path of destruction

In an instant, whatever Zosia had expected to greet her on the other side — that quirk of lip chimneying a trail of smoke, a pollock of freckles, subdued brass tones inhibiting vibrant green — was usurped by a ghost far less familiar yet haunting her all the same. Slack-jawed against her volition, a soft uninvited sound slipped from her throat to complement the uncertain poise of her mouth: “Oh.”

In meandering the expanse between her apartment and this one, Zosia had kept her blinders on to all else. She would arrive, check-in, drop off, and depart. It was an acutely scrutinised and designed approach, partly due to the hyper-focused disposition an overly caffeinated system leant itself to. The other part — unacknowledged, skipped, denied, or wishfully thought elsewhere — was to prohibit any unknown variables the chance to reward her longing for distraction and sensation. Since disengaging from the harsh burn of her emotional state to endure the destabilising transition that was the prospect of officially being Maya’s girlfriend, Zosia’s world had taken on an opaque quality as if she’d taken a step behind frosted glass to watch her life unfold without any autonomy in how things played out. Maya was happy; Zosia would catch up, eventually. She always did. It was what it was.

Before that frosted partition had been erected, Zosia’s rooftop galivanting had acquired her another unexpected companion. Although brief in nature, their exchange had left an unshakable mark in her absence. Something beyond logic, reason, and understanding, which made it even more captivating; a page turner, by any other name — doomed to be completely irresistible to an avid reader like herself.

Unprepared yet unwilling to betray as much, notwithstanding the involuntary flush enflaming her cheeks, Zosia stood steadily in place as she cleared her throat, an actioned dislodging of the excuses, uncertainty, and nervousness that had no business short-circuiting in the presence of an acquaintance. “Hi…” Zosia’s characteristically low voice dropped an additional degree, as if reluctant to draw attention. The appropriate accompanying request failed to rise to the occasion (is Angharad around?), suddenly locked away along with everything else she resisted. Kayla had been another figure that Zosia’s low laying had conveniently encompassed as she navigated her newfound title and all the trappings it came with. The girl who had made a perfectly Kayla-shaped perforation in the bubble Zosia so adamantly maintained around herself, slipping into her awareness without a warning sound. It had happened so easily, she had no time to wonder if it was a misstep — only to question where she had come from, and why now? Attaining answers was frustratingly fruitless, especially when the only sounding board such queries were posed to happened to be the inside of her skull. As such, Kayla’s presence would always be followed by a tangled string of unfulfilled questions and desires, further knotted the more Zosia attempted to analyse and dissect the mystery’s meaning, tripping up any semblance of straightforwardness to her path.

The sight was not a simple one to process, nor one Zosia eagerly sought to diminish or escape. Much to her chagrin, she could not complete the singular task she had set out to accomplish before retreating to the safety of her solace before Maya bounded over. Instead, unpredictably, Zosia found herself once more covered in the invisible web of curiosities Kayla unspooled simply by having a reason to exist in the same apartment as her. Asking about Angharad would make for a quick and dismissive visit. Whilst ordinarily that might have been the option far preferred, so long as Zosia was helplessly ensnared by an amount of interest which weighed down her limbs and heightened her heartrate, even trying to take a step away was impossible.

That most certainly was not Angharad — and yet, it was not a face Zosia opposed an encounter with. Pivoting from the inhibiting nature of her original circumstance, unable to launch into asking about another when the other was worth far beyond just a fleeting glimmer of attention, Zosia’s auto-complete faltered as her practical self’s intentions deviated from a carefully measured course onto the one her attention remained inexplicably intertwined. “You’re… here? How are you?”

Although she had known that Zosia would be on the other side of the door when she opened it, she was still taken off guard at the smaller girl standing in front of her. It was like opening a door from inside a dark room and being suddenly blinded by the outside light; you expected it but you could never be ready for the way it caught your eyes. If Zosia’s confused expression was anything to go by, Kayla had had a similar effect, though for her it was more understandable. Her hand fiddled awkwardly with the door handle she was holding and she shifted her weight from one foot to another. It was a relief when it appeared that, much like her, Zosia also had to rediscover words and sentences.

There was no opportunity for the stubborn routine of Luci’s gaze to re-engage in its usual intermittent side-glance patterns before the problematic object responsible for programming such a carousel of focus re-invited itself into view. Luci clenched her teeth at the sudden flurry of motion practically flush against her personal space, willing herself not to be even the mildest bit moved by Echo’s reappearance. Pressing her lips together into a slight curve that ( less a smile than what resembled the polite gesture a passerby may throw a stranger walking past on a footpath too narrow for each to traverse with enough room ), Luci nodding mechanically at her request. “Cool.” She repeated, dully aware the monosyllable had been thrown around far too often in the span of a few minutes to be considered normal or at all ‘cool’. But what else could be expected, with the heavily and deliberately downplayed elephant in the room — their impasse, for now cloaked with the ill-fitting fabric of a civil mutual agreement. It was a time sensitive truce, designed to last from departure to destination. Cool.

Luci clutched the wheel and stared down the windshield as if her life depended on it, relaxing only when it was her turn in the passenger seat to half-heartedly nap and prevent wayward snacks from getting lost between seats. If she’d known it would be her only chance to truly rest for the indefinite future, she would have lingered a little longer. Alas, back in the driver’s seat to watch the sunset, she began to scout out places to stay overnight in the three hours which followed… but to no avail.

Several unpromising no vacancy signs later, Luci had involuntarily developed a second wind which fuelled her with more frustration than drowsiness. “For fuck’s sake…” she muttered, rolling her eyes at the umpteenth neon sign ablaze without a room to spare. “What’s the appeal of staying in the middle of nowhere?” Miraculously, Echo had managed to fall asleep at some point and remained immune to the string of merciless disappointments. Luci dared not to wake her for the sake of having someone else to share in her complaining, for that could only last so long before the strange awkward air returned and that made her want to veer the car into the nearest cement road block to escape it.

Eventually, Luci resigned herself to accept whatever option arose with even a hint of availability, even if it meant taking up a narrow parking spot at a sketchy truck stop or bearing the ceaseless family fireside activities within a caravan park. Anything was better than nothing.

With perhaps a little too much eagerness pressed upon the gas pedal, Luci took a hard right to follow a sign for a motel off the main road. Despite it leading to a nearly full lot of cars, Luci pulled up in front of the porch attached to the front desk, persuaded by open light bathing the area in red as well as a notable lack of no vacancy indicators. Sliding out of the driver’s seat as quietly as she could in case it was merely another dead end, Luci went inside with little optimism, only to find that indeed, a room was available — a double, at that. The last and only one, which Luci immediately committed to. After all, it seemed too good to be true, given the lack of luck which had surrounded every other approach. Sure, sharing a room wasn’t ideal, but at least an entire space and two beds afforded more space than the cramped suffocation box that was the car’s interior. Snatching up two keys, Luci manoeuvred the car over to their allocated room for the night.

Luci grabbed her backpack from the backseat, clearing her throat loudly as she let the bag’s strapped accidentally-on-purpose drag across Echo’s face and neck on its way past before slamming the door on her way out of the car. There was no need to be subtle anymore. Obviously they had arrived, there was no need for unnecessarily gentle and kind wakeup calls. Smirking slightly to herself, Luci made her way to the motel room’s door to unlock it, throwing her bag on the closest bed in the darkness to call dibs on it before turning back to the car to retrieve her other suitcase.

Echo wasn’t sure how long into Luci’s questionable driving she had fallen asleep. She figured it had been around the same time the sun had began to slip past the very horizon they were chasing. The lulling rumble of the vehicle and the warm air blowing in from the fan had made the cabin of the vehicle an inviting space for sleep. She dreamt of nothing, and her muscles never fully relaxed, keeping her upright in her seat until she was abruptly woken up by Lucienne. Startled, she looked around and brought her hands up to rub at her eyes. The annoyance at Luci quickly dissipated when she realized the other girl had managed to find them somewhere to pass out for the night. 

           Since the 17th century, having the misfortune to behold any being sloppy enough to lack self-discipline had an uncanny way of causing Briar’s insides to boil. In reflexive response, like clockwork, the taste of venom rose at the back of Briar’s throat; an acrid and metallic sensation that mimicked the sudden unpleasantness of acid reflux. Weight shifting forth from her heels, Briar strode further into the room to brace her hands against the back of a bedside chair. To a distant onlooker’s eye, it might have passed as an act of relaxed and comfortable lounging — if not for the fact that her forearms were flexed taut. Suspending a pause long enough to swallow, digesting the stupidity of the loose cannon laid before her, Briar’s upper lip curled ever-so-slightly when she spoke, “And why not?” Whilst it had been easy to discern Mateo’s atrocious lack of practice, the reason behind possessing such a foolish fate was a mystery. Masters of magic took pupils under their wing as if it were going out of style, unabashedly thrilled and honoured to be put to the challenge. The occult ceremony of bestowing knowledge unto new generations kept alive precious lineages and legacies; ancient origins and methods too complex to comprehend without guidance. Teachers were never afraid to confront the brutal toll training could take on their physical and mystic forms, even when mentorships risked turning parasitic and ruled by greed. Too often students would bleed their guiding source of dry for information before moving on to petition another country’s sorcerer in hopes of gaining more skills, knowing refusal wasn’t on the table. The alternative path was even easier to fall in stride with; happy-go-lucky apprentices were as abundant as the elemental energy swirling in the atmosphere. Self-taught to the point of plateauing, yet advanced enough in practical fields to possess invaluable advice and leadership. Whatever the pathway — where there were students, there were always teachers. It was at the same time inexcusable and impressive that a witch of Mateo’s specialisation and strength had survived so long untended to.

It seemed as though Mateo’s level of caliber was rivalled only by her emotional capacity, which was as comforting as having an oil lamp and open container of kerosene stowed beside a tall pile of birch bark. Infinite tinder. If leaving her unchecked posed no immediate danger for anyone unlucky enough to be in a near enough vicinity, Briar would have been inclined to observe from afar as Mateo’s inevitable descent into madness unfolded. Alas, the souvenir momentum unwittingly retained from prior experience urged Briar to assume responsibility and care for the time being — even if what that looked like was hazy. Watching the girl visibly struggle through her discomfort was not an unfamiliar behaviour, but the barrier of sheer stubbornness she constructed between succumbing to the heat was uniquely commendable. She had a heart; a warm, dynamic, and beating one. Although, as vibrantly alive as such an irreplaceable asset made her, she was also full of fear down to her bone marrow and beading with enough sweat it looked as though she’d been hosed down. Evidently, the presence of drugs in her malfunctioning system had the effect of throwing a moist towel on a bushfire. Briar could have taken a reasonable guess that the chaotic blood pumping through her veins was still rife with cortisol and adrenaline. But she didn’t have to guess.

Perhaps it was the harrowing resemblance to a ghost of Briar’s past, or the genuine terror and desperation radiating from the bedridden fire hazard, or a means to an end in order to keep the unbroken promise that was Briar’s lifelong commitment to devoting her illogical existence ending the suffering of others — regardless, the vampyre was moved enough to dare intervene. There was no time to waste. “Temporarily,” she let the word breathe for a moment, making sure to sufficiently emphasise the impermanence of what was being elaborated on, “there might be a way to release the pressure, in an entirely harmless and non-explosive way. But you will not like it.” Lips pursing together, Briar swivelled her chair until its back was positioned flush against the bedside, in the same movement lithely adjusting her stance to straddle it. Facing the witch’s direction, she propped her arms up in front of her, one stacked over the other, before resting her chin at the centre. “You have to trust me, Mateo.” What an ironic one-way street deal. “I suppose it is not really a choice, if you sincerely want this burn to pass… but I need your confirmation, at least.” Whilst the degree of sound mind Mateo had control over to draw conclusions with was highly arguable, Briar’s needs for decisiveness and faith still existed to be met. A quick effective fix with short lived results might not have sounded enticing, but drip-feeding Mateo with vague details was the only way to avoid inducing an unhelpful flare of emotional reactivity. Besides, the end of the bargain Briar had to uphold was hardly better.

And why not? Such a simple question, and yet the answer was more complicated than Matty had time to even think about explaining. For all but a handful of people knew, Mateo did not possess any extraordinary magical abilities, and those that did know knew better than to bring up her lack of commitment to the craft. She had shut down any and all requests or attempts to get her to bring this increasingly roaring internal fire under control, more concerned with quelling the flames than giving them room to breathe, room to hurt. It was a part of herself she had restricted access to in many ways, but even a contained fire still finds ways to burn, and Matty was beginning to wonder if she would still feel like this if she had taken the time to try and control this inferno.

“That’s a long story,” she gritted through her teeth, “which I’d be more than happy to share with you if I live pass today.” She casted her eyes down to the glowing burn in her arm, the fissures in her skin seeming to pulse with each rapid thud of her heart and she realized that perhaps the odds of that happening were not as assured as she thought. The thought alone brought a temporary chill across her body, and Matty swallowed before looking at Briar. In her current state, Briar’s words took a while to sink in but any solution, even a temporary one, required very little thought on Matty’s part.

“Anything,” was the simple and rapid response to Briar. Her eyes met Briar’s, and she found herself adding, “you haven’t given me any reason not to trust you. So… So I’ll also trust that if this doesn’t work, you’ll do whatever’s necessary to… to end it. This… magic,” she grunted through the pain, as though the word was foreign on her tongue, “it doesn’t behave like it should, it d-doesn’t follow any understanding of how energy should be controlled.” Although her mother would recoil at Matty sharing anything related to how they control their magic, Matty carried on. “Witches are just able to take magic, create it temporarily if necessary, and bend it to their will in whatever capacity their magic manifests. It’s not supposed to stay dormant like this. Briar,” she pleaded, “this magic, it’s like it wants to bend me to its will. So, if it cannot be stopped, promise you’ll…” Matty trailed off, an unspoken understanding woven into the quiet air around them.

It wasn’t as though the witch wanted to die, in fact the very thought of it terrified her, but she was more terrified of hurting people around her. And the people around her right now just happened to be frustratingly gorgeous vampyre with a laisser-faire attitude and an uncanny ability to draw Matty in while caring exactly zero percent about her. She didn’t really want to find out if a vampyre could survive an explosion of magical fire (not that she would survive to see anyway), but she had an inkling that if anything could reduce a vampyre to ash, it was whatever was building inside her.  

Headed back in the direction of their shared mode of transportation, simultaneously pocketing car keys and wincing through a mouthful of caffeine, the restless indiscretion of Luci’s hurried manner only eased when she noticed the parking stall had officially fallen under Echo’s supervision. Naturally also caught in her line of sight, Luci cleared her throat and slowed her pace until she was shifting her weight between feet, planted — albeit somewhat uncooperatively — in front of the other girl’s. Luci’s eyes darted down to the other coffee cup, pursing her lips at the strangely satisfying sight of an inadvertent token of civility gone quietly accepted. Before any thought had crossed her mind to wet the dryness of her lips and break the nightlong silence, Echo was already releasing the pressure. Her body temperature fluctuated with each point, her ears and cheeks burning with humiliation at the explanation before her insides felt harrowed and aching from the concluding truth’s explicitness. If grief was to blame for the sensitivity of her temper and heartbeat, she would believe in it whole-heartedly to avoid facing any alternative detail.

Nodding stiffly, Luci looked down at the olive branch effort being proposed between them. The idea of touching Echo in such a rigid and business-like way was terrifying for what it openly acknowledged — the power it had in solidifying the fact they were on two different sides of the same canyon. From such a steep vantage point, it was impossible to imagine such a fathomless expanse of space had ever been in another form; no further than the thin veil of atoms in their breathing. “Let’s hope you’re right,” Luci mumbled, voice thick and frayed at the edges from hours without use. Swallowing hard, she re-affirmed, “Yeah, alright. Cool.” In one continuous movement, she reached out for Echo’s hand and clasped it for the briefness of a half-second before she flexed her fingers to drop the connection. “Just one condition…” Side-stepping Echo’s figure, the zipper of her jacket lightly scraped against the coffee cup in the proximity of her approach. “I’m driving first.” Retrieving the keys to rattle them in emphasis, she caught a glimpse of her resigned expression in reflection of the driver’s side window and hastened to open the door to be rid of it. Her stomach churned with the acidic contents of that first sip of unpalatable coffee, threatening to tear her in half from the inside out. Still, it was bitterness better stored there than flying off her tongue.

If Echo considered herself kindling, prone to ignition at a moment’s notice, angry and unpredictable with the volatility of a wildfire, then Luci was most definitely the spark that set her off whenever their axes collided. Yet the gentle brush of Luci’s fingertips against hers ignited a less familiar heat in Echo, one that had been buried many years ago but now clawed back out inside her. Her space was suddenly consumed by all things Luci, the girl stepping dangerously close, close enough for Echo’s eyes to look over her face, the years between them visible in the gentle age lines just beginning to form. It was suffocating to be so close to someone whose soul was so separated from her own, and Echo’s breath hitched. She was easily relieved of the keys and the air came back to her the moment Luci took a step back.

Barely concealing her flustered state, Echo cleared her throat and shuffled her way through the open gap between the car and the flame that was Luci. She resolved herself to avoiding any further physical contact with the woman, unsure that any further such contact wouldn’t burn away each wall Echo had spent the last years carefully constructing within herself. Walls were safety, and distance from Luci was safer still. “Fine by me,” she said, voice quieter than intended, “uh, we’ll swap in a few hours? Or just let me know I guess when you start feeling tired or want a break or anything.”

Although Zosia had been cautious and chaste on hospital grounds, Kayla’s unfathomable presence resembling that of a revenant, the initial numbing haze of shock and suffocating adrenaline had since lessened in impact. Back at home, all puzzle pieces recollected and accounted for, it was with neither poise nor inhibition that she kissed Kayla back. Sentimental, passionate, loving, and sincere — she kissed her completely, after all had been starved for.

Zosia’s heartbeat was a jackhammer she could hear in her eardrums, pulsating and abuzz with enthusiasm. Comfort and safety enveloped her in Kayla’s space. Staring up at Kayla’s beloved face when air snaked between their unbroken intimacy, an involuntary shiver cast a faint tremor through her limbs. It was as new as it was all the same.

“Mhm…” Temporarily stunned, Zosia blinked until the crashing waves within her enamoured skull subsided into a more manageable current. Help. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, lowering her hands the the hem of Kayla’s shirt. It took both of her hands and full concentration upon the task — newly developed fastidious habits inspired by Cordelia getting the better of her. What a rare and unusual prospect it was to be stripping someone of clothing that wasn’t comprised of safety snap buttons, vendor, or chunky plastic zippers. To touch, the material of Kayla’s shirt was a coarse barrier compared to the warm tanned skin beneath it, recognizably soft between new dappled additions of pearlescent and puckered pink scar tissue. Slowly and carefully, Zosia rolled the shirt upwards and peeled it over Kayla’s head. She made sure she had cleared all appendage avenues before she bundled it up and tossed it off to the side, glancing back upwards and inquiring softly: “More?”

It was with ease that Kayla was stripped of her t-shirt, one that smelled too much like a hospital room but had also acted as a cover for her newly acquired scars. The fresh addition of pink scar tissues make the darker tanned one fade into her skin, and Kayla tried to remember how good life was the last time she got those scars. Ghazni. That was a lifetime ago. She thought of how different life had been back then, and how different the hands that held her heart were now, anchors in the storm. The very gentle touch of Zosia’s hands, as scared and jaded as hers, was enough to get Kayla choked up, and she had to look away to regain some composure. 

She kept her hand on Zosia’s waist, and finally composed herself enough to look back at her and down at her own body. There was a difference between the shrapnel wounds, and the gunshot wounds that decorated her shoulders. There was one gunshot wound, on the side of her neck, that throbbed when she thought about it. If she closed her eyes, she could still remember the fading warm touch of Jack’s hand on her neck, as he limply slacked against her. Even in death he had been credited for keeping her alive until their back up arrived. The thought made the hair on the back of her neck stand up and Kayla forced herself to swallow it all away. 

Zosia caught her lower lip between her teeth, in the midst of figuring out how often it was appropriate to look at Kayla. If she looked elsewhere for too long, would she disappear again? Kayla’s differences were still hazy compared to the vividness of co-existing in the same field of reality. Zosia’s heartstrings were tweaked by the expression which flitted across Kayla’s face, her ears perked up at the sound of anything that differed from the shrill Cordelia decibels most enjoyed. It was more than enough. Offering Kayla a warm smile, she gave her arm a gentle squeeze before letting go and swooping down to retrieve the pacifier. Despite moving as usual, her mind spun with light-headedness when she glanced up again. Still, her most beloved duo remained where she had last seen them. Home together at last.

Barely resisting the urge kick the duffle bag as far back as possible from the doorway, discouraging its further use and the connotations it represented, Zosia swayed Cordelia gently back and forth as she wriggled and stretched, searching for Kayla once more. The sound of Kayla’s hesitant vocal chords regained Zosia’s full attention in an instant. Recalling the less ideal circumstances which had lead to this moment, Zosia felt foolish for not being more hospitable sooner. “Oh, you want to… of course, I— um, give me a minute.“ Her eyes scanned their environment, noting all the flaws. The space was certainly well-lived in; questionably organised, with baby paraphernalia infiltrating nearly every room in some form. Half-folded laundry in multiple sizes, a rack of empty bottles alongside miniature plates and utensils, various toys for various ages, baby-proofed latches pre-emptively installed on any door — be that an entryway or cupboard. Ridiculous as it probably was to be concerned with in the grand scheme of things, Zosia’s face flushed with embarrassment that she hadn’t devoted any energy into preparing for Kayla’s presence between receiving news from the hospital and heading there herself.

“I’ll get you a towel…” Zosia moved to the living room as she spoke, setting Cordelia down on her celestial-themed tummy mat setup with a parting kiss to her forehead. Standing upright, in the same movement, she grabbed a handful of teething toys and hand towels nearby, rushing from the room to tuck them in a vaguely correct drawer before she ducked in to appraise the bathroom. The bathtub was covered in a rainbow of suction cupped devices for Cordelia’s entertainment, three-quarters of which Zosia successfully knocked down and collected into a basket. “Sorry in advance for how soft and slippery you’re going to feel,” she called out, realising she was only stocked up on sensitive skin soaps and shampoos. Finally, on her way out, she pulled a clean towel from the linen closet and reappeared with a sheepish quirk of lip, “Everything else of yours is right where you left it in our room, if you want to change into something more comfortable.”

Kayla’s eyes followed Zosia naturally as she moved around the house, not daring to pull her eyes away from the safe harbour that was Zosia, one that she had been trying to get back to for far too long. Part of her thought that if she looked away the other woman would disappear. As she followed Zosia, she re-familiarized herself with their house, part of which had been made foreign by the appearance of baby toys scattered across the place without so much as a care in the world. Kayla couldn’t deny that it made the place feel warmer. Brutus trailed behind her, only to hesitate and whine when Zosia placed Cordelia down on her star-patterned tummy mat. For a brief second, Kayla thought back to their starlit rooftop meeting, who would have thought this was where they’d be now? Brutus pawed at Kayla’s leg and whined again. Traitor, she thought to herself, amused by the devotion he already had to Cordelia. 

Unable to muster commands, she resorted to a hand signal to tell Brutus to stay. Stay with Cordelia, I’m already too far gone. The dog obliged happily, and Kayla huffed out a laugh before she followed Zosia in the direction of the bathroom. As Zosia resurfaced again, towel in hand, Kayla let the weight of the last 8 months of absence on her chest. Long had she dreamed of touching and holding Zosia again, and now the girl was in front of her and she the two had only shared a brief kiss at the hospital. Kayla stepped forward, and in a sweeping motion grabbed the towel from Zosia, placed it on the dresser behind them, and then placed her hand behind Zosia’s neck to pull her into a kiss. And with that, it felt like 8 months had gone by in a blink. 

Once they parted, lips red and slightly out of breath, Kayla smiled down at Zosia and kept their bodies together. She willed it with all her heart that Zosia would feel how much she loved her. The only word out of her mouth, the only one she could muster, was a soft barely-there, “help?”. It was spoken as she tugged at her shirt, hoping Zosia would get the hint. 

It took nearly the entire capacity of Zosia’s mental and physical strength to undertake the drive home correctly, mind fogged with the awareness Kayla sat in the passenger seat. Doing nothing at all, yet with the searing radiance of a thousand suns. If it were in her power, Zosia would have spared a sidelong look or two; a reassuring smile and absentminded squeeze to her knee now and then. Instead, she kept her eyes anchored straight ahead and scanning the horizon. Landmarks passed with little value assigned to them, her muscle memory’s autopilot suddenly rusted by her challenged concentration.

Having another adult at home was the ice breaker Zosia hadn’t realised she needed. She released an unintentionally held breath the instant the door opened in its familiar fashion and Ash appeared in the wake of Brutus’ whirlwind greeting. “I think my excuse for absence is more than worthy,” Zosia answered evenly, reaching down to gently touch Brutus between the ears. Cooing softly, she could only calm the hearty back and forth swipe of his tail by half a degree. Her mouth parted in surprise at the target practice that had been made of Kayla’s grasp, against which Cordelia began wriggling her spine against as if gathering intel on a new pillow designed for her review. In a span of milliseconds, Zosia’s heart went from dropping to swelling from the marvellous sight.

“Thank you, Ash. I really appreciate you showing up last minute.” Zosia said, still facing the girl as one of her hands automatically outstretched to cup Cordelia’s cheek the instant her head lolled too drastically to one side in an effort to see Kayla’s face from a wider angle. Cordelia immediately grinned brightly, feet paddling in mid-air as one arm flailed upwards to land a hand on Kayla’s chest until her fingers closed around something solid. Ashlyn rolled her eyes with a chuckle, “She’s gonna be a real adrenaline junkie once she can walk, I’m calling it.”

Zosia dismissively shook her head at the idea, bestowing a light tap upon Cordelia’s button nose before her fingers wandered lower to fondly stroke along Kayla’s forearm. Ashlyn sighed, leaning back to stage whisper down towards the baby with faux disappointment: “Sorry, mom’s home. Bungee-jump privileges revoked, no having fun with gravity allowed ’til I’m back.” An oblivious Cordelia shifted position once more, rolling over to lean into Kayla’s torso. Zosia bent to pick up Kayla’s duffle bag in her untethered hand while Ashlyn started back towards the curb with a departing wave of her fingers, “If you guys ever need an extra hand, let me know — ah, shit. My bad.” Pivoting on her heel mid-stride, she aimed an apologetic look at Kayla, “I meant that only half-literally, you know that right? Right. Gotta go, bye!”

A smiled tugged at her lip at Ashlyn’s comment, glad that there was a little humour, even if unintentional, to be found in the situation. The sound of Ashlyn departing in a flurry of apologies and sarcasm backgrounded to the intense look the now-settled baby in her arm was giving her, curious and warming at the same time. Kayla felt like she was navigating a field of landmines and she rooted her feet in the doorway, afraid to move and do anything that might send the chubby bundle of flesh in her arms tumbling through the air. She could feel the tension in her entire body at the thought of sending mini Zosia on a field trip to the ER on her first day with Kayla: Hospitals were a no-go zone right now. 

Kayla managed to take a step forward and Cordelia shifted in her grip, one hand on Kayla’s shirt and the other grabbing at Kayla’s face. The pacifier wedged between her little mouth was spat out unceremoniously and Kayla felt herself jerk to catch it with her non-existent hand, a motion that made her swallow back a bit of unwarranted shame. She almost moved to pick up it up as well, long forgetting that whilst one hand was occupied, all of her was occupied. It was enough to make Kayla stutter out a broken apology while sending a look in Zosia’s direction that she hoped would make her understand. It came out like an unintended babble which made Cordelia squeal out a cheer and grab at Kayla’s lips. The baby returned a babble back in response, as though she was finally happy to have someone speak her language. 

Lips stretching into a smile, Kayla adjusted her grip and then made eye contact with Zosia, this one to say I think we’ll be okay. Though part of her never wanted to let go of Cordelia, there was an even more primal part of her that was deeply in need of a shower. It would have been easier to communicate this if she could speak or gesture, but the tiny being in her hand essentially disabled her communication pathways. She cautiously transferred the care of Cordelia into Zosia’s arms, who took Cordelia like it was most the natural thing in the world. “Um,” she let out, as her tongue then rattled in her mouth trying to come up with the syllable for showers. Forgoing speaking entirely, Kayla grabbed at her shirt and gestured taking it off, hoping Zosia would get the message.

Inhaling deeply, Zosia tried to decipher fragments of Kayla’s scent amongst the sterile burn of hospital air and months of displacement. Closeness may have been a luxury only briefly awarded in their time together over December, yet Zosia’s keen and insistent subconscious attachment to memorisation had ached in her absence until vivid vignettes radiated back to the forefront go her mind. Kayla’s lips tasted of salt and magnetism, familiar and indestructible as ever. Zosia’s mouth trembled with uncertainty as she watched Kayla’s movements intently in preparing to leave, the warmth from her body once more replaced with the coolness of separation. “I missed you.” She whispered, bashfully withdrawn at admitting the sentiment aloud in the place that they were. It would take some getting used to believe it was not entirely imaginary any longer. Reaching out slowly, Zosia’s fingertips softly brushed along the back of Kayla’s hand, both assessing her grip and offering a silent vow of willingness: she was not sentenced to carry any weight alone. “Nothing was the same without you.” An answer, confirmation, and invitation all at once.

The apples of Zosia’s cheeks grew more pronounced in an attempt to curb the nervous half-smile which arose as she thought of the home to which Kayla would be returning. Despite the common foundational threads, each of their own ways of living now woven imperceptibly together, it was a significantly different place than what had been departed from. In the shadow of Zosia’s frame, life had sprung to make tender the gaps of comfort she impossibly sought to fill from miles away. Cordelia awaited them both, for the first time — at the same time. Zosia could only hope she was abiding by the nap schedule she had been for months, ensuring an arrival into quiet territory that would ease Kayla into the aspects of being part of a trio. Thankfully, defying all chaotic expectations, troublesome was not a term Zosia had ever associated with the seven-month-old. She had anticipated fruitless trial and error, but it was as if Cordelia sensed the shell-like fragility of the household she had been born into. Nonetheless, with the abruptness of Zosia’s exit followed by Ashlyn’s whirlwind entry, whether or not Cordelia sensed the difference in atmosphere remained to be discovered.

Nothing was the same without you. Feeling the heat of Zosia’s hand against her own, Kayla glanced at her lover, conveying with just a look that the very same was felt for her. It couldn’t be said or felt enough that both probably wished that the without you had never happened. She briefly wondered if anything would be different, if Jack would also be holding his wife’s hand now, alive and well. As if on command, she caught a glimpse of a figure in the corner of the room, far enough out of sight to betray Kayla’s mind in wondering if it was truly there. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, that Jack’s presence haunted her, with his lifeless eyes and gargled breathing. Her eyes shut and she focused on the warmth of Zosia’s touch, knuckles white as she willed away the ghost in the room. It stressed for her how far still her mental recovery had to go, hindered by the fact that she couldn’t communicate this to anybody, like a nightmare where you try to scream but nothing comes out, except that for Kayla she didn’t even need to be asleep. Well, maybe if she left this room things would change. 

The drive back to their shared space was uneventful, she spent most of the drive there relearning the curves and dips of Zosia’s face. Zosia was still as beautiful as the first time Kayla had met her on the rooftop, but the months apart were wearing on her as hard as they had on Kayla, and the faint creases in the corner of her eyes betrayed the sleepless nights of separation. It wasn’t until Zosia pulled up to their condo that Kayla let herself think of the new addition in their space that she had yet to meet. Whereas Kayla was a walking warzone, Cordelia was innocence, tranquility, softness, and peace, and she wondered what collide of these world would bring. Oh how unprepared for a baby, yet desperate for this part of her world to love her, she was. 

Luckily for Kayla, the first being to greet her at the door was one full of unconditional love and support. Brutus: The dog barreled into her with enough force to knock her back into Zosia, licking and barking out of sheer happiness of being reunited with her and Kayla buried her face into his fur, anchoring herself back to the safe harbour of her home and family. 

“Oh so now you decide to come home,” she heard a vaguely familiar voice exclaim from the apartment, “couldn’t have been here ten minutes ago when I had to change the nastiest diaper I have ever had to change?” As the voice grew closer, Kayla stood up and flickered a glance towards an unphased Zosia, and it was enough for Kayla to put on a brave face. Ashlyn came down the hallway, a flurry of life and a bundled up Cordelia in her arms, as she continued, “I’m not even kidding Zo, I don’t know what you’re feeding her, but maybe hold back the carrot puree for a while.” A pause, and then a warm hand on Kayla’s elbow along with a softer voice. “Kayla, glad you’re home.” 

“Anyway I gotta go, I have a hot date with my probation officer,” Ashlyn exclaimed as she unceremoniously placed Cordelia in Kayla’s arm, forcing Kayla to drop her back on the floor and quickly adapt to holding a baby. The dark haired girl tickled at Cordelia’s stomach as she stated, “she likes to watch me pee in a cup. It’s kind of kinky, bye bean!” 

With that she refocused her attention to Zosia, leaving Kayla and Cordelia looking at each other, equally bewildered by their current newly found position. Cordelia starred at her with wide eyes, so like Zosia’s that Kayla was immediately enamoured by her, and then sneezed. She decided there and then that she would wage war a thousand times if it meant keeping the life in her arms safe.

Ice water trickled over the edge of Luci’s glass, sloshed into imbalance by a directionless jerk executed by overstrained hands. It was cold. She hissed a sharp breath in surprise, watching Echo’s figure retreat in slow motion and grabbing for her napkin to dry her hands and blot at the table. What had she expected would happen? The cold didn’t fade, even with her hands buried in her pockets. It stung from within; every word like a shard of ice that burrowed under her skin, catching every nerve along the way. Something to be undoubtedly stewed over in the awkward silence of hours, if not days, to come. Balling up her own napkin, Luci tossed it across the table with a scowl. “Fucking bitch.” As usual, muttering to an empty seat she wished was occupied.

                         ~~~

Against all odds, the night was not elongated by Luci’s infuriated feelings ( despite biding her sweet time in the safety of the diner, unwilling to risk running into the blonde bombshell she had willingly stoked and detonated ). When she eventually tread heavily back to the hotel and unlocked her door, relaxing had sounded impossible. The dark was disorienting and somehow both clammy and chilling. She wanted only to be alone, to be anywhere else  — to go anywhere else. Would it be so bad if she drove off in the night? Echo was many things, but she wasn’t incapable. If she so badly wanted to attend some stupid wedding, she could hitchhike and go fuck herself on Dateline. If only there was nobody who would miss her. Gritting her teeth, Luci adamantly severed the thought as suddenly as it had come. Bitch. Fucking bitch. Momentary relief saved her, namely from further subjection to questionable considerations, the instant her head hit the pillow. Immediate aggressiveness succumbing to longwinded exhaustion; dissolving lingering anger into a simmer that turned tepid overnight.

The next morning’s too-early alarm barely managed to make an imprint, merely inspiring Luci to hit the snooze button multiple times before her feet dared touch the floor. Dully and slowly, she recalled the reason for her unfamiliar surroundings. Half-asleep, she shrugged into her clothes and layered on a jacket before consulting the GPS on her phone, tracing a line far too long for her liking. Deliberately starving off the awareness that she had a passenger to facilitate, Luci trudged across the parking lot to the front desk’s kiosk for a crappy yet scolding cup of self-serve coffee. She grabbed two, placing one on the hood of the rental car before re-entering her room to leave the room key behind. Sleepy haze still well intact, it took until she attempted to open the car incorrectly thrice in a row to realise she’d left the wrong key behind. With an unmotivated groan, she doubled back to slam the hotel key down in trade for the other. “Fuck my life.” It was going to be long day.

The cool night air when the exited she diner paled in comparison to the heat blooming across her face, anger spreading easily. Anger, mixed with some embarrassment. Nothing, no one, got a rise out of her quite as easily as Luci did, and part of her felt shame at how she had behaved. Still, the hurt inside her unravelled, as though it had been there all these years when she had assumed differently. The itch for an escape was strong, but Echo persevered past the hotel bar with barely contained composure before she crashed into her bed, naked against the cool sheet. 

 ~~~

Sleep escaped her most of the night, emotions and memories that she had tucked away unboxed with the simplest of arguments with Luci. Echo had spent the hours wishing there was a way to mend their fragile relationship, one that was as much a part of her as Ethan had been. Ethan. If he could see them now he’d shake his head. That was enough to keep Echo twisting and turning most of the night, and enough for Echo to acknowledge that if both of them were going to make it to the wedding in time, she would need to give leeway to Luci, the way she had many years ago.

The morning brought about a change of resolution and Echo washed away the events of last night with a lukewarm shower. She wiped the condensation off the mirror, stared at herself, and decided that whatever her feelings for Luci were (deeper than she’d ever acknowledge) she would put them aside to build a temporary home until the safe harbour of separation greeted her. Indifferent. This she could do. But it was easier said than done when she came down to the car, room key tossed in the return box, to find a steaming cup of shitty hotel coffee waiting for her. She wasn’t sure how to stop herself from caring about Luci when it was clear that some part of Luci, no matter how small it was, still cared for her. 

Echo bit her tongue, and waited for the other girl to come back to the car. She’d learn to read Luci long enough ago to know the girl was as tense as Echo felt. She leaned against the driver door, coffee cup in hand, and dared to made eye contact with her. 

 A moment of hesitation and then, “I’m not seeing anyone. Nothing serious, never anything serious. Not since Ethan passed.” Not since you left. She swallowed. “It’s still, you know, a point of sensitivity for me. And I’m still pissed at you. But with you I feel a little closer to him, so we both need to put whatever hate we have for each other, aside.” 

Pushing herself up from the car, she added, “But I can’t do that if you bring up how I choose to handle this grief, Luci. I know you feel it too, with me, and I think we need to accept that our friendship died along with Ethan. That doesn’t mean we can’t get through a road trip to Cali without strangling each other.” 

          Luci engaged her plate of food with minimal interest, mouthful after mouthful forced into her mouth with mechanic precision. Trivial things such as taste and enjoyment were sensations cast far from her mind, swallowing each bite only to smother the ache that growled at her chest. If she concentrated hard enough, it was merely a hunger which resided — purely — within her stomach. Quantifiable, containable, conventional, and erasable.

Her narrow concentration felt all the more justified at Echo’s answer. The prongs Luci’s fork and knife lingered on her plate, repeatedly pressing down upon at the same morsel of food until it resembled a mishmash of beige. The undesired piece of information slid under her skin, snug as a letter to an envelope. It sealed her interest in the matter, unwittingly all the more fuelled by the breeziness Echo exuded. Out of context: a flimsy and lightweight claim that likely meant as little as the mind paid to it — and yet her dining partner had a way of weaponising even the most innocuous sentiment.

Teeth clenched against a freshly induced wave of juvenile nostalgia, it was with an unceremonious clatter that Luci set her utensils down. “Kinda nauseating, actually. Leaves a weird taste in the mouth.” Favouring her glass of water, she cradled it between two hands with the slightest side-to-side motion until half-melted ice clinked against the sides as she stared levelly across the table. “It’s beyond me how anyone could still feel proud slinging the same thing time after time… but I guess blandness is an acquired middle-of-nowhere taste. Can’t rewrite a recipe for disaster if people keep ordering it, right?”

There she was, the person that Echo remembered. The one whose back she would recognize anywhere, memorized by the amount of time she had watched her leave, the one whose voicemail probably hadn’t changed since the last voicemail Echo had dared to leave years ago now. Echo hummed, grabbed her own glass, and matched Luci’s stare from across the table as she took a prolonged sip of water. Once she set her glass back down, she broke eye contact and looked at their surroundings: the elderly couple enjoying some midnight pancakes, the cacophonous group of teenagers flinging straw wrappers at one another, the drunk couple that couldn’t keep their hands off of themselves. And here they were, not fitting into any of these categories, clearly more than a flimsy diner table between them, and Echo wasn’t stupid. The meaning of Luci’s words wasn’t lost on her.

               An abrupt spike of doubt had crept in the instant the door cracked open wide enough to permit Zosia’s eyes to land on the face of girl she had long ago memorised from pictures and first-hand tracing. All at once it seemed too good to be true. She didn’t dare blink nor risk looking anywhere else. Nowhere else mattered. There existed a stubbornly deep-rooted insistence that she believe the room before her was another dream, making her over-cautious with hesitance to dare disturb the beauty of it. How could she guarantee the occupant, the most beloved object of her every output of affection and adoration, was nothing more than a mirage made manifest through too many hours spent wishful thinking? The consequence of reaching out to touch anything nearby would surely shatter the illusion and bring it all to a brutal standstill. It forced her to stay rooted in place, though her lips parted wordlessly as Kayla approached. Her hands twitched with longing, dark eyes wistfully glazed, as her heart pounded at her chest so vigorously it ached. Then the sensory arrest was broken. The invisible line marking the boundary between Kayla’s personal space and hers had dissolved, transforming every lingering particle of disbelief into delight. For the first time since an oblivion of nothingness had swept over Zosia like a tsunamic wave, she paused to take several deep breaths. “Kayla… Kayla, my darling….” she murmured lovingly into the warmth of her hair, voice strained with desperation and amazement — much like the hands she raised, gingerly pressing up against Kayla’s back to hold her in return, knowing she ought to handle her with care yet needing all the evidence she could gather that this reality was not an impermanent one. Equilibrium had been restored, no matter how bittersweet the journey had been to reclaim it.

She desired nothing more than to absorb every inkling of the moment and sear it into the memory of her senses for evermore. Months of fear and repeatedly indulging herself in disjointed scenarios, from the worst to the best, vanished the instant she landed in Kayla’s embrace. The unruly and obtrusive mental noise which had once cottoned her every thought, pulsating louder with every heartbeat spent solo, subsided to nothing more than a mild ebbing sensation at the outskirts of her awareness. It was a change so swift it made her head spin to the point that her knees threatened to quiver and buckle beneath her. She bit her lip against a pang of guilt, encapsulated by a greater unfamiliar flare of realisation that she didn’t have the privilege to depend of Kayla in such a physical manner; couldn’t afford to burden her with more than she already would be required to.

The differences in Kayla’s appearance were noticeable yet factors unable to earn Zosia’s attention in too much detail, too caught up in the luxury of being together in any capacity at all. Content simply to have the other girl in close proximity, she shifted her head barely a fraction on order to affectionately graze the tip of her nose against Kayla’s. Formerly dormant emotions simmered unfairly beneath her skin, decisively denied and urged to diffuse with the faintest of shivers. Only a mere occasional hum of acknowledgement was allocated to the doctor’s presence, relaying additional details which evoked Zosia’s understanding, sympathy, and concern at different stages. Zoning out numbly was no longer an option. Kayla’s injuries evidently extended beyond what met the eye, some momentarily concealed by the clothes she wore. Breakable had never been a word that sprung to mind when Zosia thought of Kayla — it still wasn’t fitting, exactly. But the condition she had returned in was undeniably different than the one she’d departed in. Kayla was fractured; worn and torn. She had brought home souvenirs of damage beyond just the shallow cosmetic scratch, additional and subtractions that would require relearning to understand fluently. At the small of Kayla’s back, Zosia’s left hand subconsciously flexed as her eyes and mind performed a full body scan of what she was able to easily see. Wanting nothing more than to escort her home and cocoon her away from any further separating interventions ( so eagerly supplied by the world around them ), Zosia finally eased back onto her heels and cleared her throat in preparation to politely thank the doctor. With only her torso committed to leaning away, her arms remained outstretched and protectively cradled around Kayla’s sides as her head turned elsewhere. “And, I gather, so long as all is well today… we are cleared to go home, correct?”

It had been more than 300 days since she’d heard Zosia call her name, yet the way it slipped effortlessly from Zosia’s lips made Kayla’s lips tremble. She held the girl tightly against her, zoning out herself as she was well aware of her limitation and the extent of care her injuries needed. Kayla had a million questions for Zosia, and her inability to articulate them made her grind her teeth together. Once the doctor affirmed Zosia’s question, stating that Kayla had been discharged, she left the room, and subsequently both of them to their own. Kayla urged Zosia back towards her with a push of her hand on the small of her back, head leaning down easily to capture the other girl’s lips into a kiss. It was enough for 10 months of exhaustion and loneliness to tip the glass and Kayla, unaccustomed to showing emotions, let the tears flow down her face. It was a moment of kissing and Zosia 

Although she wanted to remain anchored to Zosia, unwilling to part out of fear that she would lose herself at sea, there was also a part of Kayla that was eager to leave this room, preferably for good. As such, she slowly pulled herself away, sniffled and used the back of her hand to wipe at her eyes. She cleared her throat and then went to her bed to retrieve the duffle bag she had put under the bed. Her jaw clenched as she made the effort to bend down, pull the bag out, and then lift it out with her hand. It wasn’t as though her doctor had just suggested to keep any physical efforts to a minimum. Even then, Kayla felt it necessary to prove to Zosia that she was still good, even if she wasn’t how she was before. Part of her hurt to think she might never have the physical strength or capability to lift her lover in her arms again. She mumbled out something, fully intending to say that she was ready to go, and then looked back up at Zosia to meet her eyes.