Chapter Text
“So?” Carol asked nervously, chewing on her thumbnail. “What do you think?”
Helen closed the spiral-bound notebook in her hands and set it aside, capping a felt-tipped red pen and tucking it behind her ear.
“It’s a good start,” she said gently. Carol groaned loudly.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s my second round of revisions.”
“No, I mean, it’s good enough, Carol. I just think you can do better,” Helen shrugged.
“But I don’t need to, do I?” Carol groused, leaning back on the couch and crossing her arms. “It’ll be fine as it is. Probably a B paper.”
“Yeah, sure, it’s fine. But it could be an A paper. I think in the latter half, when you’re trying to tie up all your threads, it gets a little hazy. After you talk about the Berlin-Kay theory but before you get into ‘lexicalization of the color space,’ I think you could probably use another paragraph explaining Deutscher’s criticisms and the role of linguistic relativity.”
Carol buried her face in her hands. “Ughhh.”
“If you didn’t want feedback, you shouldn’t have asked me to read it,” Helen pointed out.
“I wanted you to say it was perfect and well-written and I’m the best boy,” Carol grumbled.
“It’s not perfect. It’s pretty well-written. And you are the best boy,” Helen said. She picked up Carol’s hand from the couch and raised it to her lips, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles.
“Maybe this whole community college thing was a mistake,” Carol mused. “I thought I was a better writer when people weren’t reading my shit all the time.”
“It’s good for you,” Helen said. “Besides, if you want to be an author, the whole point is that people will be reading your shit all the time.”
Carol shot her a dirty look, but said nothing. Helen was right. As she so often was.
“Whatever,” Carol said, popping up off the couch. “You want another beer?”
Helen looked over at the clock. Eleven p.m., Sunday night.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” she said evenly.
“Suit yourself,” Carol said, swinging open the fridge door and retrieving a frosty bottle from its depths. She popped it open, flicking the bottlecap into the trash with practiced precision, and collapsed back onto the couch. She took a deep swig.
They had grown quite comfortable in one another’s presence in the couple months they’d been seeing each other. Carol had stopped calling before showing up at Helen’s apartment, instead announcing her arrival with a knock at the door. Usually, Helen was standing there, towel over her shoulder and wooden spoon in hand, something aromatic wafting from the kitchen. For her part, Carol supplied the drinks, arriving with a six pack in her hand or a bottle under her arm.
Carol would stay for dinner. They’d have a drink and then sex, and if neither of them had class in the morning, Carol would stay over, squeezing onto Helen’s tiny mattress between her body and the wall.
It often took Carol a long time to fall asleep. Not because she wasn’t comfortable—in fact, there were few places she felt as at ease—but because she could hardly stand to take a moment of it for granted. She was afraid that when she fell asleep, Helen would sneak away, leaving her to wake up cold and alone. Of course, she never did: more often than not, Carol awoke with Helen’s arm draped over her side, her hand curled into the soft place between Carol’s belly and the mattress. If Carol thought about it too hard, her breathing became labored and her chest seized, too overwhelmed to process the enormous ache gripping her heart.
They were starting to creep into each other’s lives, in ways that she had neither predicted nor sanctioned. When Helen got the call that her childhood dog had died, Carol was at her apartment. She found herself cradling Helen as she cried, feeding her tissues and stroking her hair. When funny things happened at work, Carol would call Helen and relay the scenes in detail, reenacting the interactions with silly voices until Helen shook with laughter. No one had ever found Carol as hilarious as Helen seemed to. She was experiencing, for the first time, what it felt like to charm somebody.
Helen, for her part, had changed the very structure of Carol’s days by strong-arming her into getting started with the local community college.
“You’re writing all day anyway,” she’d said. “You don’t even have to get a degree out if it if you don’t want to. But take a class and see where it goes.”
Easy for you to say, Carol had thought. Carol didn’t come from a family that went to college. Helen did. Carol was convinced she couldn’t afford it. Helen made her apply for a Pell grant. When the letter came back from the government attached to a check large enough to cover her semester’s tuition at Central New Mexico Community College, she spent a week trying to talk herself out of it, swearing left right and sideways to convince herself it was a bad idea. Helen threatened to stop cooking for her if she quit.
So she cut her hours at the bar, took out a subsidized loan, and started going to college.
Carol Sturka, college student. At the ripe old age of twenty-four. It was scary, beginning anew; to learn not only the course material, but how to be a student again. Terrified of turning in a bad paper, she started asking Helen to read her assignments, and suddenly their Sunday night hangouts had become regular peer review sessions. When they’d finish with the homework, Carol would demonstrate her gratitude to Helen with her mouth.
They sat on the couch in silence for a bit, listening to the traffic passing by out the window. Carol took another swig of her beer, looking over at Helen, who was blinking slowly in an effort to stay awake.
“Sleepyhead,” she teased. “It’s early.”
“It’s late,” Helen argued, “and proofreading makes me tired.”
Carol looked away, clicking her tongue. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Not what I meant,” Helen said.
“Come here,” Carol said, raising her arm. Helen crawled closer to her, burying herself against Carol, snuggling up close into her chest. Carol thumbed her shoulder, rubbing slow circles into her soft cotton tee. Helen rested a hand on Carol’s chest, fingers splayed like she was feeling for a heartbeat. Carol sighed, feeling Helen’s head rise and fall with the heaving of her lungs.
“Busy week for you?” she asked.
“Kinda,” Helen mumbled. “Work. Class. Rehearsal. And the gig on Friday.”
Helen had often alluded to being a part of a grunge band with some of her friends from undergrad. Carol had seen the guitars in her room, but never heard her play. When she prodded Helen for details, Helen would brush her off. Oh, it’s nothing, she’d say. Just a silly little cover band. She didn’t volunteer any details and never offered to play for her (maybe due to the fact that Carol had once loudly declared that she “hates being serenaded,” recalling the memory of an ex with a bad voice and penchant for Wonderwall).
Sometimes, when Carol would get to Helen’s apartment a little early, she’d press her ear to the door before knocking. Face against the cool metal, she’d listen to Helen sing, the way her voice pitched and lowed when she didn’t think anyone was listening.
“A gig?” Carol repeated cautiously.
“Mhm,” Helen said sleepily. “Will you come?”
Carol froze, her hand stilling.
“Oh,” she said softly, resuming her thumb circles. She cleared her throat, trying not to sound too surprised. “Oh, yeah, uh. Yeah, I’d like that,” she said.
“Really?” Helen said. “‘Cause you don’t have to. If you’re busy.”
“No, no, I want to,” Carol said hurriedly. “Will your friends be there?”
“Probably,” Helen said offhandedly. “Joe, who I told you about. And Jeanette said she’d come. Plus my bandmates.”
“Right,” Carol cleared her throat. “Um. That Jeanette?”
Helen pushed herself off of Carol, sitting up so she could watch her face.
“Oh, come on,” Helen scoffed. “Seriously?”
“What?” Carol said defensively.
“Jeanette and I dated for like, a month. In sophomore year.”
“I was just clarifying! If it was the same Jeanette!”
“You’re jealous,” Helen said, incredulously.
“I’m not jealous,” she said jealously.
“You know we stayed friends,” Helen pointed out. “And she literally has a boyfriend now. They’ve been together for, like, two years.”
“Like I said, not jealous. Just asking,” Carol grumbled. “It’s fine. She can do whatever she wants.”
Helen looked at her, suspicion evident, but deciding to drop the matter. “Anyway,” she sighed. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah, I’m coming,” Carol said, stuffing the ‘Jeanette’ situation somewhere deep in her stomach. “Of course I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss it.” At this, Helen smiled, a broad grin from ear to ear.
“Yay,” she said, delighted. “You’ll finally get to hear me sing.” Helen snuggled back into Carol’s arms, reaching a hand around Carol’s hips. Carol smiled softly to herself, knowing Helen couldn’t see her face.
“Can’t wait,” Carol said. Her voice came out rough, like it was scraping over something she hadn’t quite swallowed. Helen’s fingers traced Carol’s thighs, slipping at the edge of her gym shorts. It was light, absentminded. A question. Half an invitation.
“You wanna—” Helen interrupted herself with a yawn, eyes squeezing shut. “You wanna have sex?”
Carol laughed. Helen was straightforward to a fault. Carol was still getting used to it.
“I think you’d fall asleep with my tongue inside you,” she managed.
“Not true,” Helen blinked. Yawned again.
“Not tonight. You seem sleepy,” Carol said, scratching her scalp. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Helen wiggled her eyebrows. “Let’s get us to bed?”
“Horndog,” Carol said. “Come here.” She stood up from the couch, leaving Helen curled up on the cushions. She looked up at Carol with curious eyes. Carol slotted her arms under her knees and shoulders.
Helen giggled. “What are you—ooh!” Grunting with effort, Carol pushed from her legs until she was standing upright, Helen cradled in her arms. Huffing and puffing, she shuffled from the couch to the bed, dropping Helen onto the comforter with an unceremonious thwump.
Helen landed like a ragdoll, all splayed out and laughing. Carol tried to pretend like she wasn’t catching her breath.
“Very impressive, baby,” Helen said, rolling over to drop her glasses on the nightstand. Carol felt her heart skip a beat.
“I’m gonna go get ready for bed,” she mumbled, turning her back to Helen so that she couldn’t see her pinkening face.
In the bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, avoiding her own eyes in the mirror as she did so. Like a dog who knew he was in trouble, she kept her head down, her gaze low. Layer by layer, she stripped the grease of the day away, rubbing at the crease of her nose, behind her ears, until she smelled like water instead of skin. She put the toothbrush back in her overnight bag. She rinsed her hair out of the sink. She left no trace of herself in Helen’s home.
As she reached to turn off the light, she caught her own gaze in the mirror. Guilty, almost. Wanting. She stared herself down, brows furrowing with discipline.
“Be careful,” she murmured. A warning to her poor heart. Then she blinked off the light and her face disappeared.
Stepping back into the bedroom, she saw that Helen had assumed the shape of a roly-poly.
“Hel?” she said, slipping her shirt off she walked. No response.
Helen’s back was turned to her, but Carol peered over her shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. Her ribcage rose and fell in an even rhythm. She had fallen asleep.
Carol peeled the sheets back and tucked her in, floating the covers down so they settled smoothly over her sleepy limbs like a blanket of snow. Carol stood there for a moment, watching her unconscious hands nestle into the comforter, the way her face burrowed slightly into the pillow. Carol was struck by the overwhelming desire to keep watch: to stand by her bedside with a sword and shield, prepared to fight off all the dark terrors of the night. To keep Helen’s dreams safe and sweet.
She knew if she crawled into bed it would wake her. Carol couldn’t bear the thought. She grabbed a throw blanket from the closet, flicked off the light, and went to sleep on the couch.
…
Carol leaned up against the bar, grimacing as her arm landed in something wet. She raised her drink to her mouth, taking a sip as she surveyed the venue. People were beginning to filter in at a greater clip, paying their cover at the door and walking in with smeary, indecipherable stamps on the backs of their hands. Carol didn’t recognize anyone. The crowd seemed young, for the most part, and dressed in the kind of clothes that Helen liked to wear: stompy black combat boots, ratty graphic tees, ripped jeans and flannels. Helen told her that she’d come say hi before the show started; Carol was nervously awaiting that moment, people watching to kill the time.
Suddenly, she felt a hand land on her waist. She whipped around, fists raised, prepared to relocate the nose of whatever ugly man was feeling her up—only for her eyes to land on Helen, nearly unrecognizable in stage makeup.
“Oh,” Carol said, expression dissolving into relief as her fists dropped to her sides. “Hi Helen.”
“Hey there, Rocky,” Helen said, eyes wide. “Just me.”
“Sorry,” Carol said. “You look…wow.”
Helen’s eyes were heavily lidded with black eyeliner, her brows drawn darker than usual and lips coated in maroon lipstick. Her blue eyes seemed to glow with their own light from under the severe makeup, and she had teased her hair so that spiky strands framed her face. She was striking.
“Like what?” Helen prodded, brows knitting.
“Like a rockstar,” Carol said. Helen smiled. “You excited?”
“Yeah, ready to get going. Soundcheck was kind of a mess, but—oh, hey! Joe! Jeanette!” Helen waved, having spotted her friends on the other side of the bar. A tall, lanky man and short, slight blonde woman made their way through the crowd, emerging next to Helen and Carol. Carol’s chest clenched as Helen’s hand vanished from the small of her back.
“Hey, H-bomb, how’s it hanging?” The man grinned, reaching out to Helen and performing what appeared to Carol as an elaborate handshake. Carol eyed him with caution, arms crossed.
“Helen! You’re a star!” The girl said, squealing and leaning in to kiss Helen on the cheek. Carol hated her immediately.
“Ugh, so good to see you guys, thanks for coming,” Helen smiled. “Jeanette, Joe, this is Carol. Carol, Jeanette and Joe.” Carol didn’t budge. Helen subtly pressed her forward with a hand to the back.
“Hi,” Carol said awkwardly.
“Nice to meet you, Carol,” Joe nodded, extending his hand. Carol grasped it firmly, and Joe smiled. “I like your hat.” Carol, having forgotten what she was wearing, felt around on top of her head until she remembered that she was wearing her Isotopes gear.
“Thanks,” Carol said begrudgingly. “You a baseball fan?”
“Dodgers, baby,” Joe said. “You?”
“Reds,” Carol said.
“Lucky you,” Joe said. “Good times lately.”
“Can’t complain,” Carol admitted. In spite of herself, she sensed she was warming up to the guy.
“So nice to finally meet you, Carol,” Jeanette said sweetly, butting in. She was around Carol’s height, but slimmer, with long, voluminous blonde hair that cascaded past her shoulders. She wore a low-slung tee that revealed plenty of cleavage and plenty of shoulder with a short jean skirt over holey black stockings. “I’ve heard so much about you from Helen.”
Carol immediately turned to shoot Helen a stare, like What on earth does that mean and what have you been saying to your ex-girlfriend about me. Helen wasn’t looking, though, instead negotiating with the bartender for another pre-show gin and tonic.
“How do you two know each other?” Joe asked, completely oblivious to the tension materializing between Carol and Jeanette.
“Oh, uh…” Carol stumbled, foolishly not having thought to prepare an answer. “We met at the bar. Hit it off.”
“That’s tight,” Joe nodded sagely. Carol was reminded why she so often got along with men: their complete incuriosity was just so compatible with her desire to reveal nothing about herself to anyone.
“And you and Helen?” Carol remembered to ask, doing her best to be reciprocal.
“Ah, we used to play ultimate frisbee together on the quad,” Joe said. “And drink. A lot of drinking.”
“I can get down with that,” Carol said, raising her bottle and tapping it to Joe’s with a gentle clink.
“Helen and I are ex-lovers,” Jeanette helpfully supplied, though Carol hadn’t asked. Carol turned to her, teeth clenched and smile mangled into something closely resembling a grimace.
“Oh? She didn’t mention,” Carol lied.
“But I’m not a lesbo anymore,” Jeanette continued like Carol hadn’t said anything. “I found a real nice guy. No more fooling around with that dyke stuff for me.”
Carol resisted the urge to slap the fake lashes off of Jeanette’s powdery face. She might not have managed to if Helen had been back even a second later from the bar.
“Heyyy,” Helen said, sing-songy. “It’s about time for me to head on back.”
“You got this,” Joe said, offering Helen a fistbump.
“Break a leg,” grinned Jeanette, proffering another cheek kiss. Helen accepted both warmly, all fluttery with pre-show jitters; Carol noticed that Jeanette’s red lipstick had left a kiss-shaped mark on Helen’s face. The pit in her stomach expanded dramatically, filling itself with a rising tide of hate and black tar. Helen turned to Carol expectantly, oblivious to the lipstick mark and Carol’s seething jealousy.
As fiery as she felt, though, Carol took one look into Helen’s eyes and felt her anger fall away. Under the eyeliner and bravado, she saw that Helen—charismatic, confident, smooth-talking Helen—was nervous. Carol softened.
“Come here,” she said, and opened her arms. Helen nearly threw herself into them, squeezing Carol with all her might. Her long brown hair shielded Carol’s lips from prying eyes as she pressed them to Helen’s ear.
“You’ll be wonderful,” Carol whispered. She gave her the tightest hug she could muster, trying to impress into her with her arms what she could not say with her words: I’m rooting for you. I think I’m crazy about you. I might kill Jeanette.
When Helen withdrew, for one moment, it was as though they were the only two in the room. Then the reverie shattered, interrupted by the whine of microphone feedback and the thump-thump of the kickdrum as the percussionist settled into place.
Joe wasn’t paying the two of them any mind, instead hooting and hollering for Helen’s bandmates as they appeared on stage. Jeanette eyed Carol suspiciously, but said nothing.
“Gotta run,” Helen said, casting Carol one last long look. Carol smiled.
“Go get ‘em, tiger,” she said.
And Helen disappeared into the crowd.
…
Carol waited in the alley, one foot kicked up against the wall. The show had ended maybe a half hour ago and the venue was beginning to clear out, drunken twenty-somethings stumbling out onto the sidewalk headed to darker and smaller bars. Jeanette left before the band had finished playing, yelling something to Carol about meeting her boyfriend elsewhere in the middle of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Carol was relieved to see her go, and to be left with the amicable and harmless Joe, who seemed to be enjoying himself.
“You headed out?” He’d asked, gesturing to the door after the band finished and the lights came on. “I’d stick around, but I’ve got work in the morning.”
Carol had shaken her head. “Nah,” she said. “I’ll wait for Helen. Walk her home.”
Joe had cocked his head slightly, like he was about to say something but thought better of it. “Right on,” he’d nodded after a moment. “Good to meet you, Carol. See you ‘round.”
So Carol was left alone in the bar as Helen and her bandmates packed up their gear. She knocked back a drink in the meantime and considered picking up another, but thought better of it. Helen looked like she’d had a few on stage, and Carol wanted to be the more sober of the two for their walk back to Helen’s.
The night air was cool and thin. Carol’s tee, soaked with sweat down her back from the heat of the pit, dried cold and stiff pressed between her skin and the brick wall. She wasn’t a smoker, so she felt a bit silly, standing there with nothing to keep her hands busy. She watched the moths circling the streetlight. They disappeared into the night the second they floated out of the beam.
She replayed it over and over again in her head: Helen’s hand disappearing from her waist. Jeanette leaning in to greet Helen with a kiss. Helen and I are ex-lovers. The mark on her cheek. And Carol, standing there, stupid and foolish for expecting anything different. Her chest ached; something between anger and embarrassment. Something that made her stomach sick and her face flush.
She wanted Helen’s lipstick marks on her cheek. She wanted Helen hanging off her arm. She wanted Helen’s hand, lingering soft on the small of her back.
She was terrified of getting it.
Finally, as Carol’s feet were beginning to ache and her buzz was beginning to fade, she heard the screech of a steel door swinging open. Helen, burst into the alley, breathless. Upon seeing Carol, she burst into a toothy smile. Carol tried to relax her shoulders. To put whatever she was feeling somewhere else, somewhere outside of her body, somewhere Helen couldn’t find it.
“Heyyyyy,” Helen grinned, sidling up to Carol. “So? What’d you think?” She swung her hips into Carol’s, bumping her sideways. Carol noticed, with relief, that the lipstick mark from earlier had been sweated off.
“You’re a star,” Carol said, reaching in for a hug. Helen squeezed her tightly. “And you sounded amazing.”
“Aw, shucks,” Helen blushed, kicking shyly at the asphalt. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Carol nodded. “How do you feel?”
“Exhilarated,” Helen sighed, leaning against the wall. “Got any cigarettes?”
“Just for you,” Carol said, pulling a pack from her back pocket. Helen gratefully accepted, popping one smoothly into her mouth. She stood there with it dangling between her lips, waiting expectantly.
“What?” Carol said, raising an eyebrow.
“Aren’t you gonna light it for me?” Helen pouted, the cigarette bobbing as she spoke.
Carol sighed exaggeratedly. “I have to do everything around here.”
“Don’t even lie. You love it,” Helen mumbled, cupping the tip as Carol flicked alight the small flame with her thumb. When it caught, she inhaled deeply, puffing out her cheeks dramatically on the exhalation. The smoke curled silky and grey into the night.
“I loved watching you,” Carol admitted, looking at her feet.
“I loved knowing you were watching me,” Helen replied smoothly. When Carol went pink, she shouldered her gently. “So you had fun?” she asked.
“I did,” Carol confirmed.
“What’d you think of my friends?” Helen asked, taking another puff.
“Oh,” Carol said. “Well. Joe is a nice guy.”
“Yeah, he sure is,” Helen agreed. “We had a blast together in college. ‘Til I met you, he was the only one of my friends who could outdrink me.”
“Sounds like I gotta shotgun race this guy,” Carol said.
“I’ve no doubt you’d win.”
“Your faith in me is charming.”
“I hope not misplaced,” Helen said. Carol snorted. “And? How about Jeanette?” Helen prodded.
“Right, yeah. Jeanette,” Carol said, swallowing a bitter taste in her mouth. "Honestly didn’t get to talk with her that much. ‘Cause, you know, the show started,” Carol said coolly, which was half of the truth.
“Ah, bummer,” Helen said absentmindedly, blowing a long ribbon of smoke and staring up at the sky. Then she turned to Carol, looking pointedly into her eyes. “You want to, uh, walk me home?”
…
By the time they got back to Helen’s apartment building, the simmering resentment had bubbled up inside Carol once again. As they walked up the stairs, each bite of familiarity—the cracked laundry-room window, the flickering lamplight, the rusting, wonky handrail—filled Carol with the thrill of righteous vindication. It was Carol who was going home with Helen. Carol who carried Helen’s guitar on her back. Carol who would fuck her senseless against the wall tonight.
Helen had barely turned the lock in her door when Carol pushed her inside, slamming the door shut behind them.
“Caro—” Helen gasped, cut off when Carol’s lips crashed into hers.
“Take your shirt off,” Carol commanded, mumbling into Helen’s lips as she fumbled with the button on Helen’s jeans. Her tongue thrust into Helen’s mouth, taking, their teeth clashing as she kissed her harder than she ever had.
“Wh—” Helen started, but her speech was broken by a moan as Carol pushed her up against the wall, dropping her pants past her knees and shoving a leg between Helen’s thighs. Carol felt Helen sink down onto it immediately, spreading her legs as much as she could with her ankles cuffed together by her pants. Carol broke away from Helen’s lips, grasping her head in one strong hand and driving Helen’s jaw up and back towards the wall. She mouthed at her chin, the bump of cartilage at her larynx, the hollow at the base of her neck; when she worked her way back to Helen’s ear, scraping her teeth along the lobe, she felt Helen’s entire body shudder, legs jellified and weight dropping onto Carol’s knee. With her free hand, Carol slid her palm up beneath Helen’s shirt, groping at her breast and thumbing at her nipple through Helen’s thin bralette.
“Carol,” Helen moaned, neck completely taut as Carol ate out her ear. “Carol, what’s gotten into—oh!” she squealed as Carol bit down suddenly, her canine teeth digging into the sensitive flesh above Helen’s collarbone. Carol soothed the teething marks with her tongue, then sucked hard, determined to leave a heavy, purple bruise in her stead. “You’re gonna leave—oh, my god, Carol—you’re gonna leave a mark,” Helen managed between whimpers, hands fisting into Carol’s short-shorn hair as she held her closer against her neck.
“I sure fucking hope so,” Carol growled, pulling the skin behind Helen’s ear into her mouth, nipping with her incisors and pulsing it with her tongue. She withdrew long enough to realize that Helen had failed to remove her shirt.
“Shirt, Helen, fuck,” Carol muttered, snatching at the hem and fighting it off of Helen’s body.
“If you—” Helen sighed, hips jumping against Carol’s thigh, “—if you don’t treat my nicest bralette with a little more respect, I swear to God, you’ll never see it again.” Carol, slightly abashed, nodded.
“Whatever,” She grunted, jostling her knee into Helen’s cunt so she would stop talking. Helen gasped, and Carol felt the heat of her through her jeans, watching the way her heather grey panties dampened into black. Carol handled the bralette with slightly more care, disentangling it from Helen’s arms before she flung it to the side.
Carol was fully dressed, scarcely a hair out of place. Helen, on the other hand, was left panting and disheveled against the wall. She was completely topless, bruises blooming purple and red down her neck.
Carol couldn’t look her in the eye.
She shoved a hand between her legs, raising her gaze to Helen’s face only when her eyes had cinched shut in pleasure. Sliding her fingers against the soft swell of Helen’s labia, she watched as her face contorted in desperation. Carol avoided her clit, stimulating just around it. Her pinky finger ghosted at the sensitive skin of Helen’s inner thigh, catching in her soft, dark curls.
Helen pulled her fingers from Carol’s hair and reached for her shirt, just beginning to tug it upward when Carol pulled her hand away and pinned it over her head.
“Don’t touch,” she murmured, voice low and unflinching.
“I’m not gonna stand here naked while you’re fully dressed,” Helen protested, allowing Carol to hold her wrist against the wall. With her unpinned hand, she slotted a finger into Carol’s beltloops, tugging her closer. This move, on any other night, was enough to melt Carol into a puddle of whimpering butch; tonight, Carol jerked away. She stepped back from the wall. Helen’s hands both dropped to their sides.
“Fine,” Carol said. “I’ll take something off.”
She reached for her waist, slow and practiced. With one hand, she unfastened her thick, worn leather belt. She’d stolen it off her dad when she was seventeen. It was made of warm brown hide, smooth but for the extra buckle hole she’d punched so it would cinch tight around her waist. She tugged it through the loops of her pants with a soft crack, then held it, coiled in her palms.
“Hands,” Carol said softly.
Helen’s eyes grew wide as saucers. She’d never seen Carol like this before. Looking her in the eyes, she wordlessly raised both arms, holding them out in front of her as though waiting to be cuffed.
“Turn around,” Carol said. Helen obeyed.
Carol dropped her gaze. She wrapped the thick leather around Helen’s wrists, weaving the belt in between them several times before she tucked the tail into the buckle. It looked bulky and uncomfortable. Helen could only watch over her shoulder, curious and confused, completely taken aback by this possessive, demanding version of Carol that had emerged from thin air.
“Step out of your pants.”
One foot at a time, Helen pulled her feet from her pant legs, then slid the jeans out of the way. She turned back to face Carol, arms pinned and tied behind her back. She was stunned into silence, so unused to Carol’s direction that she hung on to every word. With a slight twinkle in her eye, she arched her back into the wall, presenting her bare breasts to Carol.
Carol wasn’t looking. She dropped to her knees between Helen’s legs. With both hands, she gripped Helen’s thighs, digging in so firmly that Helen would wake up to finger-shaped bruises. She pulled her legs apart; Helen moved willingly, opening herself up to Carol.
Without preamble, Carol leaned in and placed her wide-open mouth onto Helen’s panties, sucking the fabric into her mouth and rubbing the flat of her tongue against the wet cotton. Helen choked back a filthy moan.
“I wanna hear you,” Carol said, voice rough and hard. “Louder, baby.”
She licked a stripe up Helen’s underwear, nosing into the peak of her clit and inhaling deeply. Helen was soaked. The scent of her arousal flooded Carol’s senses, igniting something primal inside Carol. She sucked hard, fingers bruising into Helen’s hips, feeling the way her core shook and legs quaked with each touch.
“Carol,” Helen begged, trembling against her mouth. “Please, Carol, please.” Her knees wobbled, struggling to support her weight with her arms completely disposed.
“Please what?” Carol grunted, mouthing at Helen’s labia, nipping the sensitive skin on her inner thighs.
“Take off my fucking underwear,” Helen whined.
“Do you just let anyone treat you like this?” Carol growled, running her hands up Helen’s front and squeezing her breasts, pinching roughly at her nipples. Helen keened. “Just let anyone fuck you up against the wall?”
“Nooooo,” Helen moaned, back arching into the pain. “Fuck, no, baby, just you,” she panted.
Carol finally looked up at her from her knees, blue eyes shining in the darkened apartment. Helen’s face glowed faintly with streetlight beaming through the window; Carol was shrouded completely in shadow. Neither of them had paused to turn on the light. She trailed her fingers from Helen’s breasts, digging her nails into her skin and leaving bright red streaks in their wake. She finally caught the waistband of Helen’s panties with one finger, pulling it back and releasing it with a snap. Helen twitched.
“Carol,” Helen said, throaty and raw.
“Mmm,” Carol hummed, kissing her way from the apex of Helen’s thighs to her bellybutton. Where the bone of her hip jutted out, Carol sucked her teeth into the fat.
“Stop teasing,” Helen begged.
“Oh, Helen,” Carol murmured. “I’ll show you a fucking tease.”
She opened her jaw wide, dragging her lower teeth up along Helen’s thigh until she reached the waistband of her panties. She took the elastic between her incisors, flashing her eyes up to Helen’s face, eager to see her reaction when she realized what Carol was about to do. With a tug, she dragged down Helen’s underwear by her teeth.
The fabric peeled away from her cunt, arousal stringing thick between the cotton and her vulva. When she’d pulled it as far as she could on Helen’s left, she took the other side of the underwear between her teeth, not-so-accidentally catching a roll of skin in the pinch. Helen whimpered at the sting as blood raced to the subsurface.
“Take them off take them off take them offfffff,” Helen whined, shoulders straining against the belt binding her wrists, panties still strung between her knees.
“Oh, baby,” Carol whispered, ignoring her pleas. She pressed her nose into the soft, damp curls between Helen’s legs. With two crooked fingers, she swiped roughly through her slit, gathering the wetness on their tips. “Is this all for me?” she said. Helen’s knees buckled as she keened.
“Fuck, Carol, yes.” Helen’s head dropped back, hips chasing the friction. “All for you. Fuck.”
“You sure about that?” Carol murmured, beginning to rub tight circles on Helen’s exposed clit.
“Carol, what the fuck are you talking about,” Helen groaned, trembling from her core. “If you don’t put your fingers inside of m—oh!”
Carol slid one finger, then two, into Helen’s cunt, coating them in her slick as she worked them slowly in and out of her. Curling slightly, she directed the brunt of the pressure toward the front of Helen’s pussy, stimulating the spongy tissue that made Helen see stars. Helen was nearly doubled over, fighting to keep herself from collapsing on top of Carol, arms writhing in their restraints.
“Only I get to touch you like this,” Carol murmured, fucking her harder and faster as the cadence of Helen’s moans increased. Unable to speak, Helen nodded desperately, hips meeting Carol’s fingers at a bruising tempo. Carol could feel her getting close, the way she clenched around her fingers, the way her thighs quivered. With her free hand, she gripped her ass tightly, pulling her into the thrusts. “Tell me what you need.”
“Your mouth, Carol, put your mouth on me,” Helen pleaded. “Fuck, please, baby. I’m so close.”
Having teased her for so long, Carol was loath to deny her this. She struck her clit with the flat of her tongue, holding still for Helen to grind on it, to take what she needed from Carol’s mouth. Within moments, Helen was convulsing, pussy clenching hard on Carol’s fingers as she came. Carol worked her through it, letting the wetness flood her mouth as she met her with shallower and softer thrusts.
She licked her clit until Helen was whimpering and twitching away from her tongue.
“Carol, pl—please…I’m done, I’m done,” Helen whined, trying to squeeze her thighs together and remain on her feet. Finally, Carol withdrew, panting. Her lower face was glistening with Helen’s cum, her fingers wet. She stood up from the floor, knees aching from the cool tile. She stepped into Helen, wrapping her into her arms; Helen nearly collapsed against her, hard nipples grazing the rough cotton of Carol’s tee. Her arms hung limp, still tied behind her back but no longer straining.
Carol grasped a handful of hair by the nape of her neck, pulling Helen’s head back and leaving her jaw agape.
“Clean me off,” she said, then slid her fingers into Helen’s mouth. Helen suckled eagerly, enjoying the taste of her own cum on Carol’s hand. Carol pushed them in further, pressing down on the back of her tongue until Helen gagged; then she withdrew them with a pop, dragging the wet fingers down Helen’s bare chest. “Now my face.”
Helen obeyed, closing her eyes as she did, kissing and licking and sucking over Carol’s jaw, her nose, her chin. Finally, she came to rest on Carol’s lips, where Carol met her with a soft, gentle kiss: almost chaste, almost apologetic.
“Turn around,” Carol murmured, and Helen did. She unwound the belt from Helen’s wrists, massaging the red marks where the leather had dug in. She couldn’t look Helen in the eyes. She pulled a hand to her mouth and kissed each knuckle one by one. Soft. Gentlemanly. Finally, she dropped Helen’s hand and stepped back.
Helen looked wrecked. Her wet panties still hung between her thighs. Her hair was tousled, her eyeliner smeared, her lipstick worn off and faded. Carol, meanwhile, looked as she had at the bar. Sans belt.
“Gonna get cleaned up,” Carol muttered, looking away. “Get ready for bed.”
“You don’t want me to touch you?” Helen asked. Carol could feel her gaze boring into her skull. Pointed, direct. She sensed Carol was upset about something, but wasn’t sure what. Wasn’t sure it was the time to ask, either. It was too late in the night. And too early in their hangovers.
“No,” Carol said. She shook her head. “No, I don’t.” Then she turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving Helen standing there naked and confused.
Carol flicked on the light. She washed her hands, scrubbing between her fingers, under her nails, up her wrists. She let the warm water flow over them for far longer than she needed to. Finally, she looked in the mirror. Her face was covered with Helen’s lipstick.
She brushed her teeth. Washed her face as best she could. The lipstick stubbornly clung to her skin, leaving soft maroon splotches on her cheeks and jaw.
Carol slipped out of the bathroom and Helen stepped in, trading places without a word. Carol watched the door close and heard the sound of the shower turning on. She crawled into bed, alone, and was asleep before Helen returned.
…
When Carol’s eyes blinked open, there was late-morning sun streaming brightly through the ajar window. The cool, grassy smell of morning dew floated through on the breeze, sneaking into the apartment through the two-inch gap between pane and sill. She could hear birds singing. She didn’t know their names.
She rolled over to find Helen awake next to her, propped up on a pair of pillows with a book in her hands and reading glasses sitting at the bridge of her nose. She noticed Carol stirring. Smiled.
“Hey,” Helen said.
“Hey,” Carol murmured.
“Come here.” Helen lifted her arm and Carol wriggled under it, laying her head flat on Helen’s chest so she could still read. Helen dropped the book back down and settled it onto the blankets, indeed resuming her page-turning. Carol inhaled deeply, the smell of Helen and her clean sheets filling her nose. She closed her eyes again. Rested her hand on Helen’s belly. She felt the rise and fall of it, the steady thrum of her pulse.
After some time, Helen must have finished her chapter. She closed the book, setting it to the side. Carol rolled off of her, then looked up.
“Breakfast?” Helen said. Her expression was unreadable. Carol nodded.
Helen swung her legs out of bed first, then Carol followed. Helen folded her glasses and placed them on her bedside table. Carol pulled on her shorts. They made their way to the kitchen, where Carol assumed her spot at the counter barstool. Helen had her back to Carol as she started the coffee, scooping fat piles of grounds into the filter and pressing the button. Carol could hear her heartbeat in her ears. They said nothing to each other as the coffee maker burbled and the pot filled drip-by-drip. Finally, when it was finished, Helen removed two mugs from her cupboard, filling each cup with steaming coffee. To her own, she added a splash of cream. She left Carol’s black. Just the way she liked it.
“So,” Helen said after a minute of quiet coffee sipping. “Do you wanna talk about last night?”
“Don’t know what you mean,” Carol said gruffly. She took a large swallow from the mug.
“Don’t bullshit me, Carol, c’mon. I’m not stupid.”
“Didn’t say you’re stupid,” Carol muttered.
“Can we just have a conversation?” Helen asked, bending slightly to be eye level with Carol. “Seriously. I’m just trying to figure out why you were upset.”
“What? I don’t let you fuck me for once, and suddenly I’m ‘upset?’”
“I know you,” Helen said evenly, not to be baited by Carol’s petulance. “You were off at the bar, you were off on the way home, and you were definitely off when you did…whatever all that was.”
Carol snorted.
“I can’t figure it out,” Helen said. “Things were good. I saw you before the show, then Joe and Jeanette showed up—” Helen paused. A wave of realization washed over her face, and she shook her head slightly. “Seriously?” she asked, almost laughing.
“Seriously what?”
“Jeanette? You were pissed because I invited Jeanette? Is that it?”
“I wasn’t pissed because you invited Jeanette,” Carol said, finally admitting to it. “I was pissed because she was all over you.”
“All over me? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Kissing you, leaving her lipstick on your cheek—”
“Oh my god, are you serious? What, do you think you own me or something?” Helen’s jaw dropped as she recoiled. “Is that what the whole hickey thing was about? Jeanette and I are friends. That’s it. I told you it was never serious.”
“Are we?” Carol asked, point blank.
“What?”
“Are we serious?”
Helen looked at her for a moment, quiet.
“You tell me, Carol.” Helen finally said, shaking her head. “You’re the one who won’t take my hand in public. You’re the one who won’t leave a toothbrush at my place. You’re the one who refused to drive up to Santa Fe with me to see my brother—”
“The Santa Fe thing again? Really?”
“Yeah, really!” Helen said, exasperated. “I wanted you to meet him! Just like I wanted you to meet my friends! But you turned it into a whole thing, because you’re—”
“I turned it into a whole thing?” Carol scoffed. “It didn’t need to be a big deal.”
“None of this needed to be a big deal,” Helen said sadly. “But here we are.”
Carol looked away, staring out the window. She blinked hard, her eyes going red at the edges.
“You introduced me as Carol,” she said finally, hurt revealing itself through the anger at last. “Like I was just…anybody.”
Helen looked at her. Saw the pain in her body, the pain in her heart. She made the decision, in that moment, to be gentle.
“Carol…” she started, taking a deep breath. “I care about you. So much.” She reached across the counter and cradled Carol’s face softly, pulling her gaze back from the window to meet her eyes. “And I know you care about me too. In your own way.”
Carol jerked away from her, hurt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you are so scared. All the time. You’re scared of being seen with me, of being seen for who you are, scared to let me in…” Helen trailed off. “And it comes out as this, like—” she paused to think of the right word— “this distance that you impose between us, arbitrarily, whenever you’re feeling bad.”
“What do you know about me?” Carol said, eyes narrow, that temper rising in her again. “You think I’m broken? Is that it?”
“I think you’ve been hurt,” Helen said steadily as Carol’s voice rose. “And I get that you don’t want to talk about it or whatever. That’s fine. But you can’t take it out on me.”
“You have no right to say this kind of stuff to me. You’re not my therapist,” she spat.
Helen frowned. Her eyes softened. She shook her head sadly.
“No, Carol,” Helen said. “But I wanted to be your girlfriend.”
Carol stopped, floored. She took a second to process what Helen had said.
“Wanted?”
Tears welled up in Helen’s eyes for the first time. She nodded once and they spilled over, silent and hot.
“C’mon, Helen,” Carol said, realizing what she’d done, trying desperately to pull the situation back from the edge. “Helen, I’m sorry, we can fix this. I can fix this. You don’t have to do this,” she begged.
“Carol, I just…” Helen started, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I think we need to take a break. I don’t know. I think we need some time apart.”
“Helen,” Carol whispered, tearing up now too. “Please.”
Helen sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She looked away, unable to meet Carol’s eyes. “I think you need to go,” she said.
Stunned, Carol stood up from the counter, blinking as hard as she could to keep from crying.
“Okay,” she choked. "Yeah, okay.”
She left her half-full mug of coffee on the counter. She stepped into the bedroom and gathered her clothes from the floor. She tucked them into her tote bag, then walked to the door, moving robotically, as if in a trance. Helen stood, still, at the counter, staring at the mug in her hands. Bruises from the night before dappled her flushed neck.
“I’ll see you around sometime?” Carol tried, trying to conceal the pain in her voice.
“Yeah,” Helen said, not looking up. “Maybe.”
Carol walked out of Helen’s apartment. When the door closed behind her, she sobbed.
Terribly, cruelly, the birds sang.