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I know her face. And something tells me she also knows that.
My memory is not exactly reliable - I don’t even remember what I had for lunch - but there are things that just manage to stay. Most of them are painful reminders of stuff I’d rather forget. Others are completely useless.
But these faces… the faces that look at me in a mix of adoration, lust and love - I just can’t forget those. Especially when I’ve seen them more than once.
She’s not wearing a flower crown that contrasts her light hair, her face is not covered in glitter and I can’t tell if the dress is the same - to be honest, I can’t ever quite see what they’re wearing considering there is always a barricade covering them.
The look in her eye is different too. She looks… hungry?
When I was on stage, they were glossy with tears. I know by the letters I usually read that what they feel in that moment is so intense that they can’t keep themselves from crying. Not that I needed the letters to figure it, I too have my heroes and understand what it means to feel so full of life during the few hours of a concert that it gets truly overwhelming - but I never imagined people would experience that while seeing me.
In fact, all these years of my career have taught me a lot of things and made me realize a lot of stuff that I have never, ever imagined - for bad and for good.
I notice she’s staring at me, which is news considering people usually try really hard to fake casualty and look anywhere else that is not my face, while pretending they are not holding their phones in an angle that can get a picture that later will be shared in some social media app with the caption “omg I just saw Florence Welch!!!”
There’s an empty glass in front of her and a bottle of water. I thought she was waiting for someone but it’s been two hours and she’s just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing except taking turns between staring directly into my eyes and then directly into nowhere - her gaze just getting lost.
Being here is weird, especially alone, but it’s one of the things I started doing after - well, the incident.
I know it is not ideal considering my history and I know my therapist will murder me when I tell her, but I needed to see people without worrying about being recognized and this is probably the only place I know I can go unnoticed right now. Small, niche, dark and everyone is too drunk to pay attention to me.
But not her. She’s definitely paying attention.
I can’t help but wonder why a girl - probably in her twenties - is alone in a bar so late during a week day with nothing but a glass of water but then again it’s none of my business and it’s not like I’m doing anything different.
There are around three tables separating us. I know she won’t come any closer to me - either because she doesn’t plan on moving or because she’s afraid of scaring me. And I shouldn’t speak to her either but there’s something about her that just pulls me, like opposite sides of a magnet.
I want to talk to her. I want to ask her things. I want to know her and I want her to know I’m not some kind of entity. I’m not a fragile piece of porcelain that can be easily broken. I’m not a terrified little kid that will run the moment you get closer to them.
I’m a normal person who doesn’t want to be home right now (being home means telling him he should leave and that we should never see each other again).
And it’s okay to try to get to know me.
So I decide to walk towards her and I can see how she gets a little nervous even though she’s very good at attempting to hide it.
And I hate it, I hate I have this effect every single time - even when I don’t want to.
Because truth me told, sometimes I do want to see people trembling when they’re next to me.
Low self esteem and huge ego.
“Hi”, I say, my already low voice sounding lower than I intended. “Can I sit here?”
She stares at me and suddenly the nervousness is completely gone.
“Sure”, she says and then she’s smiling. “See, I’ve read enough interviews to know you’re a really shy person. Now you’re asking to sit with me. Are you okay? Should I call someone?”
I smile at how she asked it. Unintentionally funny.
“I am, thank you. And yeah, I don’t usually do it. Actually I never do it. But you’re alone, I’m alone and I thought we could be alone together. Plus I recognized you.”
Her face brightens.
“That’s… insane. That you remember me. There’s always so many people.”
“But only some show up to more than one gig.”
“Oh, right, that. I’m not stalking you if that’s what you’re thinking. You’re the one sitting at my table, by the way.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t think that. I just pointed out because that’s why I recognize you. I’ve seen you a couple of times.”
“I’m sorry for being so defensive, I have a record of making everything in my life weird and I don’t want to make this” - she pointed at us - “weird. I never imagined you actually remembered all the faces.”
“I try to. It’s hard because, as you said, there are so many people from so many places but some faces just… they remain inside of my brain.”
“Well, thank God my features are not easily forgettable because they’ve just guaranteed the most unforgettable moment of my life”.
And there it is. It’s going to happen, it always does.
“I mean, seeing my favorite singer wearing a suit? Unforgettable.”
I feel my shoulders relaxing. I thought that was going to be one of those moments where people suddenly tell me about how much I mean to them - which are the moments that remind me of why I’m here and make me feel so, so grateful - but I don’t want this reminder, at least not here, not now.
“I mean, I love the dresses but the suits… well, they definitely suit you.”
I can feel my face getting red. It doesn’t matter how many times people compliment me, I still won’t believe them and I still will get embarrassed.
She notices it.
“So… how was your day?”
I don’t remember the last time someone has asked me that. People often ask me about my next album and my next tour. Sometimes they ask for book recommendations too. People who are closer to me try no keep themselves from asking me anything and when they do, it’s usually about Grace or my mother.
Never about my day.
“It was not a good day, to be quite honest. I’ve managed to get myself into two arguments. One of them with a dog.”
“I hope they’re okay.”
“Oh, he is. He always is. He knows that it doesn’t matter how many times we fight, he’ll always find a way to win me back and I hate mys-”
“I meant the dog.”
“Oh.”
“Felix is a jerk, by the way.”
I raise an eyebrow at that but then I remember my personal life is not actually personal. The entire world has had access to our pictures, he spoke about us in a book and I can’t judge him when I have exposed our entire relationship in a music video.
“I mean, anyone who has you and is wasting their time arguing with you instead of worshiping you is a jerk.”
I look away, refusing to allow myself to tear up. I’m not going to cry in front of a stranger and I’m not going to cry for hearing that I’m worthy of being treated well.
“Hey, I’m sorry-”
“No, don’t apologize”, I say.
“We have known each other for three minutes and I made you cry.”
“You have known me for longer than that. And I’m not crying. You should stop apologizing though. You did it two times in these three minutes.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Oh, shit. Just did it again.”
I laugh.
“At least now you’re laughing.”
“You’re funny, I like it. I like people who make others smile so easily.”
“Thanks for calling me a clown in a very classy way”, she says and I laugh again.
“Why are you not pretending you don’t know who I am?”, I ask, all of sudden.
“I can do it if you want me to. But I think it makes no sense considering you’re aware of how much money I’ve spent on you. Also you’ve seen me looking absolutely disgusting after hours under the sun against a barricade so-"
“It happened once, I spoke to a fan and they pretended they had no idea who I was. Then I noticed a tattoo with Bedroom Hymns lyrics from all songs.”
“Well, fan is an unflattering word. Let’s say I’m more like an admirer of your incredible and relatable work. And of your face too. How did that end up?”
“What?”
“The person pretending they didn’t know you”.
“I don’t remember, to be honest. But I think I said something, turns out I’m also a professional in making things weird.”
And then it hits me.
“You said you’re an admirer of my face?”
“Yeah, of your body too. And I say this in the most respectful, feminist and a little bit gay way.”
“Little bit?”
“It’s like - do I want to be her or do I want to be with her? Confusing thoughts. I’m into you though. I mean, into women. And you’re a woman. Not that I’m into all women - but I’m into beautiful women. And you’re beautiful.“
She speaks so fast it’s hard to keep track but there’s something so endearing about how she says these things.
“I’m not drunk, by the way.”
“Didn’t think you were.”
“I mean, people usually do think I’m either high or drunk but it’s just me being… well, me. Is this a new tattoo?”
“What?”, I ask and then she points at the ‘don’t’ written with black ink at the back of my hand.
“Oh; Right. That. Once I got in the bar, I asked the waiter for a pen and wrote this as a reminder.”
“For what?”
“For not doing anything I might regret later.”
She narrows her eyes.
“Why are you here alone?”, I ask.
“Personal issues definitely not worth mentioning that involve people also definitely not worth mentioning.”
“Very relatable. I’m sorry for whatever you’re going through. Are you feeling better now?”
“I am actually now that you’re here. Ew, that sounded cheesy. It’s true, though. Seeing you made me feel better. Talking to you is improving my mood to stratospheric levels. I appreciate the serotonin boost.”
“You see, I shouldn’t be… here. In this place, I mean. You probably know why considering you’re a f… an admirer of my work. And my face.”
“I was worried, not gonna lie.”
“It’s difficult but I think maybe this is part of why I like coming here. I feel like I’m pushing myself to the limit and walking over a very thin line. I’m keeping myself in control and I like the feeling, the… power? I know I probably sound crazy-“
“You make perfect sense. I feel like that too sometimes, only instead of fighting sobriety, I’m usually fighting my cellphone.”
“Been there, done that too. In fact I haven’t touched my phone in the past two hours so maybe this is a new record.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“It means a lot”, and it really does. I don’t know this girl - not in the true sense of the word - but still, knowing she’s proud of me warms my heart.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”, she looks at me.
No.
“Yes”
“Where is the Machine? I’m kidding. But not really. The question is related to her, though. Were you and Isa ever a thing?”, she asks and I choke on my water.
I don’t know what I was expecting but it definitely wasn’t it. Not the question being about Isa - I keep getting asked about her all the time and she knows it considering the choice of words “Where is the Machine?” - but the “were you ever a thing?” part surprised me.
Thinking about her is still painful and going back to that period of time is something I haven’t done in a long time.
The worst part is that I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know the answer either.
“You don’t need to answer, okay? It’s just something I promised myself I’d ask if I ever met you - which I didn’t really think was actually going to happen anytime soon but now that we’re here…”
“Yes. No. I don’t know? We… we slept together. Countless times. But we were never together. At least not officially.”
“Thank you. I won’t text TMZ about it, by the way. Just thanks for sharing it and confirming my theory.”
“Your theory being…?”
“That you’re definitely not straight. I mean, I know we shouldn’t be out there assuming other people’s sexualities but… yeah. In fact it wasn’t even a theory, it was more like wishful thinking.”
“You wanted me to not be straight?”
“I hoped you wouldn’t. That meant that my chances of making out with you would increase from 0% to 0,1%.”
She says it so nonchalantly and I wonder how she does it.
How is she sitting in front of her favorite singer and telling to her face that she wants her?
And why am I not freaking out? Why am I acting in a way that is so unlike me?
And the million dollar question: why did I feel her answer?
“Do you want to get out of here?”, I ask, abruptly.
“Not really”, she says. “I do need to go to the restroom though. Wanna come?”
And it makes no sense for her to ask me this. I don’t move and she asks again, her voice not louder than a whisper:
“Do you want to come?”
She smirks and suddenly the hunger I saw in her eyes earlier starts to make sense.
I remember Hayden telling me she once saw a pretty girl during a concert and asked her if she could kiss her, so they ended up making out in front of everyone.
The idea passed through my head so many times but as a professional in overthinking, I soon gave up on the idea.
What if they were underage? What about the power imbalance? What would my mom think?
Gone were the days where I did things to get a reaction from her and I hated that now I actually kinda cared about what she thought. It made absolutely no sense considering I’ve been literally naked in music videos, but facing the possibility of death can do some things to you and apparently start caring about what your mother thinks of you is one of them.
This is not a concert though. It’s a bar. And she’s definitely not underage.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol - the absence of it - or how she’s looking at me or the fact I’m done with Felix or the fact I suddenly miss Isa or the fact she’s so beautiful but next thing I know her hands are holding mine and I’m following her into the restroom in the back of the bar.
Once we’re inside, I look around, trying to keep myself aware of my surroundings. It’s a small cubicle with one toilet, a huge mirror just above the sink, a small window and pink walls covered with stickers. I stare into the mirror for a second and then I wash my hands, scrubbing the ‘don’t’ off the left one.
She’s watching as I dry my hands on my suit and move closer to the wall to take a better look at the stickers. One of them says “God has a plan to kill me” and I remember having that one in the cover of the notebook I used to write most of Lungs on.
I turn around once I hear her locking the door and my eyes follow her as she gets closer to the sink and stares directly at me through the mirror while she too washes her hands.
“Right. So, just to get this clear: you’re Florence Welch.”
“I am Florence Welch.”
“You’re a famous singer.”
“I’m a singer, yes.”
“And you know I’m a fa- an admirer. Of your work, face… and body”, she checks me out from head to toe, now drying her hands.
“Yes. I’m aware.”
“You’re also aware I didn’t ask you to come here so you could watch me pee, right?”
I stare at her, my mouth suddenly dry.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
There are a million ways I could answer that. Why is any of us here anyway?
But she is not being philosophical.
“Because you’re about to turn your fantasy into reality.”
She frowns at the word “fantasy” but decides not to argue. Instead, she walks towards me and I simultaneously give a step back, my back pressed against the wall.
She’s close enough for me to notice everything I couldn’t moments ago.
Her dress is not Dance Fever style. In fact, it’s not a dress. It’s a skirt.
She’s wearing very light makeup. Her nails are short and painted black. She’s wearing a delicate necklace. She has a killer smile.
“And do you want that? To turn my… uhm… fantasy into reality?”, she asks, touching my face softly.
I want to say it - I want to say yes, but I can’t find my voice. So instead, I pull her by the waist and kiss her.
It’s the first time I kiss a woman in God knows how long and as it always happens whenever I do it, I wonder why the hell am I not doing this all the time.
Her lips are soft but the kiss is not gentle at all. It’s intense and passionate and her tongue moves against mine in a way that says “you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this”. I’ve waited too, in a way I can’t quite explain.
She suddenly bites into my lower lip - soft enough not to hurt but strong enough for a moan to escape my mouth and when it does, I can feel her nails digging into my legs, which only makes me moan louder.
Her body feels warm against mine and it feels like every curve fits mine perfectly. It’s like she was made for me and I was made for her and we were both made for this moment.
I need her to touch me, I need her to touch my skin but there are too many clothes between us so I start to get rid of my suit coat doing my best not to separate our lips but failing miserably, and when the coat falls on the floor, she goes from laughing at my struggle to breaking the kiss, horrified.
“Please tell me I’m imagining things and you did not throw two months of my salary on the floor.”
“I… it wasn’t that expensive.”
She stares at me.
“Ok, just a tiny bit.”
She takes the suit from the floor and hangs it on the actual hook that is on the wall.
“You might want to do it with this one too, I guess”, I say as I start unbuttoning my shirt.
Her gaze follows my hand and once I take the shirt off, she’s left speechless at the realization that I’m not wearing a bra.
“Fuck it”, she says as she grabs the shirt from my hand and throws it away, her lips crashing against mine. It’s all tongue and teeth and touch and for a moment I really wish she had allowed me to take her somewhere else. I have more money than I can spend and there’s nothing I’d like more than to be doing all of this in a fancy hotel room with a king size bed where I could properly get her on her stoma-
“You are so breathtaking”, she whispers against my lips. “You are so fucking breathtaking.”
As my hands cup her ass, hers cup my breasts, fingers gently pinching around my hardened nipples. Something is burning inside of me - there’s a furious fire starting at the very pit of my stomach and slowly spreading to every single part of me.
Her mouth moves from my lips to my chin, from my chin to my throat and then to my collarbone.
“You are too”, I say as she reaches one of my nipples and closes her mouth around it. “I’ve always thought you are beautiful. If I had ever decided to pull an Ethel and kiss someone during a concert, it would have been-”, she softly bites my nipple and then pulls it, “shit, it would have been you.”
She looks up with a devilish smile and then moves to the other nipple, her nails digging into my sides.
Her mouth is hot on my skin and my mind goes back to the thought of the hotel room and how badly I want that hot mouth somewhere else.
She then slips back up and lands her lips against my ear.
“I’m glad to know you’d have chosen me”, she bites my earlobe. “It really turns me on to know that.”
“Good”, I bite her neck.
“I’m going to fuck you now, is that okay?”, she whispers, sending a shiver down my spine and heat between my legs. I kiss her again and then I break the contact, staring at her.
I memorize every detail of her face as I take her right hand into mine and bring it to my mouth, closing my lips around her fingertips.
She closes her eyes for a second and then forces herself into keeping them open, watching attentively as I suck her fingers and then move her hand down slowly.
I don’t let go as I guide her straight into my pants and then my knickers.
“Fuck”, she says as she notices how wet I am. “You feel so good.”
“I want you to remember this moment”, I say, still holding her hand. “I want you to remember how I feel”, I move her hand to her own lips, “and how I taste.”
As she tastes me on her own fingers, I can see the hunger in her eyes is now sharing space with shock and yearning and something else entirely that I can’t quite name.
It’s a look that stays there while she turns me around, pressing her body against mine while my cheek touches the wall.
One that I can’t see when she pulls my hair and kisses the back of my neck, her lips replaced by her tongue as she trails a line down my spine.
One that burns me when she pushes the hem of my pants and knickers until they’re both on my feet.
One that electrifies me when I take a step and kick them aside.
One that makes me go absolutely insane when I turn around again and see her on her knees, kissing my ankles and my knees and the inner part of my thigh until she’s between my legs, her face inches from where I want her.
Her grip on my thighs tighten and my body trembles as I feel her steady breath on my exposed folds.
“Please”, I beg. The wait is agonizing.
One second. Two. Ten.
She then flicks her tongue and drags it along my slit.
I drap my leg over her shoulder, grinding my hips against her mouth.
Her moves are slow. She drags her tongue in upwards strokes and stops whenever she reaches my clit so she can press down on it. She then releases it and goes back to where she started, her tongue delving into my cunt for a second before drawing upwards again.
She takes her time and I swear Heaven is here.
But so is Hell and I need her, I need her inside of me, I need her to utterly fill me and destroy me.
She rests a finger at my entrance and moves it slowly. My breathing is unsteady when she locks her lips around my throbbing clit and sucks on it. I grab her hair and she slowly slides two fingers inside of me.
I can sense her grinning when she hears the moan that escapes my throat. Her tongue swirls around my clit and her fingers keep going in and out, building up speed. I'm rocking against her, my eyes already filled with tears and I can feel my wetness slicking down to her wrist.
She’s going so fast but not fast enough and it’s so good, it’s so fucking good, her tongue feels so good on me and I know I won’t last much but I’m trying, I’m trying to make this moment last forever because God knows what will happen when it’s over and I need this, I need to let go, I need to be fucked as if tomorrow will never come.
“Harder-”, I ask, my voice between a plea and a howl. “Fuck me harder-”
And she does. She adds a third finger and my back arches when she uses the other hand to grab my ass.
“Like this, yes”, I say and then she looks at me.
She fucking looks at me and when her eyes meet mine, my body breaks.
I come for what feels like ages, her fingers steady inside of me as she waits for me to come back - and when she finally pulls them out, the tears in my eyes finally roll down my face.
She gently moves my leg from her shoulder and spreads my wetness on my stomach, licking it up until she’s on my breasts. She kisses each nipple and goes up again until she’s kissing me.
It’s slow this time. Passionate. Caring. Loving.
Once we break the kiss, she just stares at me - half smiling, half crying too.
“Are you okay?”, she asks.
“Better than I’ve been in ages”, I say and it’s true.
“Good. It makes me happy to see you’re happy.”
I smile as I bring her closer and hug her.
“I can’t believe I’ve been fucked in a bathroom. Last time this happened I was in college-”, and suddenly I realize that this it’s not true. The last time it happened was during the Grammys, with Isa.
I shake my head, trying to send the thought away.
“So… you’re wearing too many clothes, don’t you think?”, I say as I softly bite her earlobe.
“Uhm… Yes. But this is not happening tonight.”
“Why not?”, I can hear my own disappointment.
“Because people have knocked on the door and I’m pretty sure there must be a rule or something about using the bathroom for sex instead of allowing customers to use it for… well, bathroom things.”
“I didn’t hear anything”, I say.
“That’s because you were too concentrated on panting”, she laughs.
“Okay”, I pout. “Before I put my clothes back on and we leave this bathroom, I need to say you gave me one of the best orgasms of my life. So thank you.”
“You’re thanking me for an orgasm?”
“A good one, yes.”
“That’s very polite.”
“I’m british. That’s what I do.”
She laughs again.
“Before you put your clothes back on and we leave this bathroom, I also need to say something.”
I don’t even have time to process her words because next thing I know, she’s holding my hand and guiding them between my legs.
“I want you to remember this moment too”, she uses her hand to slowly move mine against my already dripping sex. “I want you to remember how you felt. And I want you to remember me.”
“I won’t forget you”, I say as I start fucking myself. She lets go of my hand and uses hers to cup both of my breasts. “I can’t forget you”, I slide a finger inside with one hand and rub my clit with the other as she pinches my nipples.
“Good. Next time we meet, you better Dream Girl Evil me”, she says, her mouth on my nipples, and I want to laugh, I really do, but I can’t because I’m getting closer to coming again and my body is too tense to even think-
“Yes, I will, I’ll do whatever you want me to”, she bites my nipple and my fingers go faster. My eyes wide shut. “I’ll do whatever you want-”, and when I’m about to call her by her name, it hits me that I don’t know what she’s called.
“Gosh, I didn’t ask your name-”, fuck, I’m coming.
“It’s-”
There is a noise. An annoying, loud one and I can’t hear her.
The noise gets louder and repetitive and I want it to stop but it doesn’t.
There’s light too. And it’s bright. Too bright.
I slowly open my eyes and then I realize I’m not in a bathroom.
I’m in my bed.
No one is here. I’m alone. As alone as I’ve been living for the past years.
The alarm finally stops as I feel the last shakes from my orgasm, my pussy clenching around two of my fingers.
It’s desperate and divine.
I remove them slowly and clean them on the sheets as I sit on my bed, trying to grasp my mind around the fact that the past hours only happened inside of my head.
She exists though. I know she does because I know her face.
And I know I will see her again.
I laugh. And then I cry.
I take my phone from under my pillow and scroll through my contacts until I reach “H”.
Hayden.
I laugh again as I type.
“Remember the kissing a fan talk?”
“I dooo”, she replies.
“You won’t believe what just happened.”