by Nell Stark
Halfway across the room, Rory was watching for her reaction. “This is amazing!” Sarah shouted over the noise. “You are amazing.”
Rory’s answering smile was happy and triumphant, and it inspired in Sarah a sudden, sharp desire to cross the space between them, press Rory up against the wall, and kiss her harder than she’d ever kissed anyone before. Sarah clutched at the drink in her hand for purchase and looked away, afraid that she was an open book.
These compulsions had been getting stronger and more difficult to resist over the past few weeks. At first, most of her daydreams had been PG-13. But gradually they had changed, until instead of kissing Rory, she was undressing her. Now every time she walked into their shared bedroom, Sarah was assaulted by the image of Rory naked on her bed, biting her bottom lip in pleasure as Sarah’s hand found its way between her legs.
Sometimes, the fantasies went even further. Sometimes, instead of stroking Rory with light, gentle touches, Sarah drove into her with two fingers, hard and fast, watching in satisfaction as Rory’s head snapped back and her mouth opened silently. Sometimes, she imagined pressing Rory into the mattress with her free hand as she took her, over and over. Never, ever in a million years did she want to hurt Rory, but sometimes…
I want to fuck her.
The impulse frightened her a little. It was a new urge, one she didn’t fully understand. Not to mention the fact that real Rory, unlike fantasy Rory, was straight. Sarah sighed and took a sip from her ridiculously strong rum and Coke. Why did hope have to spring eternal? Every time she thought she was getting over her completely inappropriate feelings, Rory did or said something—like that hug, earlier tonight—that made Sarah wonder if maybe, just maybe…
“Hey, brood machine,” Rory said, reaching up to squeeze Sarah’s shoulder. “Quit looking like someone killed your dog and start enjoying this elaborate party that I so painstakingly organized for you.”
“Sorry—I’m sorry,” Sarah said, laughing. Plus, Rory’s hand hadn’t moved. She was rubbing her thumb back and forth along the tendon between Sarah’s shoulder and neck, and it felt amazing. “I’m completely in awe. First dinner and now this…and I can’t believe that so many people showed up, either.”
Rory looked at her as though she’d just grown two heads. “Earth to Sarah. You have a lot of friends. Deal with it.”
At that instant, one of said friends decided that it was time to deviate from Rory’s dance party play list. The opening strains of “Cotton Eye Joe” were met with both cheers and groans. Matt let out the shrillest cheer of all, ordered Travis to tend the bar, and dragged Sarah into the center of the room. Rory, apparently not yet tipsy enough to join in the dancing, laughed at them as she leaned against Sarah’s desk.
Sarah struggled briefly with a bout of self-consciousness until she realized just how silly Matt looked as he flapped his arms and tried to approximate a jig. After that, she let loose. She even managed to coax Rory onto the makeshift dance floor after a while. They danced close together, hips bumping and thighs brushing. Once, Rory even reached for Sarah’s arms, drew them around her body, and then turned so they were grinding together. Sarah’s mouth went dry but she played along, fanning her fingers over Rory’s stomach and leaning in to rest her cheek against Rory’s head. Her hair smelled faintly of strawberries.
Sarah clung to that all-too-brief moment of intimacy, knowing that it was the best present she’d receive all day. Right here, right now, she could pretend that Rory actually shared her feelings. God, she feels so good.
When John appeared at Rory’s elbow, Sarah took a step backward and let her arms fall to her sides, suddenly mindful of how they must look to everyone in the room. But Rory would have none of it. She reached back to grab Sarah’s hands and fold them around her waist again as John asked whether they could stop the music and start playing Guitar Hero instead. Sarah was more than happy to oblige, and even dared to stroke her thumbs lightly over the warm fabric that hugged Rory’s abdomen.
“Hmm.” Rory craned her neck so she could meet Sarah’s gaze. Her hair brushed Sarah’s chin. “What do you think, birthday girl? Have you had enough of Club Storm? Should we turn this joint into an arcade?”
“I think I have no idea what Guitar Hero is,” Sarah said. “So I defer to your superior wisdom.”
“Oh my God, Sarah, it’s, like, the coolest thing ever,” gushed John. “You’ll see!”
As he sprinted from the room to retrieve his copy of the game, Rory snuggled even deeper into Sarah’s embrace. “You know that time at my parents’ house, when you wanted me to air guitar during karaoke?”
“Yeah, and you wouldn’t go for it,” Sarah said, taking the opportunity to lightly poke Rory just below her rib cage. “Spoilsport.”
Rory stuck out her tongue. In a parallel universe, parallel-Sarah spun parallel-Rory around in her arms and sucked that tantalizing tongue deep into her mouth. As it was, Sarah contented herself with letting her chin come to rest on Rory’s shoulder while Rory explained in painstaking detail exactly how one played Guitar Hero.
When John returned, breathless, bearing two plastic guitars and the video game, Sarah was forced to let go of Rory so that she could hook everything up to her television. She meandered over to the “bar” and got another drink from Matt. If he thought it strange that she and Rory had been cuddling like long-term girlfriends, he didn’t say so.
“Having fun?”
“Yes,” Sarah said, suddenly reminded of when he had asked her the very same question on New Year’s Eve. She had had to lie then. She didn’t now. “So much fun.”
“Cool. Rory’s been pumped about it ever since she came up with the idea a few weeks ago.”
“This is…” Sarah shook her head, struggling to find the words. “Amazing. Rory is amazing. I am so lucky to know her.”
Matt opened his mouth to say something more, but Rory’s voice cut him off. “Hey, Sarah, come check out the game,” she called from where she was crouched near the television. “You’re going to love this!”
Sarah raised her plastic cup in a toast to Matt before crossing the room. As she watched John and Travis manipulate the faux frets on their guitars, she was struck by a sense of rightness—of peace, even—unlike anything she’d felt before. I belong here. With these people. I’m home.
The phone rang. Sarah made a move to grab it, but Rory was faster. “I got it. Stay and watch. You’re up next.” But after a few seconds, Rory was at her side, pressing the phone into her palm. “For you—not sure who it is.”
In retrospect, Sarah realized that she should have been suspicious. Who, outside of those already present, would be calling her at ten thirty at night? But she was happy and content and unsuspecting, and when Rory handed her the receiver, she spoke cheerfully into the mouthpiece.
“Hello?”
First, silence. And then: “Sarah,” her mother said.
The rush of adrenaline slammed through her body, forcing Sarah back until she could lean against something, anything. Every muscle in her body was suddenly trembling. Oh my God. No. They found me. Her vision was blurry and her heart was hammering against her rib cage, and for some reason, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. After eight months of no contact, she had thought they’d given up. But no—they had just been biding their time.
“Sarah,” her mother said again, sounding close to tears. “Why are you doing this?”
*
Rory had turned her attention back to the videogame once she had given the phone to Sarah. But when Sarah stumbled backward and thudded hard against the wall, Rory turned in alarm. Sarah’s face was white and her entire body was shaking. As Rory watched, Sarah tried unsuccessfully to clench the trembling fingers of her free hand.
In that instant, Rory knew who had called. And she cursed herself for not asking—for not figuring it out, somehow. For not protecting Sarah from this moment, on today of all days.
“Mom,” Sarah whispered.
The word was colored with f
ear. Rory felt paralyzed, rooted to the spot by her inability to help. She wanted to yank the phone from Sarah’s hand and smash it on the floor. She wanted to hold Sarah tightly and whisper the truth into her free ear. You’re perfect and I love you. She wanted to shout at Sarah’s parents—to force them to see how just how deeply their rejection had wounded their daughter.
She couldn’t do any of those things. What she could do was to give Sarah some privacy. She wouldn’t want her friends to see her like this.
Rory moved forward to clasp Sarah’s left hand. It was cold and clammy. She tugged lightly.
“Come on, baby,” she said, the term of endearment slipping out effortlessly as she moved toward the bedroom door. “Come on in here.”
“What do you mean?” Sarah said into the phone. Rory was glad to hear that her voice was louder, sharper. Good girl. Don’t let her bully you.
She reached just inside the room to turn on the light, then gave Sarah’s hand a reassuring squeeze. When her fingers brushed Sarah’s wrist, the pulse stuttered frantically beneath her touch, as though it were trying to escape.
“I’ll be back soon,” she murmured before reluctantly disengaging and closing the door behind her.
Rory hurried over to Matt and briefly explained the situation. “We have to get everyone out of here,” she concluded. “Is your room okay?” When he nodded and began packing up the supplies, Rory made her way around the room from group to group, explaining that Sarah had just received an important phone call and that the party needed to move elsewhere.
An eternity passed while everyone slowly filed out of the room. Rory did her best to act the part of the gracious hostess, but inside, she was dying of impatience. What was Sarah talking about with her mother? There hadn’t been any yelling, yet, but was that a good or a bad sign? And what the hell did her parents want, anyway? They’ve already taken enough.
As soon as the room was empty, Rory yanked open the bedroom door. Sarah was standing exactly where she’d left her, but now her cheeks were red and her pupils dilated. The muscles in her neck bunched up as she ground her teeth. Angry. That’s good.
“I’m telling you, I won’t,” she said—and if there was fire in her eyes, then her voice was laced with ice. “You made it perfectly clear that you don’t want me. Well, I don’t want you either. And I certainly don’t need you. I’m doing just fine.”
Rory suddenly ached to touch her. Slowly, carefully, she slid her arms around Sarah’s waist from behind, mimicking the way she’d been held earlier. Sarah’s stomach muscles were tight and tense under her hands, but she didn’t pull away.
“I don’t owe you anything,” she said forcefully. Rory felt a shudder run through Sarah’s entire body and pulled her even closer. “Don’t call me again.”
The phone beeped as Sarah turned it off. Her breaths came quickly, rasping in her throat as though she’d been sprinting. Rory kept her face pressed to the indentation between Sarah’s shoulder blades, suddenly uncertain about what to do. Do I ask her what they said? Do I just stand here? Do I try telling a joke?
And then Sarah began to cry. It was barely noticeable at first—just a few sniffles, and one surreptitious swipe of her wrist across her eyes. But once Rory realized what was happening, she twisted Sarah around in her arms, caught her chin between two fingers, and looked up into dark, wet eyes.
The look that passed between them was charged with an unnamable emotion. Sarah jerked her head away, buried her face in the crook between Rory’s neck and shoulder, and began to sob. Rory felt her chest tighten up, as though someone had reached in and squeezed her heart. Hard.
“That’s it,” she murmured, stroking up and down the length of Sarah’s back with both hands. “You’re okay, Sarah. You’re just fine.” Words flowed from her—the counterpart of Sarah’s tears. “You’re perfect, you know that? You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Rory held Sarah that way for a long time—long enough for her arms to get tired and the words to run out. But she kept on rubbing Sarah’s back, and when she could think of nothing left to say, she began to hum. After a little while, Sarah pulled back. Her face was splotchy and her hair disheveled, but Rory thought she’d never seen anyone as handsome.
“Thank you,” Sarah said, her voice low and rough. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Rory said fiercely. She wanted desperately to keep touching Sarah but held her ground, sensing that she might need some space. “What did you…what did they…”
Sarah sat down hard on her bunk and massaged the back of her neck with both hands. “They saw me on television. Working with FRI.”
“Fuck,” Rory gasped, one hand going to her mouth. “My commercial. Goddammit, Sarah, I didn’t even think—I’m so sorr—”
“I’m glad they saw,” Sarah said vehemently. “I wasn’t hiding from them. I’m proud of FRI, and I’m proud of your commercial and dammit, I am not a fuckup!” She paused then to look up. “Am I?”
“No, baby, no. No.” Rory sat down next to Sarah and started rubbing her back again. That forlorn note in Sarah’s voice had made her heart catch again. “You’re perfect to me.”
“They told me to stop working for FRI,” Sarah said dully. “And to come home.”
“I won’t let you,” Rory said fiercely. “And they can’t make you. You belong here.”
“Yeah,” Sarah said. “I know.” Her eyelids were drooping now, and she swayed slightly, pressing more firmly against Rory. “God. Sleepy all of a sudden. I’m sorry.”
It felt so wrong to pull away from Sarah, but Rory got up briefly to grab her pajamas from the top dresser drawer. “Put these on, okay? And slide into bed. I’ll be back in just one second.”
Rory watched Sarah stare blankly at the soft flannel cloth in her hand before rousing herself with a shake of her head. With no preamble or pretense at modesty, she stripped off her shirt. Suddenly blushing, Rory left the bedroom to lock their door and turn off the common room light. She could brush her teeth tomorrow. All that mattered right now was that Sarah felt warm and safe and comforted—that she sleep off the shock.
That little black box was still burning a hole in her pocket, but now was not the time for confessions. Now was the time for comfort and reassurance. When the moment was right, she’d tell Sarah everything. For now, she needed to be the anchor, not the whirlwind.
When she reentered the room, Sarah was lying in bed. Her eyes were closed. The delicate skin around them looked red and raw. Rory changed quickly, turned off the light, and then leaned over Sarah to brush a chaste kiss across her forehead.
“You just rest, for as long as you can. I’ll wake you up in time for class, okay?”
When Sarah didn’t answer, Rory wondered if she’d fallen asleep. But as she pulled away to climb the ladder, Sarah’s hand closed around her wrist.
“Stay,” she said, damp eyes glittering in the near dark. “Please?”
Rory’s breath caught in her throat as Sarah held the covers open for her. She slid in on her side, and Sarah turned so they could spoon. Rory tenderly wrapped her left arm around Sarah’s waist, unable to believe what was happening. She wanted to kiss the back of Sarah’s neck, but didn’t dare.
“Thanks,” Sarah mumbled.
“No problem,” Rory whispered back. She could feel Sarah’s heartbeat against her palm. It was still far too fast. Sarah wasn’t actually calm yet, despite her fatigue. So Rory listened to her instincts: she sucked in a deep breath and began to sing, making her voice soft and low. She sang the first thing that popped into her head—a song she’d learned in elementary school, about a ferryman on the Erie Canal and his trusty mule named Sal. It wasn’t technically a lullaby, but the melody was slow and soothing.
As she sang, she was gratified to feel Sarah slowly relax under her hand. And by the time she’d gone through the song twice, Sarah’s breaths were deep and even. Asleep.
For a moment, Rory debated whether she should stay in Sarah’s b
ed or move to her own. There was no contest, though. Not really. Curling up around Sarah’s body felt more than good, it felt right.
“I love you,” she whispered against Sarah’s neck, just before sleep claimed her.
*
Sarah woke to the unfamiliar sensation of warm breaths on the back of her neck and an arm around her waist. When she inhaled, she caught the scent of Rory’s strawberry shampoo. She smiled, pressing back into Rory’s embrace…and then suddenly her brain caught up with her body and her eyes flashed open as the events of last night replayed themselves in her memory.
Oh God. Mom.
There had been so much pain in her mother’s voice—hurt and disappointment and shame. All my life, I’ve made you proud, Sarah thought. She had gotten the best grades, excelled at sailing…she had been a golden girl. I never even had a curfew in high school. And now she was the black sheep. How could her sexual orientation—just one part of who she was—blot out everything else in her mother’s mind? How is that fair?
Beside her, Rory stirred. Sarah tensed for an entirely different reason, wondering how Rory would react to waking up next to her. Would she feel self-conscious about falling asleep in Sarah’s bed? Did I do the wrong thing when I asked her to stay?
Rory opened her eyes and blinked. She frowned in confusion, then sucked in a sharp breath. “Hey. Um.” She blushed. It was adorable. “Sorry about…this.” She gestured with one hand at the two of them lying next to each other. “I should have gone to my bed once you were—”
Sarah shook her head. “I asked you to stay. I’m so grateful that you did.” She tried out a smile. “You are the best, you know. I’m sorry for being so needy last night.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” Rory said quietly. “How are you doing?”
