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Breanna’s breath hits Nyro’s face like a battering ram. She can taste the fireball on it. She smells like cinnamon if it was evil. Nyro’s eyes squint against the hot air and she can’t hide it when her lips pull into a grimace. Breanna doesn’t seem to notice. Her hands fall onto the bed beside Nyro, and Nyro leans back with her. Her eyes feel heavy. The lingering taste of whatever kind of vodka she just had makes her mouth feel hostile.
Their lips connect, unremarkably. Nyro doesn’t pull away. She pulls Breanna closer when she feels her nails slide up her hips. The zebra print duvet is soft enough, she guesses a few weeks between a wash. Nyro takes one hand and grabs at Breanna’s shirt, gently, barely. Her breath hitches at the slight scratch of her long acrylics as they pass up her torso.
They play at the hem of Nyro’s tight crop top, a shirt a size too small. She never cared about that. If she could fit it, she would wear it. Especially if it read Fall Out Boy on the front. Breanna pushes past the fabric when Nyro continues to kiss back.
Nyro can hear Breanna murmur something sultry. Nyro’s not wearing a bra. Breanna notices. The word slut lingers on her tongue when her fingers pass over her nipple. Nyro thinks she heard her mention something about her wanting this. Nyro hates how she sucks in a breath. She hates how her body shutters. She doesn’t really hear Breanna, whatever she’s saying. She never really liked it when she would call her a slut, anyway.
Chip never called her a slut. Her mind wanders. She misses Chip.
Nyro’s eyes flutter close as Breanna continues to run her hands along her body. She pushes her shirt up. Nyro thinks about how Chip takes her shirts off from the back, pulling them over her head. She thinks about how she turns away shyly, how she laughs when Nyro compliments her. She thinks about how she would feel her up.
She thinks Chip would start at her neck. She’d kiss her, kiss her, kiss her. She’d tell Nyro about how much she loves her, about how badly she needs her. Nyro would smile and reciprocate, echoing her sentiments, she would wrap her arms around Chip’s neck. She’d get to tell Chip about how much she loves her, her big beautiful smile, her unbelievably hot body…
Breanna’s hands move to Nyro’s belt. The jangle of it almost snaps her out of her fantasy. But she persists.
She hopes Chip would bruise her. Not out of hatred. She’d bite and tear and talk about how badly she wants everyone to know you’re mine. Nyro wants to be bruised. She wants to be marked. Nyro would moan her name when her fingers slip past her underwear. She’d keep her face close to her neck and Nyro would listen to her breath catch. She’d whimper about her, relishing in the feeling of being inside. She should buy a strap on, so that Chip can rail her. She’d get the best view. Nyro would fall apart underneath her. She bets Chip would give the best aftercare. She wants
Breanna pulls back. She says something. Nyro’s not listening.
“What…” Nyro mumbles, opening her eyes as if she had been rudely awakened from the best dream of her life.
“You said something,” Breanna repeats herself. Nyro’s head falls back and forth in a sort-of shake.
“N… What did I say?” Nyro’s gut twists. She hopes she wasn’t dreaming out loud. She really, really hopes she wasn’t dreaming out loud!
“I didn’t hear you.” Nyro can tell Breanna’s lying from the way she backs up. It’s sobering. Nyro feels like she fucked up big time. She knows she did. She knew she was fucked by the moment she texted Breanna back.
Nyro is quiet. Her mind keeps trailing back to Chip. Chip this, Chip that. God, she needs to see her. She can’t think.
“Look… I don’t - I don’t think I can…” Nyro stumbles over her words, “I think I need to go home… I’m - I’m gonna… call Chip - um, - Chrissy… and ask her to pick me up…”
Breanna backs up off of Nyro. Her lips move, she can tell she’s saying something venomous. That’s just like you, maybe. Of fucking course you are, even. Her hand wipes her mouth off and Nyro reaches to feel her neck, to double check if she had given her any hickies. She really hopes she didn’t. Breanna never usually does. She looks at Nyro carefully, and Nyro fumbles with her belt under her burning gaze. She’s so, so fucked.
Nyro doesn’t say anything. She can tell Breanna’s just sitting there, cross-legged on her bed.
She thinks Chip would help her put her clothes back on.
There it is again.
Nyro rushes to get her stuff together. She swipes an extra little bottle of fireball and tosses it in with her notebook and film camera. They were supposed to work on her stupid film. Nyro thinks it’s stupid. It’s too late to go back. She just wishes Chip would’ve been there to help her with it from day one, then she wouldn’t have had to keep talking to Breanna. It’s too late to scrap it all. She has to keep talking to her. They’re just a little over halfway done. It’s June and she doesn’t want to keep doing this into the new year.
Breanna doesn’t say anything as Nyro leaves. She closes her bedroom door behind her, then her apartment door, as she’s fumbling for Chip’s contact. Her phone’s on ten percent. Her contact photo stares at her, wide eyed, with a dog half in frame. She wants to cry. She needs to cry.
The next thing she knows, Chip is answering the phone, happier than ever to get a call from Nyro.
“Hi, Nyro!” Nyro listens as a warm feeling washes over her soul. She takes slow steps down the apartment complex stairs.
“Chip,” Nyro feels her voice get caught in her throat. Some lyric about this flashes in her head and she can’t remember where she’s heard it before. “Hi. Hi, um… Can you, um, can you come pick me up… from Breanna’s place?”
Something jingles from the other side of the phone. She can imagine Chip swiping her keys out of their designated place and rushing to put her shoes on and get out to her car.
“Yes, yes, of course, yes, I’ll be right there,” her tone is much more serious, “is everything okay?”
“Yeah, I just - I’m drunk…” Nyro looks out the front windows and feels her heart ache for a summer that doesn’t hurt.
“Okay. I’m staying over tonight.” She can hear her engine rev.
Nyro likes how confident Chip is. She likes how she invites herself in. She likes how she worms her way into Nyro’s every thought. She can’t get rid of her. She wouldn’t ever want to.
“Thank you.”
It takes a little under fifteen minutes for Chip’s Toyota to pull up by the sidewalk. Nyro feels like she’s manually picking her feet up and putting them forward. Her backpack weighs her down with barely anything inside. She didn’t even pack an extra outfit. She wasn’t keen on staying the night. Why did she start drinking? Nyro watches as Chip opens her passenger side door from the driver’s seat. She wonders if her mascara makes it clear she’s fucked up. She wonders if it’s hot. She wonders if Chip would like how her mascara ran during sex. She wonders…
Nyro melts into the passenger seat. Chip grabs her backpack and sets it down in the backseat. What’s that saying about nice guys? Nyro thinks it applies to Chip, in a good way. She wishes she had just told her she liked her. Maybe she wouldn’t be fucked up on a Tuesday night in the middle of June. Maybe she would, actually - but she’d be with Chip. Nyro thinks about how much it would cost to transfer to Ohio State. Maybe Chip has some extra space in her closet.
The engine revs again as the car gets moving. Nyro can barely feel it when Chip shifts from gear to gear. She drives slowly, she opens her windows. She’s so considerate. Nyro stares at her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She hears Chip offer. Nyro tries to smile at Chip when she glances at her in the passenger seat. “Hey, put your seatbelt on.”
Nyro complies. “I don’t…” she trails off. Chip turns her music down. Nyro wants it back up. Understanding in a Car Crash. She’s not allowed to listen to that music when she drives. Chip’s too worried she’ll actually crash the car. I don’t want to feel this way forever.
“I don’t know. I don’t like Breanna that much anymore,” Nyro finally gets a sentence or two out.
Chip acts appalled, “What? What did she say?” She sounds like she can’t believe it. She also sounds like she saw this coming back in high school. Nyro closes her eyes and thinks about how Chip would tell her she doesn’t like Breanna. She got really upset when Breanna dyed her hair her favorite kind of blue. Nyro felt awful, since it was her suggestion. It was subconscious - Nyro didn’t consider it her fault, since she didn’t exactly know she was thinking about Chip and that skin-tight blue cami. Whatever. It’s not like she can convince Breanna on anything anymore.
Nyro holds her tongue.
“Come on, what’d she say?”
The passing headlights light Chip’s face up and she can see every freckle. They’re prominent. She’s been outside more, lately. Nyro wonders what she gets up to. She can tell she wants Nyro to be okay. Nyro can feel her heart physically pull towards Chip.
“She just - I don’t know, she’s not nice…” It might be the alcohol that gives her the guts to admit the next part, “she calls me a slut whenever we hook up…”
Chip drives a little faster. Not on purpose. She can see her expression twist and a snarl cross her teeth and she looks like she’s about to turn the car around and shoot Breanna in the head. Nyro looks miserable, like a cat that just fell into the bath.
“Why would she even call you that?”
“We didn’t even have sex… I just - she - when she said that, I just… I don’t know… I think I said something, I can’t… I don’t remember,” Nyro tries adding some context. It’s not very helpful.
“You’re literally not anywhere near slutty! You - You’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen, Nyro!” Chip shifts into third to get up a hill. She can feel the emotion in it. “You’ve only ever dated her! The - straight up, the definition of slut is having sex with a lot of people. I would know if you hooked up with more people!” Chip rants. Nyro wants to hide forever.
“I’m sorry,” she hears Chip apologize softly, “I don’t… I didn’t mean to get like that. She - Everything Breanna says makes me mad. I’m sorry.”
Chip looks over at Nyro and she can’t take her eyes off of Chip. She wants to drown in an icy lake. She wants to get lost and never come home. She wants to kiss Chip and yank on her hair and shove her into her bed and rail her until she begs to come. She wants to bite her and bruise her and choke her and make her cry and bleed, just to lick her wounds and tell her how much of a good girl she is. She wants to carve her own skin off and drain her blood into the Ohio river. This is the worst summer of her life.
“It’s okay,” then, softly, “she makes me mad, too…”
Chip reaches over to hold Nyro’s hand. She wishes she would put her hand on her thigh instead. Her inner thigh. Dangerously close to the fly of her jeans. Chip takes her hand away to shift and Nyro sinks down lower in her seat.
They turn into Nyro’s apartment complex. She’s never wanted to go inside more in her life. Nyro fumbles to undo her seatbelt, but by the time she’s out of it, Chip has already opened her door, Nyro’s backpack in her hand and her own over her shoulder. She offers her hand, and Nyro takes it without hesitation. Standing up is kind of like climbing a ladder right now.
They get inside and Nyro nearly rips her shirt off and kicks her jeans off just to climb into a partially unmade bed. She barely hears Chip gasp and apologize for seeing her chest. What Chip doesn’t realize is that if Nyro was in a better mood, she’d be crawling onto her lap and taking her shirt off in front of her, pouting her lips and batting her eyelashes. Nyro curls up, legs pulled up to her chest, and faces her window. She can feel Chip’s eyes on the back of her head. She can feel Chip’s lips pursed in a worried frown. She can feel her eyebrows furrow. Nyro closes her eyes and listens to bags rustle and water pour into a glass.
“Hey,” she feels the bed sink by her feet, which would be more like her hips if her legs weren’t pulled up to her chest. “I got you water. It’s, um, I put it on your nightstand. Uh…” she can hear Chip scratch her head. “Do you… need anything else?” Chip asks, hesitantly, as if she doesn’t know what to do. Nyro doesn’t know what to do either.
Nyro can’t really imagine aftercare without having sex. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, considering she never really got any from Breanna. Unless you count a glass of water.
“I want you,” Nyro mutters, under her breath, as quiet as she can.
“What?”
“I want you to stay.”
“I am, remember? I’ll just be over on the couch, and if you –”
“No, I - Chip, I want you to sleep with me,” Nyro winces, “I mean, I want you to be with me,” she winces again, “I mean, I –”
Despite every Freudian slip ever happening, Chip puts a hand on Nyro’s leg and tells her she’ll be right back. Nyro groans, whines, anything to avoid using her words to tell Chip to hurry up. Within mere minutes, Chip is crawling into bed with Nyro. It feels tentative, the shyness radiating off of Chip, much like the heat she brings with her.
They’ve had sleepovers where they’ve had to share a bed before. They’ve just stuck to their own sides, sleeping facing away from each other, desperately trying not to touch each other or give the wrong impression. When Nyro got her couch, Chip took it upon herself to sleep there out of respect for Nyro’s privacy and space. Nyro missed her being inches away.
She feels Chip reach out to run her fingers through her hair. In an instant, Nyro uncurls, melting, shivering when Chip’s nails scratch her scalp. She leans her head back to encourage more.
Chip takes that as a sign to come closer, and soon, her bare legs are touching Nyro’s in a pseudo-spooning position. Chip remains upright to continue playing with Nyro’s hair as efficiently as possible, but presses her legs against Nyro’s. Nyro needs this. She never realized how badly she needed this.
She wants to see Chip play with her hair. She wants to see her expression. Is it needy? Is it enamoured? Is she swallowing thickly, in disbelief that she’s actually touching Nyro like this? Or is she relaxed, just doing a friendly duty? Chip isn’t girly enough for this to just be a girls thing, right? Nyro hopes it’s romantic. She wants it to be romantic. She intertwines their legs and Chip doesn’t move away.
She wants to tell Chip right then and there that she broke up with Breanna all those years ago to date her, that she’s been in love with her since high school and has been too scared to say it. She wants to tell her that she wants to go to sleep like this and wake up like this and live like this every fucking day of her life. She wants to come home to a chilled apartment and soft sheets and a made bed and crawl into Chip’s arms and connect like puzzle pieces.
Maybe this is aftercare. Maybe she can be comforted without having to be fucked. She still wants to, don’t get her wrong. She craves Chip carnally, she wants to worship her and be worshipped and tell her how badly she needs her on a daily basis. But with her hangover seeping in, she just wants Chip as she is now: warm and soft and comforting.
Nyro meekly speaks up, “Chip?”
“Yeah, Ny?” Chip’s voice is soft and a little raspy from her allergies. It’s the cutest thing Nyro’s ever heard in her life.
I love you. “Thank you for coming to get me.”
Nyro can almost hear the I love you, too. Maybe it's just what she wants to hear, though. She can never truly know anything. “Any time.” Chip sinks down to wrap her arms around Nyro’s stomach, careful to not brush against her chest. Nyro can feel a tear slip down her face - the first time she’s cried in months, no matter how badly she’s needed to. “I mean it, seriously. I’ll always be here for you.”
The heat radiating off of Chip, the smell of her cologne, her breath on her back, it’s all Nyro’s ever wanted. And the guilt of fooling around with Breanna when Chip’s been right there the entire time is going to eat her alive.