaction. And then she’s watching her tilt forward, her arm raising in a twitch, and Ava is nearly dizzy with rage. With something else that feels a lot like what she does when she conflates two very strong feelings and slaps the wrong label over the result. But that can be a thread for her anonymous twitter later.
“Oh, I fucking dare you, Deborah Vance. Hit me again. See what happens.” She’s leaning in now as well, even turning her face a bit to bare her cheek, her words the only barrier between them. Their quick, audible breathing. And oh hell, that ‘something else’ is fucking arousal and she’s in so much trouble.
The storm in Deborah’s eyes swirls into a challenge and she arches a brow. “What, you afraid to hit an old woman back? I thought you were a feminist.”
Despite herself, she chokes on a laugh. “Oh my god, hitting a woman isn’t the equality we should be aiming for here. Jesus Christ, Deborah, what is wrong with you?”
Another casual shrug. This one a little too jerky. “A lot of things.”
And it’s that sentence that seems to pop their pulled-taut little bubble. Deborah deflates, shoulders dropping, eyes casting downward a moment before closing, an audible exhale leaving her. She brings a hand up to her face and Ava is just delusional enough to think she sees it tremble.
She feels that ever-present thread between them slacken and panic seizes her, snatches her up by the chin and squeezes, nails digging into pale, pale flesh. She’s consumed with the immediate and intrusive worry that Deborah will cut their thread entirely. Let her drift out to sea and not look back. Not even care.
“Ava.” She sounds so, so tired, and that part of her Deborah has unknowingly claimed as her own aches to help. To alleviate, to fix, to make better. To be allowed the privilege of witnessing this woman’s rawness. The emotion she keeps tucked up close to her bones. Hope presses its face to the glass of her, on tiptoes as it waits, waits, waits.
And then wilts, becoming a frail thing, when the older woman turns and goes to leave, avoiding Ava’s eyes as she does.
“You know your way to the door.”
And then she’s gone.
And Ava, well, Ava has Taurus in her big three.
She’s fucking stubborn.
And still so mad she can feel it vibrating in her teeth.
Ava takes a few calming breaths, twists out of her backpack, drops it, and then follows her.
Deborah is at her vanity when she barges into her room.
There’s the sound of a long, drawn out sigh as the older woman lowers her hands - Ava sees the little container she keeps her false lashes in. Sees the wig she’d been wearing on its stand next to her. She wants to yell at her again. Tell her: You don’t need fucking fake anything to make yourself look good. You look beautiful just as you are. But they’ve had that argument before.
You’ll understand when your eyelids start sagging as badly as your tits do.
“Shoes off.”
That - Ava’s brain shudders to a halt. What?
“What?”
“Get those horrendous, germ-infested chimney sweep boots off my goddamn carpet. Now.”
So Ava does. And then stomps, in her mis-matched socks - her fucking dryer keeps eating them and seriously, where do the socks go - all the way to the twin balcony doors. Opens the right one. And then launches them over the railing. She turns, feeling untethered. Feeling wild and raw and alive.
“Satisfied?”
“Hardly. Why did you stop with the boots?”
Her eyes glitter, head tilted, that cruel smile again.
“How about you not make a fucking suicide joke and have a real conversation with me.”
“Oh, is that what you came here to do? Have a ‘real conversation’ with me? And here I thought you’d just gotten bored of wallowing alone and decided to come use me as your emotional punching bag instead.”
Ava’s brow pulls together. “I’m not - ”
“You are.” There’s a definite tremor in her voice. Like the one she thought she’d caught in her hand earlier. Ava swallows. “And I’m more than happy to be that for my daughter. Because it’s deserved. But this? From you?”
Her voice cracks and she turns away quickly. Ava recognizes the action as someone who hadn’t meant to let that much emotion bleed through. Ava’s anger cools down to tepid, present but quieted to a murmur. Ava wants to join her shoes over the railing.
“Deborah…I, fuck - I’m sorry. I’m not trying to use you as my emotional punching bag. That’s so fucked up. I just - ” The tears come then, swift and hot and traitorous. She’s back on that rooftop after the taping again. Mesmerized by Deborah in that delicious red dress. She sucks in a sharp breath. “We were so fucking good together. And you kicked me out. You had my stuff sent to me. We couldn’t even have one night? I don’t understand why. Was I right? Were you afraid? And if you were, why? I thought - is it because you don’t really have any intimate friendships? Anyone you can confide in without feeling like you need to censor yourself? I don’t know what I am to you, Deborah. And I’m too fucking afraid to assume anything. Especially when it’s that fucking easy for you to get rid of me.”
She makes a face at Ava. “I have ‘intimate friendships’.
Ava rolls her eyes. Of course she ignores every single question and chooses to, instead, defend herself. Her pride. “Kiki is a walking goddess in heels but she does not count as an intimate friendship.”
“She’s seen me naked. I’d say that’s intimate.”
Ava ignores the sudden, desperate attempt her brain makes to picture Deborah naked. Right now is so not the time.
“Does she know how you like your Diet Coke? Your favorite guilty pleasure meal you think no one has caught you eating? Does she know the exact shade of blue in your eyes when you’re really amused or impressed by someone?” Me? she doesn’t say. “The way they nearly shine? The way you move on stage like you were put on this earth to do nothing else? The way you just fucking… glide because you’re in your element and you look so goddamn happy? The way your shoulders round whenever you’re around DJ? The way your voice changes into something soft and frail whenever you let your guilt eat away at you? Because I know all of those things, Deborah.”
Deborah’s throat is still a little flushed from Ava’s observation of her guilty pleasure meal (and honestly, crumbling up a greasy cheeseburger over your salad so shouldn’t check anyone’s guilt boxes but then again, Ava knows she’ll never be able to truly understand the effects the patriarchy and it’s disgusting fucking ideals had on Deborah’s view of her body and food growing up in the era she did). Her mouth had parted in shock about halfway through Ava’s speech and she feels absolutely drunk on it. On the fact that she can stun this woman so thoroughly she’s allowed it to filter through and spread across her face. Ava steps closer. And closer still.
“I didn’t realize you were so observant.” But it’s breathless, astonishment coloring the syllables. And there’s color high in her cheeks now.
Ava gets on her knees. Right in front of Deborah’s lap.
Deborah’s eyes widen, breath snagging in the air between them. Ava takes in the display of emotion like a woman starved.
“I don’t love you the way Marcus does,” she says, heartbeat whooshing in her ears and pounding in her chest. She takes Deborah’s hands in her own. They’re trembling. Ava’s eyes flutter. “First of all, he’s a gay man so he isn’t capable of loving you the way I do.” Deborah takes in a quick, audible inhale and Ava’s stomach flips.
“And second, I didn’t want to stay because you were signing my paychecks or whatever.” She has a sinking suspicion Deborah had held onto that shitty comment of hers and it’s confirmed whenever the older woman swallows roughly and her eyes flit away from Ava’s for a beat. “Or because I enjoyed working with you.” She continues, eyes imploring. “Though, I can’t even describe how fucking good it feels to write a joke with you.” She scoots a little closer, flexing her fingers around Deborah’s, tugging them closer with her next words. “I want to be wherever you are because I’m in love with you and it’s, unfortunately, a side effect no one has found a cure for yet.”
She watches Deborah’s cheek twitch, watches her lick her lips, swallow again, tilt her gaze up and away from Ava, shaking her head in that way she does when she finds something ridiculous. Ava thinks she catches the shine of tears.
And then she laughs, eyes on the ceiling, the sound breathless and just a touch choked. Disbelieving.
“Oh, I knew I should have donated to more charities last year when Marcus asked.”
Ava shakes her own head, the comment so out of left field after she’d just confessed her love to Deborah, and she goes to pull her hands away but suddenly strong hands keep them in place.
Vibrant azure finds her eyes once more. Her heart stutters in her chest. There’s an edge of something in the older woman’s gaze. Ava can’t quite parse it out just yet.
“Ava, sweetheart,” she squeezes Ava’s hands in emphasis, her tone gentle and beseeching. Ava’s body reacts to the term of endearment like it does to any softness directed toward her. Especially from the woman sitting in front of her. Just as her stomach drops down into the soles of her feet. Deborah is about to invalidate her feelings. She can fucking taste it.
“You don’t love me…in that way - you can’t, you’re - ” her mouth twists, like she can’t find the right words. And that’s fine. Ava has no problem finding hers.
“You’re doing that thing older people do where you assume a younger person’s feelings because they haven’t lived through a few wars and a famine.”
Deborah arches a brow. “Am I wrong?”
Another ugly laugh. “Yeah, you really fucking are.”
The only response is silence and they hold each other’s gaze, locked in a stare down. Always a challenge. So Ava decides to repeat the question Deborah ignored the first time.
“Am I wrong about what I said earlier?”
Deborah’s jaw works. “You’re wrong about many things quite often.”
“But not about that.” Ava eyes search her face. She finds nothing. “Tell me I’m wrong,” she continues. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll say “Thank you for firing me, Deborah” and walk out, and you’ll never have to hear from me ever again.”
“Ava - ” but she cuts herself off. Just closes her eyes and sighs again (so much sighing). Slips her hands from Ava’s, stands and moves to walk into the en suite.
It’s the most she’s ever said her name and it’s all in one night. This night. And Ava breaks. She isn’t letting her walk away again without telling her the goddamn truth.
She reaches easily for her scalding anger again. “It shouldn’t be this fucking hard for you to tell me I’m wrong, Deborah! You’ve had no problem doing it at any given moment before tonight so what’s the fucking hold up here!?”
Deborah whirls on her and Ava jerks a little at the force. At the emotion branching out along every inch of her face like it might be a little painful. Like it might topple her. “Oh, for fuck’s sake - because you’re not fucking wrong, Ava! Because you’re right. Because you and your wide open feelings fucking terrify me, you relentess little shit.” Her eyes are a storm again. “I did it for you, in a blinding selfless clarity, and I was also afraid. It was for you and it also happened to benefit me, too.”
Ava feels like she’s going to halve down the middle. This fucking sucks. “Well then maybe I don’t want you to be a good person who tries. Maybe I want you to go back to being a self-serving bitch and make me stay. Want me enough to make me stay. You can even frame it like a punishment if you want, since you apparently have a long-standing love affair with them.”
Deborah sighs that fucking sigh again. It makes Ava feel every single digit in their age gap. She doesn’t take the bait Ava had dangled in front of her with her last sentence. “Ava, this has nothing to do with what I want. It’s ab - ”
Ava bulldozes over her next words. “It absolutely has everything to do with what you want.”
Impatience flashes in the older woman’s eyes. “That’s because you’re young and self-righteous and stubborn and think you know everything. I’ve been on this earth nearly three times as long as you. And you can puff your chest and clench your fists, be as indignant and arrogant as you’d like. But you’ll understand one day.” Her eyes glitter again, head tilting. Ava realizes she does this when she’s about to deliver a particularly infuriating sentence. “When you’re older and have been dragged, hair first, off your high horse into the stinking shit that is harsh reality.”
“And maybe one day you’ll understand that taking away someone’s option to choose you because of fear disguised as some grand display of selflessness is just another way you’ve decided to push people away for the sake of a career. Even if it was for the sake of mine.” Ava shakes her head. “I love you. And you being too afraid to let me? That makes you the idiot, Deborah, not me.” She nods her head toward her. “Enjoy that harsh reality of yours.”
She turns to leave. For good this time. Or so her brain tells her heart. Her heart that’s a pulverized, throbbing sack sitting heavy and dripping in her chest.
“And there she goes. Giving in the moment it gets too difficult and starts to require more than a bare minimum effort.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me.”
“Are you fucking - I’m not going to be fucking gaslit by you, Deborah. Your refusal to be vulnerable with anyone, with me, doesn’t give you the right to emotionally manipulate me into taking a crowbar to your walls to see what scraps I’ll pry out before you flatten me with them.”
It lands like an unpleasant, reeking thing at her feet from the way Deborah reacts to the words and Ava straightens her back, lifting her chin.
“You millennials with your goddamn therapy speech. How much did you pay to learn that little morsel?”
“Okay, for the twenty-second time, I’m an in-between. And actually, the internet is free and I use it to educate and better myself. You should try it sometime. Miracles happen every day.”
“You’re a fucking arrogant little twit, you know that?”
“And you’re a coward.”
Deborah’s head jerks at the accusation, brows shooting up like she couldn’t believe Ava would have the gall. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Their line of the night, apparently. She decides to run with it. “Unless I need to tell Marcus to schedule you a hearing test. Want me to shoot him a message?”
“Sure,” she responds easily, like verbal sparring required as much effort as blinking for her. Ava grinds her teeth. “Tell him to get a hold of my lawyers while you’re at it. I’m about to wring your scrawny fucking neck and shove you off the balcony to join your beloved monstrosity boots.”
“Oh, I’d love to see you try that. You got enough progesterone packets to - ”
But Deborah’s on her in a second. Has a hand wrapped around Ava’s neck before she can finish her admittedly weak comeback. She’s forced into the one closed door that leads out to the balcony. The left one, the one Deborah always leaves locked.
And god help her, her choked off words turn into a surprised little yelp. And when her back hits the glass, that yelp turns into an unmistakable, very loud moan.
Deborah’s smile is viscous, her eyes lidded and glued to Ava’s face when she says, voice an octave or two lower and sliding like silk, “Was that because you like being thrown around like a rag doll or because I’m the one doing it?”
Her fingers flex with her words and Ava, Ava who has had dreams of this woman doing exactly this for months, whimpers. She’s pissed about it. And so turned on she could cry.
“Fuck you,” Ava manages, just a rasp of a thing.
Deborah hums, chin dipping as she slices Ava through with her gaze. Something charged and heated and wanting. And Ava thinks, no, knows, she isn’t the only one affected by this. And she isn’t letting Deborah dodge it any longer.
“Oh, I think you want me to do just that. Don’t you?” Darkened blue slides down to her mouth and lingers before tilting back up to lock eyes with Ava. “Would you beg me for it, Ava?”
“Yes.” She says it simply, if not still a little scratchy. She can only muster so much vocal bravado with Deborah’s fingers around her throat.
Deborah’s fingers go slack in surprise. As does her face. Her mouth parts with it, lashes fluttering. Ava’s noticed that as well. That her eyes do a lot of her speaking for her. Ava wonders if she’s aware of it.
“I’d beg you to fuck me, Deborah. I’d beg you to please, don’t stop. And then I’d come with your name on my lips. Because I’m fucking in love with you, like I’ve already mentioned, and that’s, unfortunately, another side effect.”
Deborah’s hold loosens entirely but she doesn’t move her hand away. Her brow pulls together. And Ava sees panic start to mix in with the mirrored desire in her eyes, that cruel triumph she knows Deborah gets off on. When she has the upper hand, the control, and can flex it in front of the one she’s won against. She exhales a shaky little breath. Hesitant disbelief trying to claw its way into her expression. Ava would feel empathy for her if her want wasn’t so all-consuming and scattering her brain more than even her worst ADHD days do.
“You’ll be bored of me by next week. Wanting a threesome with some hot, young couple. Or fucking your postmate again. Crawling back to your pretty ex.” Fucking Kiki, she thinks. There’s strain in the words. Like those walls of hers, in this moment, are taking more exertion to keep up around her.
Ava shakes her head, resolute, hope at the window of her heart again, color returning to its cheeks. “I’m not Marty, Deborah.” Because she knows he plays a large role in this particular insecurity of hers. She really would love to give him a clean right hook.
“No, you’re not.” She concedes, voice hoarse. “And that’s even worse.”
“Deborah,” she whispers. Please understand, it pleads. Please see, please -
She needs her to feel.
So she slowly reaches up to take Deborah’s wrist between her fingers. Deborah’s breath hitches but she doesn’t resist. And Ava would like to think it’s because, even after everything, or maybe because of everything, the older woman trusts her. Her eyes hold with Ava’s until Ava slides their hands beneath her sweats, beneath her cotton boy shorts - only people like the one currently in front of her fly like they’re on their way to a fucking red carpet - and then Deborah’s looking at their disappeared hands while Ava’s watching her watch them.
And when she guides Deborah’s fingers lower, pushes them up a bit to glide through the very damning evidence of her arousal, the older woman’s head tips forward, their foreheads coming together. And a low moan filters in through the tense and livewire silence between them.
Not from Ava but Deborah.
Ava bites down hard on her bottom lip. Gasps as Deborah’s fingers flex of their own accord, curve upward a bit, a twitch Deborah can’t seem to stop.
“Ava, Jesus.”
“Yeah,” she croaks, all she can manage right now. “It’s - ” she gives a rough chuckle. “It’s been a problem.”
Deborah’s brow arches, eyes not straying. Ava swallows down a reedy moan.
“And…” she trails off, looking equal parts ravenous and timid. Ava thinks Deborah is maybe in new territory. And Ava thrills at the notion that it’s because of her. “This is for me?“ She cups Ava fully. Ava gives a soft cry.
“God, yes,” she whines. Christ, she’s going to fucking implode from the heat scorching her skin. “It’s for you, Deb. It’s been for you.”
Deborah’s eyes thin, gaze bordering on accusatory. But her hand hasn’t moved an inch. Ava just barely keeps herself from canting her hips forward, seeking firmer, more, contact. Pressure. “For how long?”
Ava blows out a breath. She guesses she should have known this would require more of a chit-chat. “Um, probably since I had that dream about you the morning of DJ’s birthday party a while back. But honestly, it could have been before that, too. Sometimes it takes me longer to realize my feelings are more than just a hero crush when it’s women.”
“A hero crush, really?”
“Yeah, you’re right. More like…maybe I’m into being degraded? I don’t know, it’s still a working theory. Courtesy of you and your zingers.”
“My - ” she snorts, one of those raw, unfiltered ones. When Ava has surprised her with her humor. Usually when Ava isn’t trying. Which isn’t often. It’s nice to be rewarded with them when she’s just being herself. She’s looking at Ava in an unguarded way now. Or maybe just less guarded. And Ava takes in an inhale when Deborah’s eyes make a slow perusal down and back up her body. “So, you’re into degradation, huh? Did you have to purchase a small hoard of Depends after we first met?”
Ava rolls her eyes. “Ha ha. Very funny. Are we going to keep talking with your hand cupped over my pussy or are you actually going to do something with it?”
Deborah pulls a face. “I hate that word.”
“Pussy? My bad, how about cunt? Vagina? Nether lips? Forbidden fruit?”
A hand slaps over her mouth and Ava laughs into it. And then licks the palm of Deborah’s hand thinking it would get her to snatch it away. It doesn’t. She only arches that signature brow. Ava’s response is muffled and Deborah rolls her eyes as she takes her hand away.
“What?”
“I said, ‘huh, that’s interesting.’”
“That your childish antics don’t work on me? Mm. It’s almost like you aren’t as shocking as you’d like to be.”
“The only shocking thing happening right now is how little your fingers are moving - ” Ava squints, “between my legs.”
Deborah hums in appreciation at that. At Ava’s acquiescence.
“I distinctly remember you telling me you’d beg for it.”
“Is the way I’m full-body trembling for you right now really not enough?”
Deborah takes a quick inhale through her nose and then seems to think about it. Ava isn’t a patient person. She rolls her hips, just enough to get a little friction, and winces when she catches one of Deborah’s fucking talons.
“On second thought, I’m gonna need you to declaw yourself before you go anywhere near my nether bits.”
Deborah looks genuinely pissed for a second before she slides her hand out and steps back, hands going to her hips. She tilts her head, eyes darting to her pristinely made bed before coming back to Ava.
“Well? On the bed, then. And take off those god awful sweatpants. Anything that tries too hard to be cotton isn’t allowed anywhere near my silk sheets.”
Ava just blinks at her. And then bounds onto the bed before Deborah can change her mind, graceless and making sure to wriggle in and wrinkle everything. She hooks her fingers under the waistband of her sweats and underwear and slides them off, kicking at them until they fall off the bed. She leans back on her hands and smirks.
“Whoops,” she says, all coy and flirty and batted eyelashes because she knows Deborah will hate it.
“Are you always this much of a brat in bed?” She mutters as she makes her way toward Ava. She moves some of her pillows to the edge of the bed but leaves one. She pats at it. “Scoot. All the way to the headboard.”
Ava scoots. “Only when I feel safe enough to do so.”
It catches Deborah off guard. She freezes - her thigh halfway on the mattress as she joins Ava. They hold each other’s gaze again, a different kind of tension pouring into the space between them, their thread going taut again, until Deborah breaks it to swallow, to join Ava fully, resting on her right side up against her, almost lying down save for her outstretched arm, her right hand pressing into the insane softness of the bed, her clothed knees pressed up against Ava’s bare left thigh.
Deborah’s eyes stay on Ava’s as she brings a hand up to trail her nails, the ones Ava was just complaining about, up along Ava’s shin, the bone of her knee, the inside of her thigh. She opens her hips a little wider, breath coming in a shaky inhale, and Deborah smiles. Something raw and soft and Ava is a fucking goner.
Deborah’s eyes tip down to her hand, now tracing a small, slow circle around her navel. Ava’s stomach quivers, her body, despite her previous smugness, still very much trembling. She wants this woman so fucking much, it’s nearing to pain now.
“You could end up hating this,” Deborah says, voice light, like it wouldn’t affect her in the slightest whether or not Ava enjoyed this. Ava knows better. Can see right through to the unspoken I could be bad at this. And she goes to say as much, to tell her how wrong she is, how it wouldn’t, can’t matter with how turned on she is right now but then Deborah is tugging on her cotton tee and Ava lifts up to take it off, her sports bra following suit. She settles back in and Deborah’s hand finds the newly uncovered skin, just barely grazing her nipples, once, twice - Ava’s breath stutters in her chest - gentle in her exploration before she draws a sudden and hard line down Ava’s skin, sternum to navel, with the nail of her index finger. Ava’s back bows harshly, crying out, and when she looks down she sees a single raised, red line. She feels utterly and wholly claimed with the action and when her gaze tips back up, she finds Deborah’s dark, dark eyes already staring at her. As if they’d been watching Ava’s reaction. Needing it.
And then she’s shifting, getting onto her knees and leaning over Ava for a brief, white-hot moment, both their gazes tipping down to each other’s mouths, and Ava feels like she’s absolutely been lit on fire. Feels the buzzing electricity of anticipation, of finally having Deborah’s mouth on hers in real time. Not just in the relentless dreams that have been haunting her for months. For over a year, really.
But then Deborah’s moving away - leaving Ava a heaving, aching mess - and moving down, Ava’s eyes following her movements until…
Deborah settles between her legs and Ava’s brain goes blank. Like a fucking etch-a-sketch shaken violently. “Oh, fuck,” she says, a genuine accident. And then she laughs, mentally preparing herself for the havoc Deborah is about to wreak on her physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. “There literally isn’t a single way I could ever hate this, Deborah. You could literally exhale down there and I think I’d come.”
Deborah smiles again, this one salacious and sharp and fuck, she’s sexy. Blue eyes track upward, landing on something above Ava’s head and she looks up with her just as Deborah says, voice low and buttery, “It isn’t just for decoration. Be a good girl and hold onto it for me. Let’s see how long you can last.”
Ava’s moan is obscene. And she does immediately as she’s told. Because oh my god, does she want to be a good girl for Deborah.
“Oh my fucking god,” she breathes, nearly vaulting off the bed at the first touch of Deborah’s lips along the inside of her right thigh.
“Am I going to have to tie you down as well?”
Ava nearly chokes. “Deborah, fucking hell, I can only handle one kink at a time right now or you’re actually gonna end up killing me.”
She feels the vibration of another hum against her hipbone and then twitches violently when the older woman places a light, barely-there kiss right over her clit.
“I can still push you off my balcony if you’d like.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Ava watches Deborah tilt her head, eyes between her legs, looking…endearingly curious, and it sends a wave of affection so strong through Ava she sucks in a sharp breath with it. Deborah’s eyes shoot up, catch and hold with hers.
She says, “You’re right. Because then I wouldn’t be able to do this.” And then bends down, taking a slow lick up the length of her, eyes very deliberately not looking away from her own.
Ava promptly loses what little of her fucking mind she has left. And honestly? She hopes to the god she doesn't believe in that it never returns.
She has Deborah Vance between her legs.
God can keep her sanity.