The One Percent

by Tara Wimble

  Her hips guide without the need for thought. Maybe that’s better. Maybe there’s nothing to think about all of this until there’s a new daylight to be shone on it. All that Jacque has wanted is lying beneath her.

  Bella has been next to her, pressed up against her, curled in her embraces but never under her like this. Never pushing her head back as Jacque moves her fingers inside of her. Never like this.

  She stops and tears bite at the corners of her eyes as Bella clenches around her fingers because she’s shattering in the most beautiful light. Jacque supports her body on her left forearm by Bella’s head just to watch the explosion in her face. Her eyes are pressed closed tightly, away from looking so Jacque can’t see anything in her eyes, but the dent of concentration in her brow draws her lips there in a kiss.

  Bella’s own hand flies up to tangle in Jacque’s hair and she opens her eyes. Jacque searches for something there. Something, anything, to stop the hammering in her ribcage that she’s tried to quiet since getting into bed with her. She sees desperation reflected back at her. “Jacque, don’t.”

  Don’t stop. Don’t pause. Don’t try to find anything. Don’t hurt me.

  Her own shuddering disappointment is pushed aside because until Bella lets go, there won’t be anything to be found. She needs to help her there. She needs to show her. Pouring out her own heart does nothing. Jacque watches again, watches the quaking rise up and Bella with it.

  A selfish desire forms in the base of her spine. The need to be touched, to be laid out and kissed, spikes almost painfully but she only gets a night. She only gets these patterned sheets and the broad blue strokes of a London sky for this and she’s not going to waste it on anything other than Bella.

  Her eyes may not give anything away, may plead for her to be gentle and giving, but her voice has no such charade. Honesty in panting pleasure. Music to her deprived ears.

  She knows what she wants.

  “What are you doing?” Bella can barely raise her voice to her as she kisses the skin just below her chest. Everything she does to this body leaves a sticky imprint. A tattoo marking the contours of her lips to be seen and felt in the aftermath. One that she trails down her body until reaching her hipbones.

  “What does it look like?”

  “Jacque-” Bella’s chest flutters, she can feel it, in a panic that comes with memory. But Jacque isn’t seeing rejection. Not like the rejection she made to the last person who did this. The last time Bella stopped because of Jacque, there’s no way that she’s going to stop Jacque.

  But she waits anyway. Jacque won’t give anything that Bella doesn’t feel comfortable with. That’s what this is all about really. The seconds that she has to wait before Bella pushes Jacque’s hair back are agonizing and embarrassing. The end comes though and Bella says yes.

  She says yes to Jacque pushing her a little further up the bed, sitting atop a pillow supporting her hips; yes to spreading her legs open wide and to watching as Jacque sinks down her body again. And a final yes, that first sigh, that tells Jacque that she’s doing everything right.

  Whether or not Bella let’s go becomes irrelevant when Jacque’s tongue laps over her clit for the first time. That warmth that she had focused on in the start lingers to become a taste in the back of her mouth. Bella keeps a hand on her head. She doesn’t stop her.

  A stupid victory to add to the others emerges as she holds the backs of Bella’s thighs. Her strength is measured in her ability to keep Bella up. Her endurance by just how long she listens to Bella muffle her voice before it slips out and sings what she wants to hear. A friction that her own hips rut on the bed seeking is desperate but Bella’s hand only asks for her to keep going. Never to stop.

  Maybe it makes her a bad person to enjoy this, not just because of the heights she’s taking Bella to but because of Blake. Because of the year that she spent wishing she was in his place and for the failure that befell him in the end. Whether Bella picks up on this or not, Jacque doesn’t waste a second with her head between her legs letting her think upon that.

  Soon all she can hear is her own blood rushing around her ears. The pounding gets louder, Bella’s hand clenched tighter as her tongue dips and laps and kisses against her. The night takes a second swelling chorus from her.

  Bella isn’t as quick to recover the second time. If this were different, if this were any other time or space or verse to be followed, Jacque might tease her about all of this. This adorable inexperience that has her bundled with a nervous energy. The thought that she might work up a courage to touch her as well and for Jacque to teach her that it’s okay to laugh and to let it all out.

  The glimpse of a smile is what she gets stunned by. This isn’t the right time or place or verse. This is what they have and where they’re colliding and it’s all Jacque can control right now.

  Guiding her for the only time tonight, Bella brings her back up her body until Jacque is hovering above her again.

  She may not search as she did before but their nonsensical murmurs echo in the space. There’s something new there. Something that can’t be seen in the darkening room or in the reality of all this mess. This confusion is blossoming. The pain recedes only when Bella gives away her hesitation to kiss her after where her mouth has been and Jacque shudders instead of crying because she’s happy. She’s clenching her hands into bed sheets and kissing this girl, this wonderful girl that’s here with her, that she loves- and this is the realest everything has felt in years.

  Elbows and knees tremble from exertion and when she feels her weakest, Bella lifts her up. Jacque knows not to expect Bella to flip her or to try anything but the feeling of soft hands dipping down the front of her body, touching her sides and running knuckles over her hipbones until she pushes her fingers down. Jacque buckles for a second because Bella slides a finger over her clit, coming back wet and Bella gasps into her mouth. She doesn’t do anything more than that but Jacque isn’t asking her to.

  They find a limbo for a while. The bed encases them in their gentle exploration. Bella’s hands are always followed by a nervousness that Jacque caters to. Jacque pushes only as much as she’s let. They balance themselves until a break. A break being the noise of people walking in the corridor, making noise, and while Jacque is settled knowing that no one can get in, Bella cants her hips again.

  London is ticking down on their victory night and Jacque hasn’t brought it all out yet. Bella isn’t disrupted as they move again. Her hair sticks to her forehead and her fingers leave white bruises in Jacque’s shoulders, her sides, her hips as Jacque switches them around. Bella finds herself staring out at the wall, sitting between Jacque’s legs with an insistent hand sliding down her stomach.

  It’s different when Bella is pressing against her. She can imagine the thudding of her heart against her rather than feel it. The blood rushing to her head as Bella keens back into her at the first touch she makes, sliding down and dipping, is an easier trip. Their skin sticks together, spider web patterns of heat flicker over their bodies, and being this close makes Jacque more turned on than she was before.

  It becomes too easy when she’s inside Bella again, to lose track of her own feelings, to get a light rush from just how much Bella responds to her. It’s now, when Bella isn’t facing her, that she feels the pressure cut. Bella let’s go.

  Jacque’s lips are never far from Bella’s neck. Twisting her wrist hurts but the more she does it, the more she hears Bella’s honesty. She’s proving it all. That best intention never slips. That well hidden secret that seeped at the cracks the longer she continued to lie to Bella is the peaking in her motions and the whimper on her tongue.

  The pads of her fingers are rolling and feel thicker when they make Bella moan. She can’t say anything that makes sense. But Bella feels soothed by Jacque giving her instructions. Do this. Breathe. Just hold. Hold onto her. Somewhere along the line of Jacque touching her does she feel her own edge come and go unexpectedly. It’s when it hits her, that she curls inside of
Bella, and the break of the wave comes.

  Not with a crash but a name. Her name. The shock that’s sent through her deafens her almost but Bella’s voice, that honest tone, cracks when she mutters Jacque’s name. Muttering turns to mumbling turns to stretched out spasms of satisfied sounds. Jacque holds her through it and Bella snaps against her body.

  Jacque pants heavily onto the back of Bella’s neck. Bella who’s still sitting between her legs, back to her, and grabbing onto Jacque’s thighs. There will be bruises in the morning but Jacque doesn’t feel like they’re close enough or far apart enough at the same time. She wants Bella to move but Jacque has moved her arm to wrap around her front, keeping her there, and defeating one of the wishes in her head. Push and pull. They’re spent and they’re stuck.

  Bella’s hair sticks to the back of her neck and wisps cling to Jacque’s nose and cheek. Each of them are bound together, skin slick and sticking, in a humid heat. The room keeps them.

  All Jacque can think is that it’s over now. Whatever thread that kept them from this has been cut and the strings of their act has been revealed and untied. Bella’s chest heaves up and down as she basks in the aftermath. When she hits the ground, this will sink in for her too.

  Jacque presses her palms into Bella’s back. Not to put distance between them, that’s the last thing she wants, but just to touch her in a way that isn’t going any further than that. Her shoulders are broad and strong, a lot stronger than they were when she first met Bella as that firecracker of a twenty one year old. Four years of steadily getting better, faster, harder than she was. Her shoulders are slumped now. Jacque took the fight away and gave her some release, whether it’s good or bad will be revealed in the light of day, but she did that.

  Her throat tightens when Bella pulls away. Her skin stings when Bella parts and there are finger shaped bruises where she’d dug her nails into Jacque’s thighs. For the next few days she’ll be hiding those from everyone but herself.

  Bella doesn’t leave the bed though. Realistically they both know that leaving isn’t an option yet. There’s no way for them to slip back into the celebrations going on downstairs without drawing attention to their absence. And leaving after this...

  Jacque bites her bottom lip and Bella kneels in front of her, steadies herself on Jacque’s knee before crawling to the empty space beside her and lying down on her stomach.

  There will be consequences. Consequences that don’t care how Bella’s face is pink and exhausted or how Jacque’s body is still struggling to come down from the high. She’s looking down through clouds knowing that the problems they left at the door are still there and absolutely nothing has changed.

  Except now they know each other in the one way that neither of them expected to.

  There’s nothing Jacque can say that won’t shatter this illusion so she turns on her side and quashes the flutter in her chest when Bella shuffles closer so that they’re sharing the same pillow. Her hand tentatively slides over the small of Bella’s back, the base of her spine, after pulling the thin patterned sheets over their bodies.

  For the moment, she can breathe.

  *

  They part ways through the door of the dining hall after sharing an elevator down to the lobby. Content silence became the name of the game.

  “Where have you been?” Jacque pushes past Kathryn towards the dwindling stocks of the breakfast bar. Bella has gone in the other direction despite the fact she could have stayed in the room sleeping when Jacque said she was going to come down.

  Kathryn doesn’t let her go about her breakfast picking in peace. She’s there hovering and fiddling with the watch on her wrist. She’s tried to put makeup on before coming down but Jacque can still see the effects of the bronze medal celebrations on her face, as well as the others scatters and slumped around the room.

  “Sleeping.”

  “Where?” Kathryn doesn’t ask because she wants to know, she asks because she wants her to admit what she’s thinking and be proven right. She’s probably been waiting for her to appear ever since Jacque didn’t come back to their room or the party.

  “Wherever.” Jacque deflects. “You on the other hand, don’t look like you’ve slept at all.”

  Jacque leaves the breakfast bar when Bella reaches it and watches from the table that Kathryn follows her back to ask Bella who takes almost all the fruit on her plate before she leaves it and gets pancakes instead.

  She tries not to make it awkward, how she hovers until Bella is done grabbing her food, but she’s just sort of standing off to the side so after a minute she makes like she’s examining the information placard on the wall. Why she would give a fuck about that right now is for other people to decide because it’s not really her problem.

  Bella chooses an empty table sort of in the center of attention and it’s then that Jacque decides sitting next to Bella isn’t just a thing she’s contemplating but a thing that she’s going to do.

  So she does because no one is paying attention, too caught up in the buzz of what they got up to last night, to even think about any of the tension in the room.

  Breakfast is taken in complete silence and Jacque opens her mouth to say a pleasantry but then she realizes that probably isn’t welcome either.

  Then it happens.

  And it’s not even her fault because they’ve been living this lie for years and habits are hard to break no matter how long.

  She reaches out, not even in any sort of purposeful way, not like last night.

  She reaches towards Bella and she flinches away. Doesn’t even let Jacque lay a hand on her shoulder, nothing. Recoils like it would be physically painful for her to be touched.

  Bella doesn’t even finish her pancakes, stands up, and walks out of the dining area.

  She watches Bella leaving and feels like she should still be beside her. A ghost following but her feet can’t follow the turning rejection of her hand.

  “Ouch.” Sadie sidles up the row in front of her. Oliv follows behind her and glances in Bella’s direction. “What’s up with that? Didn’t work hard enough for her last night?”

  Oliv’s laughter bubbles out of her mouth and Sadie sticks her tongue out in case Jacque hadn’t caught on to that most obvious of comments.

  Her hand feels for the pins and needles of a clenched fist and Sadie’s laughing face doesn’t expect the dark expression or the words that follow. “Fuck off, Sadie.”

  She pushes out of the chairs and towards the door. It’s not fast enough for her to get away from Oliv’s follow up comment, but when she turns to go back because she’s running on pure adrenaline now that Bella has left her hanging, Jacque collides with Kathryn who’s stronger than she looks and pushes her back and out into the hall.

  “Slow down.” Kathryn keeps pushing until they’ve rounded a corner and they’re both out of sight and hearing distance.

  “I’m gonna fucking kill her.” Jacque fists keeps clenching and unclenching because she just can’t shake the comment, shake the innate truth that probably lies within it. “I am.”

  “Jacque, there are freaking reporters around-” Kathryn hisses at her to be more subtle.

  There’s no way she can take a comment on this without taking it to heart. Everything is a mess anyway, all it would take for it to be worse is the knowledge that she had one chance and that Bella didn’t enjoy it. Didn’t enjoy her. And a casual dropping joke from Sadie hit those insecurities on the head without even realizing it. What if Bella didn’t? What if she broke the promise?

  It’s all come to a boil and as much as she wants to calm down, knows that she should even because Kathryn is right and there are reporters and the last thing she needs is to overshadow the historic win for her country by punching their GK1 in the face. But that doesn’t change anything because Bella walked away from her, like she was something disgusting to her.

  Jacque leans against the nearest wall. Kathryn is close enough to breathe down her neck about this but she doesn’t. She looks dow
n at her clenched fist and slowly opens the palm. Her hand is no different than it was last night, or the days before that, yet the leaving of that room they spent the night together in has closed the door on what was and what happened. Bella didn’t reject her, she recoiled from her, and that makes it hurt even more.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Jacque closes her eyes. She could have been so good to her. She was. For a brief bronze tinted night. And that’s over, for Bella, but not for her or the emptiness she feels staring at the image of Bella consciously flinching back from her as she tried to continue following the same script.

  “I think it’s over.”

  Kathryn pulls back because she’s not dumb and she knows exactly what Jacque’s talking about. “Tell me where you were last night.”

  “In a room.” Jacque licks her lips. Her throat stays dry. “With Bella.”

  “Oh fuck.” A flash of further realization flashes across Kathryn’s face. “And you two?” Jacque nods and her face falls because it’s real now that somebody other than the two of them knows. Kathryn wraps her arms around her, awkwardly hugging her against the wall. “Oh Jacque, I’m so sorry.”

  Jacque just wants to crouch down and make herself as small as possible. Being big and a target seems to be the only way she can get through life and it’s not working for her right now. Kathryn becomes the only thing keeping her up for the rest of the day, even though she doesn’t realize it or explain exactly what happened between her and Bella. Kathryn is patient.

  But Jacque isn’t. Because this isn’t what she wants. She doesn’t want to be freaking out in the hallway of a hotel in London, Kathryn as her only lifeline. She wants more. She wants everything.

  She wants Bella.

  And she’d had her last night, in almost every way she’d ever dreamed of, every way except for the one that was most important.