Red

BtVS, Buffy/Faith, cotton candy

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 05:24:38 GMT

From the Femslash_Today Porn Challenge, unposted.

"You've got slayer aim, Faith. Quit your whining."

The brunette crossed her arms and leaned back against a tall metal pole, a pout firmly placed on her lips. "It's a waste of time, B. Rollercoasters are much more fun."

Sunnydale was buzzing from the carnival taking over the area surrounding the mall. Faith had talked Buffy into skipping school that day, but later it was Buffy who insisted on a compromise. The carnival was part of that compromise, the 'cool down' after mid-day slayage.

"Fine. Do this, then we'll go on your rollercoaster, get some cotton candy, and leave. You'll be a free girl." Faith rolled her eyes at Buffy's decision, but ultimately agreed. The two slayers found themselves, half an hour later, walking through the exit gates stuffing cotton candy into their mouths. Upon reaching Buffy's front door, their traveling came to a halt.

"So..."

"So." The blonde and brunette awkwardly smiled at each other, unsure of what to say until Faith broke the silence.

"B?" Buffy looked up and locked eyes with her brunette counterpart, expecting a reply, but instead she got Faith's full lips hungrily enveloping her own. "You had cotton candy on your mouth," she explained.

Without even letting the explanation sink into her mind, Buffy pulled Faith into her house. She began to push the black vest off the brunette's shoulders, her hands briefly running over the taller slayer's breasts and stomach before removing some of her own clothing.

"I know," she finally breathed. "I was hoping you'd do that."

BtVS, Willow/Faith, red

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 04:42:54 GMT

From the Femslash_Today Porn Challenge.

The First may be raising an army of Turok-Han, but tonight the house is calm. An eerie calm replacing the recently inescapable girly--and terrified--chatter coming from a few dozen potential slayers preparing for battle. But the terrified potentials, their worn-out leader, and the over-experienced Scoobies are painting the town red--or brown, actually, with vampire dust. In their absence Willow is doing research and Faith is reviewing weapons. The calm, the quiet, is soothing to Willow.

To Faith it’s unnerving.

“So, uh, Red? You goin’ back to school after all this?”

It isn’t like Faith and Willow haven’t had conversations before. They talked plenty in the car on the way from LA to Sunnydale, but even still Willow’s head jerks up from her book towards Faith like instead of a question she heard a bloodcurdling scream.

“What? Oh, I-I don’t know. I guess. I-If we live, I mean.”

The floor throughout the living room is littered with sleeping bags, books on everything from mythology and demons to the Babysitter’s Club, and clothes. Counters in the kitchen display (neatly, thanks to Andrew) various kinds of chips, cookies, and sodas.

In the hallway a framed photo falls from the wall and spills glass all over the floor. A low moan echoes from one wall to another as the silence is disrupted.

Calm replaced by heat.

From up against the wall next to the staircase, with one leg propped up on Faith’s waist and three of the dark slayer’s fingers deep inside her, Willow gasps and wraps her hand further into her attacker’s hair. “Harder,” the witch whispers, and Faith obeys.

Turning her hungry sneer into a triumphant grin, Faith admits, “Red, thank god you’d had enough of that fuckin’ silence. I was ‘bout to kill myself.” In response she gets Willow’s leg pulling her closer, then, “Say it again.”

The slayer pauses. Waits.

“Call me ‘Red’ again.”

With another grin, Faith runs her tongue up the side of the pale girl’s neck, then sinks her teeth in.

“Okay, Red.”

Gilmore Girls, Paris/Rory, compare/contrast

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 04:26:27 GMT

From the Femslash_Today Porn Challenge.

Various parts of next week’s edition of the Yale Daily News is splayed over the coffee table like a fan. A fan meant for looks alone, perhaps, since its presence does nothing for the heat and humidity in the room.

“I’m just saying I’d like to keep my options open. Seems like a wise idea to me.”

Paris, legs opened wide above her as she clings to the armrest behind her, speaks between moans. Her best friend, Rory, is positioned to allow movement between Paris’ breasts and throbbing clit. She circles a nipple, sucks it into her mouth, and scrapes the surface with her teeth as she lets it go and moves down to kiss a hipbone.

“A penis, though definitely not the most attractive genitalia, serves its purpose quite well when used correctly. But who knows the female anatomy better than another woman? It’s perfect logic.”

The tongue formerly making careful, teasing movements around Paris’ clit stops, and Rory shifts upwards to look her friend in the eyes. She laughs quietly and rolls her eyes, not at all surprised by the rambling.

“Paris,” she says in the most demanding voice she can manage.

The talkative girl shrugs. “Heterosexuality is too limiting. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Paris. Can the comparing and contrasting of the perks of various sexual orientations wait until another time, please?”

Not able to resist that pout, Paris smiles. “Of course. But if you tease me anymore, Gilmore, the talking will resume. I promise you that.”

[BtVS] Rocks and Metaphors.

Mon, 29 May 2006 22:37:44 GMT

Staring out into the canyon that once was the town of Sunnydale, Faith dangled her feet over the edge and thought about the fight she had just barely survived. Not the First and an army of ubervamps, but her own seduction by and escape from darkness. She could still feel it inside her, like blood boiling in her veins. Like a knife in her gut (a feeling she could remember literally, thanks to Buffy--the taste of metal sliding into her; the taste of betrayal and disappointment). After all Angel did for her, and after her struggles with both herself and others while in prison, she was still terrified of slipping.

Faith picked up a rock from the edge of the canyon and tossed it out into what was left of the hellmouth. She thought briefly of the irony in her fear and her current placement on the edge of crumbling rocks. All of it could be seen as a giant metaphor, she was sure, but that wasn't her kind of thing. Never was one for school, really.

"You okay?" She turned to find the blonde slayer--"original slayer," to be more specific since all the wannabes were now caught up to the chosen two--kneeling in the dirt just behind her. It wasn't too long ago the two didn't get along. Three years prior Buffy had threatened Faith's life should she dare apologize. Now things were different.

Now she just wanted to make it all up to her.

"Dealin'." Buffy smiled at the response and joked, "Not 'five by five'?" As much as Faith appreciated the humor she was far too tired to even crack a smile. She kept her gaze straight ahead and instead attempted to change the subject.

"How's that gaping hole the vamp's sword gave you?" Buffy shrugged, "Quit bleeding 'bout an hour ago." Pause. "I never, uh, said thank you for taking over like you did."

The sun was finally setting and the colors cast over the landscape looked like spilt blood. Or maybe it wasn't the sunset at all. All those young girls who died saving the world.... Faith shook her head. They worked so hard, turned themselves into an army, and in the end they only painted the sand red. Buffy could have been one of them. She very nearly was. Faith couldn't help but think of herself as undeserving of Buffy's gratitude.

"What, B, pickin' up the ax and cuttin' some demons down to size? S'nothin'. Just doin' my job." Barely before her last word was even out she felt Buffy's hand on her shoulder.

"Faith, your strength inspired me. I was able to get up because of what you did." The blonde sighed. "I know we've been through a lot. From fighting demons together to fighting each other, and you've come a long way in the past few years, and... Apology accepted. So long as you accept my own."

As the sun disappeared beyond the horizon a slight breeze took its place, causing the dark slayer to rise from her spot on the cliff and turn towards the bus. The surviving new slayers were still chatting excitedly about the First's defeat, full of adrenaline, and the scoobies supported each other in their frief over the loss of Anya. Faith stood next to the sitting blonde, observing the differences between the groups of survivors. She noticed how the younger crowd still jumped about despite the great number of casualties. The others, however, appeared worn down yet relieved. Faith wondered if any of them were looking to retire. After all the battles and apocalypses, she wondered if they had been through enough.

And, almost as suddenly as these curiosities entered then left her head, Faith felt she belonged. She understood their exhaustion, their sadness and relief. In this battle she had become one of them and they would help protect her from the darkness left within her. They would not let her fail.

Buffy would not let her fail.

A small smile then shown on Faith's face, and she glanced down at her opposite, her other half. "No worries. We're five by five." With one step at a time Faith moved away from the ledge and towards the bus, the slayers, and her friends.

[BtVS] Hot chicks with superpowers.

Thu, 25 May 2006 05:09:17 GMT

“Thank God we’re hot chicks with superpowers.”
“Takes the edge off.”
“Comforting.”
“Mmhm.”

“Do you love him?”

Not the transition I was aiming for. After putting the girls in danger, though--and being unconscious for a while--I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing.

“Look, B, I know it’s none of my business, so I’m sorry. Forget it.” She still hasn’t looked up at me. Goddamn, I should have kept my mouth shut. What the hell is it about this girl that makes me fuck up in such monumental ways?

She shifts uncomfortably. “Do you love him?” I’m guessing she picks up my confusion because not even a second later she adds, “Robin. Do you love him?”

“I don’t... I mean, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t… really know… if I did.” She nods, then looks me in the eyes finally.

“I didn’t sleep with him, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Her voice is quiet. I knew Buffy and I had some connections--slayer shit and all--but I never thought our minds would meet on a subject like this. I try to break the awkwardness and laugh, “That’s not what he told me. In the basement, we were talking, and…”

“No, Faith. Last night. You and Robin, everyone else… we just slept. Actually slept.” I swallow and this time it’s my turn to look down: “Got ya.”

“B, I didn’t mean for things to go down the way they did. I wanted to apologize, and…” God, I’m getting nervous. C’mon, Faith, where are your balls? You can try to kill the girl, but you can’t tell her what’s on your mind? “The Scoobies, they went out to check on you. They were worried. I was… worried.”

Shit. I close my eyes, hoping I’m still unconscious and not making this big a fool of myself. I had some wicked sketch dreams during my coma, so who knows. I take a few deep breaths, try not to show I’m actually scared out of my mind. While waiting for a reply that doesn’t come I feel something cool sliding between my fingers, squeezing my hand. I open my eyes.

It’s Buffy’s hand.

“You feel it, right? The burn, the anger still between us? It’s stronger than… It’s strong.”

“But B, that‘s just--” She interrupts: “Things balance out. You can’t have something… That anger’s there because…” Yeah, the confusion’s back. “Faith, the First told me you were in danger. I’ve never had my heart beat so fast. I’ve been to hell, I’ve sent someone I loved to hell, and I’ve been ripped out of heaven. God, I’ve… done it all, but…” Buffy stands up and starts pacing in front of the bed as she continues: “If something had happened to you…. If anything worse than… I love you, Faith.”

She stops. The whole room stops, including my breath. “And Spike?”

Buffy mumbles, “It’s complicated. I don’t plan ahead, I just…” Then clears her throat. “I wanted to tell you before-- in case we don‘t...”

“Yeah, B, it’s five by five. I love you too.”

AN: Mostly conversation. Not one of my best. Not necessarily slash, mostly just showing the strong bond between the two slayers, but take it as you will.

Sun, 14 May 2006 02:09:58 GMT

smut_69 - Multifandom Smut Challenge
Jossverse/BtVS, Pairing = Willow/everyone.

1.	Moan	2.	Writhe	3.	Satin	4.	Lube	5.	Ring
6.	Restraints	7.	Feather	8.	Leather	9.	Massage	10.	Candle Wax
11.	Ice	12.	Oil	13.	Thrust	14.	Breast	15.	Throat
16.	Taut	17.	Supple	18.	Strained	19.	Whisper	20.	Lick
21.	Kiss	22.	Blindfold	23.	Handcuffs	24.	"Toys"	25.	Orgy
26.	Corset	27.	Scent	28.	Dominant	29.	Submissive	30.	Kinky
31.	Erection	32.	Champagne	33.	Cuddle	34.	Foreplay	35.	Intercourse
36.	Afterglow	37.	Cherries	38.	Fingers	39.	Suckle	40.	Virgins
41.	Sluts	42.	Relationships	43.	Talking Dirty	44.	Sweet Nothings	45.	Proposition
46.	Bottom	47.	Top	48.	Cunning	49.	Heart	50.	Heated
51.	Lips	52.	Role Play	53.	Threesome	54.	Self-Love	55.	Voyeur
56.	Cyber	57.	Phone Encounter	58.	Strangers	59.	Best Friends	60.	Enemies
61.	Slick	62.	Wet	63.	Deep	64.	Dirty	65.	Bad
66.	Wrong	67.	Writer's Choice	68.	Writer's Choice	69.	Writer's Choice

[SVU] If It Isn't Her - Part Three.

Sun, 14 May 2006 01:38:26 GMT

Over a week passed. The lights in the apartment turned off, doors locked, curtains drawn: Olivia wanted to forget the outside world. She wanted to force the faces of children, of terrified rape victims, out of her head. The more she helped people the more she felt she was drowning. Who was she to give advice to women who were falling apart when she was hardly together herself?
Chewing on her lower lip Olivia found herself tracing the letters to Alex’s name with her eyes, attempting to will the phone to stop ringing. Alex’s name continued to flash on the caller i.d. as if demanding the writing detective’s attention, but she couldn’t give in. I need this right now, she thought. I need this time to think.
And with that she turned the phone off and sat it back on the desk out of sight.

***

What we had—Casey and I—was less of a relationship and more of a business agreement. We were there for each other when our innuendos became too much to handle, but were no where in sight the moment one of us sneezed or reached for cold medicine. It was more likely that there’d be a handshake between us than mention of the word “love.” At first this was a perfect arrangement, but more and more I found myself uncomfortable in her presence, the kind of discomfort comparable to a hard wool sweater scratching against smooth skin.

I needed resolution, but I was a coward. My fingers fumbled with the buttons on my shirt, I managed a nearly inaudible “I’ll call you,” and found my way out. Outside, the chilly NYC air stinging my skin, I wondered if now, after nearly a year and a half, she was surprised by my exits.

The walls of my apartment, blinking in red reflected light, told me I had made it home safely. My mind couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, not just with Casey, and the entire subway ride home was a loud, rattling blur. Staring down at the red “01” that followed me across my apartment, into my room to strip my clothes off and into an irritated pile on the floor, my hand hesitated in the dark.

“You have one new message.” Beeeeep. Inhale.
“Liv, hey. It’s me… Alex, um. I’m home, I’m—I’m in the city…” Pause. “Listen, I’d like to see you. Tomorrow at noon I’ll be on the bridge—Do you still remember the bridge? Well, I’d love it if you’d meet me there, but...” Sigh. “I love you, Liv. And I miss you. Bye.” Exhale.

Carefully I studied the voice on my answering machine, the voice of a woman who had once made me feel invincible. The message replayed so many times I lost count, but I admit I wasn’t trying. She was different. Alex’s voice shook and stuttered, unsure of herself. Was she drowning too? My heart began to swell, my fingertips ached to feel her skin, and then I remembered why I had tried so hard to forget:

It was late February when she came back to testify, but with her next to me again I could hardly feel the cold wind. The trial was stressful, yet it wasn’t why we preferred a highly inebriated state. Alex and I knew she wouldn’t be staying for good. We knew she’d leave the city again with a new identity and, just as before, our love would be lost somewhere between.

“And when we’re in bed he calls me… ‘Emily.’”

Though the conversation was as strained as my smile, attempting to comfort her and relate and ignore the fact that she admitted to being in bed with a man, I didn’t want her to leave. I wanted to her to come back, fall into my arms, and kiss me like she had so many times before. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t. The next morning, before she left to once again pretend to be someone she was not, she pulled me aside with eyes avoiding mine.

“Liv, I should have said this before. From the moment I got back I should have been honest about what I wanted from you, but everything was just too much too fast.”—She was fidgeting with the ends of her sleeves, taking large breaths between sentences. Considering how nervous she looked now, her face appeared calm and resolute. Her sincerity scared me the most.—“I need you to be my friend, Liv, and that’s all. I need to become ‘Emily,’ or whoever they make me this time. According to the world Alex Cabot is dead… and I need to take the next step and let her rest.”

I had no words. None. I had no tears, no words, no expressions or thoughts. I felt as though I’d nearly collapse, and in lieu of reaching out to steady myself, my body made a panicked decision without consulting my brain or heart: my heels pivoted and she was gone.

[SVU] If It Isn't Her - Part Two.

Sun, 14 May 2006 01:36:51 GMT

A tea kettle’s whistle broke Olivia’s concentration. She arose, joints popping along the way, and headed towards her kitchen counter covered with files and various case notes. Dragging her hand carefully across the tile her mind wandered backwards. “Liv,” she mouthed. All over again she felt it, the breath on her neck, soft hands and nails down her sides past the hem of her skirt to her hipbones. Olivia’s eyes closed and choked back tears, remembering the feel of curves against her back, blonde hair draped over her shoulder. With hardly any effort she still smelled her lover’s skin and heard her own voice reply, shivering, “Alex, you’re such a tease.”

Though a distant memory Olivia wished to stay there remembering those mornings Alex would drag her feet about the apartment, refusing to leave the bed, and exclaiming, “Fuck Cragen! Let’s spend the day just like this.”

“In the kitchen, in our underwear?” She sighed, remembering the way her lover’s lips curled into a smile and wink as she ran, giggling, into the bedroom.

Why couldn’t she forget? How come the rotting stench of a corpse, or a pool of blood, hardly affected her, but beautiful blue eyes staring into her made her stomach turn in the worst, and best, of ways?

Olivia’s eyes again found the computer screen, and with a deep breath her shoulders fell as if defeated.

***

Neither was I answering them. Not consciously, at least. My lingering hand on her arm and appreciative smiles could have been interpreted as such, but I was convinced all was accidental. There was a heat between us, something damp and heavy pulling us closer. It wasn’t like Alex, it wasn’t my heart beating out of my chest, but rather a raw, shallow attraction.

To be honest I avoided it as much as possible, but I became drawn in. This isn’t to say that I never cared for her, but rather that I was never looking for a relationship with Casey. Especially not romantic. I was never fully invested in anything between us, and she knew it from the very beginning.

I am also not saying I was… pursued, exactly, but it was she who made the first moves. They were small: Caressing the back of my hand with her thumb, leg entangled with mine under the table, a kiss on my cheek when saying goodbye. To any other two close women friends it would most likely have been less questionable, but it is my nature to suspect.

Well. That and my relationship with another woman had just ended. I suppose I was hypersensitive to any advances made my way at the time, even by Casey who I assumed straight.

‘Ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’

The first time we kissed was in the bathroom of a bar, which explains our relationship right away: physical and without romance. Casey needed to blow off steam after working on a case involving a paranoid and racist war veteran, so the group decided to get together that night and buy her drinks. Many drinks. A matter of minutes after entering the bar Casey was wrapping her arm around my shoulders and whispering, “You’re so goddamn sexy,” into my ear, which she would never do sober, much less around co-workers (apparently it is an ADA stereotype to be a cold, career-focused first class bitch). Admittedly she flirted with the men at the table as well; Fin especially since he was giving her a run for her money on blood-alcohol ratio. Mostly my concentration strayed all over the room, watching the condensation grow in lakes covering the bar’s surface. I watched the women bored by the men attempting to make passes at them, amusing themselves by writing “Fuck You” with their fingertips with water as ink. I pitied them. I pitied them the most because I understood them.

Fin’s hand traveled up Casey’s thigh, under her skirt hem, an instant signal for her to get up, grab my hand, and pull me towards the bathroom. Worried and suddenly brought back to reality I asked, “Are you okay?” but she never answered, just led. The alcohol in my body declared war on my motor skills, causing me to trip over myself and into Casey against the cold tiled bathroom wall.

“Hey,” she breathed, reeking of tequila. I smiled.

“I think you, uh... mm... didn’t pull me in here to talk?” My words were as clumsy as my limbs, yet somehow they managed to spill out of my mouth somewhat coherently. My limbs were not so lucky, barely holding me up as my knees shook with drunkenness and my arms climbed the wall above my seductress’ shoulders. Her eyes moved quickly, chased by her fluttering eyelids, and a fragile hand in the small of my back led our lips together.

She was a very calculated kisser, every movement of her tongue fluid, slow, and with purpose. I fell into her and dared her to invite me to her apartment for the night, suddenly interested in a possible one night stand.

A one night stand because even in my highly intoxicated state–alcohol, loneliness, and nails scratching secrets into my skin all at fault–there was still Alex.

[SVU] If It Isn't Her - Part One

Sun, 14 May 2006 01:33:51 GMT

Title: If It Isn't Her
Pairing: O/A, and... sort of O/C
Summary: Olivia takes a day off to piece together her past and chooses writing as an outlet.
Author's Notes: My girlfriend is completely responsible for my newfound addiction to SVU/Mariska, and is therefore to thank for this fanfic. She is also who insisted I post. I began writing it out of boredom and a mere desire to begin writing something again, but now I'm stuck and love it. Hopefully you will love it, my first fanfic ever, as well.

How long?
Words don’t really mean something unless you let them. Syllables and letters thrown together in a blender will not produce magnificent poetry unless you assign emotions to them, and even then there is no guarantee.
It’s kind of the same with people. I’ve been thrown into a blender I like to call the “dating scene” far too many times with all the wrong syllables and letters. We’d get coffee, dinner and a movie, go out dancing, and in the end they were all stale, tasteless, and stepping on my feet. Eventually I gave up and focused my energy on my work. My passion began to shift from well matured wine and sweat glistened skin to rape victims and children, which, if you consider all the other possible choices, isn’t all that bad. Those emotions which for years defined me turned hard and cold, and I began to give up.
She was unexpected. Blonde, beautiful, intelligent, charismatic…. Her presence brought about curiosity and some fear at first, watching us closely for job-related stress and possible psychoses, but something about the curve of her neck and the way she moved brought about a feeling of calm and trust. Alex—Alexandra Cabot—soon became the SVU’s ADA, as though someone had granted me a wish. The sight of her always tested the communication between my brain and lungs, but I shrugged it off. Admiration, I thought, but that didn’t last too long. We were always sneaking glances, touching hands. It was far too electric to ignore, and definitely too far gone to turn back. The fact that she was female never bothered me. Actually, I had previously wondered and fantasized, but I assumed all women—all people of both genders—had those thoughts. Before I knew it I was in love, and neither of us could get enough of each other. It was all we could have ever asked for.
Until she left. While I understood the situation and the amount of danger she was in, and was grateful for the cooperation of individuals able to help protect her, I still shook inside with the thought of having to spend time apart from her. It was for the best, for her protection, I reminded myself repeatedly, but the words just weren’t enough. Our goodbye had to be brief, but it wasn’t brief enough to end without the pressure of the build-up of tears forming behind my eyes. All I could think was she would be back in my arms soon.
“How long?” I asked. No answer. She didn’t need one. She grimaced and swallowed hard before Agent Hammond urged her to enter the vehicle and leave. “I love you.” The tears pushed their way out, pushing so forcefully it almost seemed as though it was battling the strength of both of us. The look in her eyes, the trembling of her bottom lip—we erupted into sobs together just before she turned and left.
And she was gone. For good. My Alex was in trouble and my arms were not safe enough for her.

***

Olivia stared at her computer and sighed. The clock’s hour hand had danced a quarter of the way around the circle and she had a day consumed by an outrageous case ahead of her. She couldn’t sleep, though. She tried, but all she could think about was Alex. It had been just over four weeks since the blonde had been back in New York testifying against the man who had tried to kill her and, ordered to take a day off to get her head together by Captain Cragen, Olivia was trying to put pieces together using words.

***

I retreated. Curled up in the dismal hole that is my bedroom, my comforter wrapped so tightly around me no air could worm through. I have been alone before in my life. I had sung myself to sleep for years as a child, realizing early on that my loneliness was not a matter of having no one around, but rather being forced into taking on the responsibility of raising myself, and cleaning up pools of vomit next to the face of my unconscious mother. I grew up far earlier than I should have, and because of this I related to those around me hardly at all.
How terrible is it to say you were in your thirties before you fell in love for the first time? To say you never understood “butterflies” before a beautiful young 30-something woman nodded her head at you, a deep sultry voice nearly whispering, “Hello, Detective Benson. I look forward to working with you.”
With Alex I was never alone. Even when surrounded by the thickest, heaviest silence you could imagine, loneliness was farther away from me then than ever before. She understood, she listened, and she asked for nothing from me. I would have given her everything, though. My best friend and lover, Alex was everything to me, and without her I felt empty.
Casey Novak, Alex’s ADA-successor, was a savior of sorts. Her offer of friendship and a hand to squeeze blue whenever Alex’s absence became too much kept me together (at least my outward appearance, ignoring how broken and distraught I was inside). Miserable with attempts at opening up and confessing my darkest thoughts, I found myself more and more able as Casey and I spent more evenings together wandering the streets of NYC with our favorite coffee burning the backs of our throats. As a child, even an adolescent, I was uninterested in self-revealing conversations, but Casey had a way of getting the information (and tears) out of me without me noticing. I’d spill my life story to her in a matter of minutes, not having a clue as to what I had done until her hand was holding mine, a tissue curled inside the two. It was obvious to me then that what I needed most in my life was someone to tell me everything would be alright, and she never hesitated.
“Hey, you feel like a cup of coffee?”
The attorney smiled warmly, gratefully, admitting, “Every second of every day.”
At the risk of sounding selfish, I never asked for what happened with Casey. In my nightly thoughts while failing to sleep I requested specifically for a simple friendship to help me cope, and it seemed the request was granted, but I began to notice complications. In our hour long confessions to the hardly visible NYC sky I began to notice her body was speaking in unexpected volumes to mine… and I wasn’t completely ignoring them.