turn back

Alex, I know why you didn’t show up that night. It was you at Daley Plaza that day. It was you. Please, don’t go. Just wait. Please. Don’t look for me. Don’t try to find me. I love you. And it’s taken me all this time to say it, but I love you. And if you still care for me, wait for me. Wait with me. Just wait. Wait. Wait two years, Alex. Come to the lake house. I’m here. 

Summary: “Do all lovers feel like they’re inventing something?”

(Or what happened on that first night together)

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“You dreamed of me?”

“No… I thought of you.”

Marianne lulls her head back against Héloïse with the confession, whispered hotly against her neck in a way that makes her feel like her body is melting away and turning into liquid heat. She completely surrenders to Héloïse’s touch, following the delicate press of the girl’s hand on her neck and turning her face with her eyes closed. When Héloïse finally kisses her, her lips are soft against Marianne’s, and yet certain. There is no despair nor tentativeness this time,  just a calm, mutual yearning, so apparent in the way they wrap their arms around each other, how they chase each other’s mouth to make that kiss as endless as possible.

They break apart, even then barely so, only when Héloïse’s hands slide down from Marianne’s neck to her chest, teasing at the fabric of her dress. Marianne gazes down at Héloïse’s fingers, watching how the girl slowly unbuttons the front of her top, then her eyes fall closed again and she leans in, to softly press her lips on Héloïse’s cheek and at the corner of her mouth. She can feel how quivering Héloïse’s breath is against the skin of her face, but there is no hesitation to her movements. Héloïse undresses her with the confidence that comes from being able to finally act on her desires, and Marianne finds herself shivering while thinking that she was the one to ignite such a burning need within the other girl. It’s yet another thing in which they are the same, Marianne burns just as intensely for Héloïse.

Once her top hits the floor with a soft whoosh, Marianne reaches behind her back to untie her corset while Héloïse unclasps the pins holding her skirt up. She steps out of both garments at once until she is standing only in her gown, watching Héloïse watch her as the girl does the same with her own blue dress. They take a moment to observe each other after shedding almost all their clothes. Their quiet breathing sounds heavy in the silence of the room, interrupted only by the crackling of the fire in the fireplace, but when Héloïse rests her hand over Marianne’s chest like she had done before kissing her, and moves her fingers across her collarbone and shoulder, Marianne feels her heart pound so hard inside her chest she wonders if Héloïse might be able to not only feel but hear the effect she has on her.

She knows what Héloïse wants to do without her having to utter a single word. They keep looking at each other as Héloïse’s fingers slide under the hem of Marianne’s gown. Marianne doesn’t even have to nod, it’s all in her eyes. Still, her body trembles when Héloïse pushes at the light fabric and the gown slides down, leaving Marianne completely naked before Héloïse’s eyes.

And Héloïse is shameless in how she looks at her, letting her gaze travel slowly up and down Marianne’s body, taking in every minute detail with such an intensity in her eyes that Marianne feels her own mouth run dry. There is no self-consciousness to being looked at like this for her, not when it’s Héloïse who is looking at her, curious and eager and reverent. A twinge of need makes Marianne throb deep in her core when Héloïse’s eyes meet hers again and Marianne sees just how dark they have become.

“Let your hair down,” Héloïse suddenly whispers, to Marianne’s surprise.

“Why?” she asks.

“Because I’ve never seen you that way.”

For so long, Héloïse had been such a riddle to Marianne that even now she was conditioned to expect a complex explanation for such a request. And yet, it’s exactly its simplicity that makes it impossible to resist for Marianne. The painter does as told, pulling the pins out of her hair and letting her dark locks fall down over her shoulders. Héloïse blinks at the sight, her lips part lightly, and then she mimics Marianne’s movements, bringing her hands to the back of her head and letting down her blonde hair. A loose strand cascades over her face and lightly conceals her gaze, but Héloïse’s eyes never leave Marianne. She looks incredibly soft in Marianne’s eyes, and yet stronger than ever, as if Marianne was watching an ardent spirit breaking free of any constraint and being finally fully unveiled in front of her, for her.

“Have you seen many nude women in your life?” Héloïse asks quietly, keeping her eyes on Marianne. The painter wasn’t expecting the question, but she nods after a moment.

“I’ve painted them.”

Héloïse bites at her lip then and her throat bobs visibly. It’s the most nervous Marianne has ever seen her look, even if she is the one with no clothes on.

“I’ve never been naked for anyone before,” Héloïse whispers, and Marianne feels like her heart is going to burst out of her chest when she watches Héloïse reach for the hem of her gown. She hesitates for a moment, her gaze always fixed on Marianne, then she lets the gown slide down, making herself as bare as Marianne is.

Do all lovers feel they’re inventing something?

She didn’t see me.

Portrait de la jeune fille en feu