Summary: Stella gets a call from Reed directly following the final episode of The Fall S3. (Stella Gibson/Reed Smith)
Chapter Index 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8
Warning: This story contains references and descriptions of self-harm.
AN: Big thanks as always to @mobygirl21, @misshadley, and @Nsgnicole. Thank you to those of you who have stuck with this story even though it takes me forever to write. Just knowing it has readers makes it all worth it x
There’s a distant click of a lock as Reed closes the door to her sister’s flat. She makes sure to notice it somewhere in the back of her mind since the rest of her is blissfully occupied with more important things. Important things like Stella’s mouth and her perfectly shaped tongue. Reed considers herself very lucky to have such an expertly gifted mouth attached to the underside of her ear, dotting constellations down the slope of her neck. It makes everything inside her twist and go weak, small breathy sounds escaping the back of her throat.
Thank god they’re alone - Reed considers herself very lucky for that too. The girls are gone, Lydia’s gone, and she can finally touch Stella without fear of a wandering student or a small set of peeping eyes. And god, she wants to touch her, she never wants to stop touching her.
One of Reed’s hands tangles in the loose waves of Stella’s hair, pulling her in for a messy kiss that’s wet and undiscerning. She just wants her close, as close as she can get and then even closer still. She never knows how to get enough of her at once. And then Stella leans back against the door, dragging Reed with her, pulling lazily at the fabric of her clothes, a cool hand slipping across the taught skin of her stomach.
Knees shuffling, Stella angles her hips and presses her thigh into the juncture of Reed’s legs. Pushing against her, it creates a breathless friction that has Reed’s jaw falling open against the sculpted curve of Stella’s cheekbone, a hot burst of air there. How is she so good at that? She makes their bodies fit together so effortlessly and it always makes Reed want to come in three seconds flat - like some sort of sixth sense.
Suddenly the memory of their last encounter in this hallway slams into Reed’s memory with a jolt between her legs. She remembers how hard Stella made her come against the wall and it’s enough to send her head spinning, enough to make her forget her own name.
But this time has to be different, she can’t forget, not even as Stella moves against her, tongue diving into the shell of her ear. She’d forgotten herself last time and felt like shit for days, guilt consuming her in the knowledge that she’d been reckless and hurt her. She can’t let that happen again, she needs to come to her senses and be careful, tune into Stella’s breathing, watch for signs of discomfort or pain, even if they’re small.
And as if on cue, Reed moves a hand to Stella’s breast that has her jerking almost violently in response.
“Stella,” Reed says pulling away as quickly as she can, trying to catch her breath while registering the expression of pain washing over her features. And Stella’s head falls back against the door, a defeated wince at her brow, eyes shut tight.
Reed watches as Stella’s chest rises in a halted sort of way, flinching halfway through each breath. And suddenly Reed feels so incredibly angry. Angry with Spector for ever touching her, for ever existing, and angry with Stella for not letting herself heal. Because this is ridiculous, she’s tired of Stella brushing it off like it’s nothing, tired of excuses. Sometimes a little pain isn’t the worst thing. But sometimes it is.
Heaving a frustrated sigh, Reed tries to contain the emotion rearing up inside her.
“What the hell was that?” she asks, and it comes out harsher than she’d meant it to but if Stella says she’s ‘fine,’ Reed might just implode.
Not opening her eyes, Stella must hear the threat in her voice because eventually she admits, “I went swimming this afternoon. Probably for too long.”
Reed’s anger takes hold of Stella’s admission and darts off, stealing into the dark corners of her chest, building a toxic pressure. It fuels her more emotional instincts: to scold her, to shake her (if she could) and tell her to stop running herself into the ground. Because it’s hard to watch something you love destroy itself. There’s a litany of disapproving words tearing through her mind, words she would surely regret if she said them so she bites her tongue to keep them from spilling out.
Then Stella warily lifts her lids, just a crack, like maybe she can sense the provoked flare blazing in front of her. And in her strained lower register, propped up against the door, she concedes, “Definitely for too long.”
And Stella’s words wash over Reed like water, steam simmering through her lungs, dousing the fiery tinder with her small confession. A simple acknowledged truth. Reed hears the vague hiss of hot coals as she looks into Stella’s evaluating stare - a bit guarded after setting her truth free, and it’s then that Reed realizes what she feared all along. The devastating fact that Stella knows exactly what she’s doing and still does it anyway. That Reed’s unleashed lecture won’t do either of them any good. Her efforts are useless in the face Stella’s, and she feels so entirely helpless in that moment she could cry.
“I know,” Stella says on an exhausted whisper, followed by a more firm, “I know.” Then her hand swings forward like a wandering vine, fingers snaking around Reed’s - a plea to let it go. Holding Stella’s eyes, Reed notices how glassy they’ve gone in the surrounding darkness, tired from a day of emotional battery. Let it go, she hears them say through the buzzing electric current that runs between them. For her own sake, Reed wishes she could, she wishes she didn’t care so much because then letting go might be easier, or even possible.
Stella’s fingers gently tug at her, willing her forward and Reed’s surprised by how susceptible her body is to this soft seduction. Especially when her mind is still charred and fuming, puffs of smoke curling futilely around the base of her skull. But Stella’s eyes slip down to the bruised skin of her lips and Reed feels her heart bottom out. In these complicated moments, this faultless attraction to her feels like a curse, like hypnosis. One look and she’s in a trance, logic and free will be damned.
And when Stella sways forward, kissing her carefully with an open mouth, Reed wonders how much she’s willing to sacrifice to please her. Because she fervidly wants to please her. She wants to heal her and fuck her, make love to her and breathe her in - she just can’t decide which she wants to do first or if that’s the perfect order.
As their lips brush in a mesmerizing suggestion, her brain floods with an overwhelming and intrusive notion that tells her to keep going. But she can’t keep going. She can’t rationalize with her and tuck her quietly into bed, and she certainly can’t push her into the door and fuck sense into her. What’s worse is that she can’t turn her away, her body wouldn’t even know how.
Her options are limited and her mind races to calculate an appropriate solution.
“What’d they give you for it?” she mumbles into her lips and when Stella doesn’t answer, Reed pulls back and clarifies, “Painkillers?”
“Liquor’s fine,” Stella says and it’s not an answer even though it’s disguised as one.
“Yes,” she says, eyes falling back to Reed’s lips, leaning in to meet them. Not finished with the singular ounce of care that she’s determined to impose upon her, Reed lowers her chin, evading the advance.
“Have you eaten anything today?”
Stella’s lips twist. That’s a no.
“Liquor cabinet’s in there. I’ll order something - do you have a preference?”
Stella stares at her for a long moment, all of her energy contained in the pilot light wavering behind her pupils, a small blue, appraising flame.
“Whatever’s fast,” she says evenly, the implication burning steadily in her gaze. And then she disappears, lithe steps leading her in the direction of Lydia’s glass bottles, the ones with nice labels and a thin layer of dust from lack of attention. It has Reed biting her lip, questioning herself, unsure if she’s done the right thing.
Doing what she can, she’s going to attempt to nourish her - put food in her body and peace in her mind. She rolls her shoulders trying to erase the guilty feeling forming between the bones and walks toward the kitchen to check one thing off the list. Flicking a switch above the stove, artificial light quickly illuminates a small patch of kitchen, offsetting the moonlight ribboned across the floor. She digs through the cluttered miscellaneous drawer until she unearths a chinese menu (Lydia’s go-to suggestion for mediocre takeaway), and holds the crumpled paper to the lampyrid light. Quickly dialing the number, she places a generic order with a promise of 15-20 minutes until it arrives and it has her feeling unnecessarily accomplished.
When she makes her way into the dining room, Stella’s at the small bar with two healthy glasses of scotch. Sidling up next to her, Reed sees that she’s already had a sip or two - or four, and it makes her smile as much as it makes her worry because she knows how Stella drinks. But on an empty stomach… Reed bites back a cautionary warning to be careful, swallowing it with a silencing gulp.
“You know, fasting is a sacred pillar of various religious communities around the world,” she says as if reading Reed’s mind, as if she’d managed to blurt out her concern into the silence. “Apparently studies have supported finding major physiological and mental health benefits.”
“In most communities, fasting also requires abstinence from alcohol and sex. Not just food.”
Stella gives a non committal hum into her glass and drains it poignantly, a small smirk flirting at her lips as she reaches for the bottle to refill it. There’s the gentle clink of glass against glass and the tinkering sound of pouring liquid. Then her eyes land dangerously on Reed’s, “Well, that won’t do.”
Reed turns, not wanting to look at her too long lest she be tempted to do something stupid, so she takes a seat at the dining room table. A little space might be good, and since they’ve neglected to turn on any further light source, Stella remains half cloaked in shadow. Yes, that’s good. Reed might be able to exercise a bit of restraint if she can’t properly see her.
But then the whites of Stella’s eyes bounce in her direction, and unfortunately the dark surroundings do nothing to lessen their effect on her. Chill bumps call to attention across her arms and Reed’s body goes impossibly still, hyper aware that she’s being sized up as Stella gauges the fortitude of her decision making. How negotiable is dinner? She feels caught, like wandering through the wilderness, immediately arrested by the reflective stare of an assumed predator. And no, Reed doesn’t usually treat Stella like an assumed predator but maybe she should. Maybe she should take caution, move carefully around her.
View her from a distance.
She could be eaten alive.
The thought only gains traction as Stella moves towards her, painfully slow and Reed can’t tell if the pace is a byproduct of her injury or the unpredictable energy between them. Filtered through a thick canopy of embroidered drapes, light shifts over her features as she draws nearer. And faced with the the cat-like slink of her hips and the powerful prowess of her stare, Reed knows the rush of encountering a wild animal, majestic and frightening in equal measure.
But when Stella’s knees bump into hers as she sets her glass down ever so carefully on the hardwood table, she seems inexplicably human. A flesh and blood woman, slender and small, the same one gasping against the front door with a determined look in her eye. And Stella remains silent as she places one leg and then the other on either side of Reed’s chair, a hand dragging blissfully through the strands of Reed’s hair while she looks down at her.
Closing her eyes with an upturned chin, Reed wills herself to find strength or even anger. Anger had worked earlier. Anger just might stall whatever’s happening to her resolve under Stella’s ministrations. But the most Reed can work up is huffy frustration, another pointless sigh. She wants to scoff with the eroding patience of a tired mother. She wants to ask her why, why she insists on doing this.
Then there’s the soft pad of Stella’s thumb brushing her bottom lip and Reed holds her breath. She counts to 3 and tries to will herself into immunity, bracing herself to look at her. Nothing could prepare her for sight of it though: Stella lowering herself into the cradle of her lap, a hitch to her body as she settles there, the definitive straightening of her spine and snag in her lungs.
Wide-eyed, Reed forces herself to breathe and suddenly she doesn’t know what she wants.
Stella looks at her thoughtfully, tracing Reed’s lips with the delicate weight of her thumb, wandering curiously up to her Cupid’s bow and then pausing at her teeth, the small digit poised at the entrance of her mouth. Under the intensity of her stare, Reed’s lips fall open, just barely. And Stella checks in with her, meeting her eyes as she presses her well-manicured nail forward, slipping it easily into the wet heat of her mouth, teeth grazing a knuckle. Instinctually, Reed’s tongue wraps around it, sucking as she watches Stella’s jaw open to reveal a sliver of teeth, her eyes dilating in real time. It’s a look of desire so distilled that Reed doesn’t want to let her go. Resisting the urge to keep her there, Reed lets the thumb escape and Stella swipes its wet tip over the curved plane of Reed’s bottom lip with profound concentration.
Leaning forward, Stella replaces the print of her finger with the sear of her tongue, branding her with the same hovering caress of her mouth. And she focuses on the perimeter of Reed’s lips, outlining their shape with agonizing attention. It’s too much and not enough, and Reed can’t help but grip Stella’s thighs with every ounce of suspense clawing through her body, knowing that she won’t hurt her there but wondering if it will bruise all the same. Reed feels Stella let out an involuntary breath of relief, warm wet air expelled against her parted lips. Then there’s the almost immediate roll of Stella’s hips, the smallest turn followed by an aching snare. And Reed bites down, sinking her teeth into a warning. Nails digging into the strong muscles of Stella’s thighs, it provokes a sound, irresistibly crystalline and so unlike the sounds Reed typically hears from her.
Then Stella’s hand is on Reed’s, moving it from her thigh to her core in a silent but earth-shattering directive. Because there are few things more arousing than concise direction from Stella Gibson, and ‘conflicted’ doesn’t even begin to describe the extremes battling for Reed’s ethical integrity right now. With Stella painfully purring in the crux of her lap, the alignment of her moral compass swivels all over the fucking place; due north almost entirely lost to the perfect weight of her body. And as Stella’s hand slides down across Reed’s throat, stopping possessively over her collarbone, Stella looks down at her with heavy eyes and Reed knows without a doubt that she is positively fucked.
But while Reed’s mind spins and stutters, her thumb presses against the seam of Stella’s trousers eliciting the reward of that sound again. Cursing quietly into Stella’s mouth, she wonders if there will ever be a moment in her future where she’s not dreaming of this sound, thinking of ways to make it happen, obsessing over it. And she can’t resist her, can’t resist taking another pass at her through the material of her pants. Then Reed watches Stella’s eyes drift shut - first in ecstacy and then in spasm.
Reluctantly, Reed’s hand drifts away, roughly dragging down the side of her ass.
And Stella’s eyes drill into her.
“Saved by the bell,” Stella says quietly.
She removes herself from Reed’s lap with careful precision and Reed takes a moment to catch her breath before standing to answer the door. And when she returns, she finds Stella sitting innocently at the table looking into the depths of her glass like she might find something more than liquor at the bottom.
“Sustenance,” Reed says placing the bag on the table and Stella doesn’t budge. “If we can even call it that…” and at least Stella grants her the gift of a small smile.
Reed doesn’t bother with plates or silverware like she might if this were a proper meal, a dinner by definition rather than disguise. Because they both know the food is little more than an excuse, a means to an end. And Stella obediently eats it as such.
They make their way through sticky sauce and noodles in silence, and there’s easily enough food to feed four people. When Reed’s satisfied that they’ve done the best their best, she makes minimal effort to tidy the scattered lids and plastic wrappers. Bright eyed, Stella pushes her remaining food towards Reed, who stacks unused napkins and packets into vague piles of ‘keep’ and ‘toss.’ Then she makes it all disappear.
When she returns, Stella’s finished her drink, tipping the glass recklessly at her lips, making a show of catching the last remaining drop along its crystal rim.
“No,” Stella says with a heavily rounded ‘o’ that’s very indicative of what she does need, and Reed finds it alluring and irritating in equal measure.
Stella’s teeth catch her lip like she’s gotten away with something and Reed thinks that she could absolutely kill her. She’s tempted to make a follow up comment, something petty about sleeping and bed rest but then Stella’s hand slips into hers with a little squeeze. It feels like a thank you and an apology all rolled into one. Once again, Reed can’t bring herself to be upset, not when Stella’s leading her through the darkened house and up the stairs, all soft movements and careful steps.
And when they reach Reed’s bedroom, Stella waits patiently as Reed closes the door. Behind her facade of submission, this absolute calm that she projects standing there, hands folded behind her back, Reed still senses an anxious energy pulsing at their fingertips. Stella’s restlessness and her own hesitation, all masked beneath the convenient veil of a dark room.
The sound of the floorboards creak as Reed approaches her and Stella doesn’t move, not even as Reed’s head tilts curiously to the side, looking her over. Nor does she move when Reed leans in, kissing her chastely on the lips, whispering against them, “Help me take off your shirt.”
Gingerly, Reed rolls up the hem of Stella’s top, curling the fabric under her fingers and carefully ghosting it over the ladder of her ribs, stretching it treacherously over the swell of her breasts. Obediently raising her arms, Stella allows Reed to slide it over the obstacle of her shoulders, and when her hair falls messily around her face, Reed distractedly drops the garment in an unceremonial mess on the floor. But Stella doesn’t blink, not even as Reed steps closer, fingers at the clasp of her trousers, open mouth glistening a few millimeters from her own. And Reed holds her eyes as she tugs Stella’s pants down, thumbs hooked into the waistband, rounding the curve of her ass. She follows them to the floor, freeing them from Stella’s ankles and pushing the perfectly tailored cloth towards her shirt.
Then Stella’s fingers twitch. Unable to stay still for so long, she reaches for Reed’s shirt, fists bunching the fabric at her sides until Reed stops her with the halt of a hand. Stella holds in a breath, biting her tongue as Reed removes her grip with a small tsk of admonishment. And Reed can see the fire in her gaze, the internal debate as her fingers flex and contract. But then Reed’s fulfilling her unspoken request, tearing her sweater up over her head, and she kicks off her jeans with far less care than she’d managed with Stella’s clothes. Shoving them aside, she steps back into Stella’s space, arms circling her torso with a kiss to her shoulder. And she’s careful not to touch her bruised ribs as she unhooks the back of her bra, sliding it cautiously from her shoulders.
Other kisses follow, gifts of tender pressure sprinkled over Stella’s neck, the underside of her jaw, and then her collarbone. Stella hums a small sound as Reed’s mouth travels south, a wet kiss at her belly button dotted by the snap of underwear, teeth and elastic and lace. Stella’s hand pushes through Reed’s hair on a sigh, brushing it back from her face as she looks down at her. Occupied with her task of peeling Stella’s underwear down her legs, Reed concentrates on appreciating the sharp jut of her hips and the impossibly flat plane of her stomach. Looking up at her then, Reed makes sure to catch her eyes as she licks her already wet clit, just once, delivering a chaste kiss to the smooth skin of her apex afterwards.
“Lay down on the bed,” she says and it’s barely a whisper.
Stella’s eyes go as dark as the night sky, swirling nebulas shining in the far off distance as stray comets of rebellious emotion trail across her deep blue irises, the weight of Reed’s command churning there. It vibrates in the astute set of her jaw and the tilt of her chin, this desire to retaliate as strong as the desire to comply. And Reed waits her out, knowing that if she wants this, they’ll both arrive at the same conclusion.
It almost takes a full minute before Stella moves. But when she does, she does it with care, settling herself onto the mattress with diligent attention. Slightly this way and slightly that, her body molds into the comforter and Reed thinks that the picture she makes could be showcased in any exhibit, any museum. The explicit definition of fine art.
In a brief and terrifying moment, Reed realizes how much she truly cares for her. How much she worries about her and how much she craves her happiness. The things she might do to make her smile.
But no, now’s not the time for that, she reasons. Crawling up to meet Stella on the cushy duvet, she suspends herself weightlessly over Stella’s patiently waiting body. “Relax,” Reed whispers against her lips and then seriously, “don’t move.”
“Ridiculous,” Stella huffs when Reed’s mouth glides down her body. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Reed mumbles into her skin, biting harder than she meant to but then smiling when she hears Stella gasp in pleasure. “And it won’t be ridiculous when you come. So, shut up.”
Before Stella can argue any further, Reed takes a nipple into her mouth and sucks it against the flats of her teeth until the only thing Stella has to say is her name. It makes Reed grin, a gloating flash of expression against the soft skin of her breast as she releases her sensitized nipple and moves onto the other one. Then Stella’s squirming below her but she’s trying - trying to obey Reed’s parameters as best she can. And Reed knows that the sooner she can make her come, the better, the less damage she might inflict on herself.
So she plants a kiss to her sternum and moves on, tongue trailing down Stella’s body until she’s at the juncture of her legs. And she parts them gently, settling herself between the strong columns of her thighs.
“You really want to find out?” Reed asks, holding Stella’s eyes. And her jaw jumps as Reed wets her lips, the glistening outline of her mouth dropping closer to her cunt. But when there’s no response, Reed hovers there with a lift of her eyebrow and waits.
“No,” Stella breathes and it’s barely audible.
“Good,” Reed says, immediately dragging her tongue from Stella’s entrance to her clit, circling there and getting straight to the point. And she looks up at her, watching the way Stella’s eyes fall closed and the way her breasts rise on inhale, the arresting tension of her muscles as they strain beneath her fingers. Instantaneously Reed feels herself get wet. Humming into the slippery folds of Stella’s sex, she feels her own hips roll uselessly into the mattress and it’s always so surprising, so strangely surprising. She never expects the throbbing pang of arousal that comes with getting Stella off - she’d always thought it was the sort of thing reserved for exaggerated anecdotes, the inflated tales of other people’s sex lives, the sort of thing people say but don’t mean. But with Stella it always happens, every single time, in the best, most frustrating way imaginable.
And before this all started, she hadn’t imagined a lot of things. She hadn’t imagined enjoying the way a woman might taste, she’d never really given it much thought... But then she’d managed to think about the way Stella might taste to varying levels of insanity. Not too long ago, she’s convinced that there was a point in which the thought never fully left her mind. And of course she’s since discovered that she loves the way Stella tastes, looks forward to it even. They’ve only had sex a handful of times but it’s still shocking to enjoy the sensation of going down on her, to welcome the silky feel of her against her tongue.
These noises she makes, the muffled curses and punctuated gasps of encouragement, they almost feel like a bonus in comparison. And Reed feels her core clench as she laps at Stella, rhythmically sucking her clit, feeling herself wind up as she watches Stella do the same.
Perhaps this is the best part, watching her unfold from this vantage point. The concentrated crease at her brow paired with the soft bite of her lip, or the way her fingers pinch and play with her nipples. Reed thinks she’s never seen anything more beautifully erotic as the way her hair splays across the pillow, her head sinking deeper into its feathered support while her mouth soundlessly dips open in rapture. But then there are her eyes, those two acute extraordinary eyes suddenly zeroing in on Reed’s for a moment of uninterrupted connection. It fills Reed up, flooding her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and she feels sexy. She feels alive and more powerful than she can ever remember feeling because she’s making this happen. This charged thing between them, it’s her’s. And she wants it to be her’s for as long as humanly possible, she wants this feeling to last forever.
But she knows that forever isn’t in the cards tonight. She’s got to make quick work of this. Even these small movements, the microrotation of her hips and the pace of her breathing - it’s more than Stella should be doing - and it might feel good now but she’ll undoubtedly pay the price later. So Reed shifts her weight and uses her free hand to insert a finger into the wet heat of Stella’s entrance. And she doesn’t move her hand, just barely pushes up against Stella’s wall, and the sensation has Stella’s eyes falling shut and her hips jutting forward messily against Reed’s mouth.
Her own thighs press together as she tries to remain focused, knowing that she’s on the right track. And it’s an awkward angle for her arm but she keeps it there, inserting a second finger and reaping the reward of a neatly pronounced “Fuck. Yes.” God, she wants to touch herself, she wants Stella to recover and she wants to be able to fuck her without hurting her.
Then there’s a hand in her hair and that’s a good sign too because that always seems to happen right before Stella comes. And sure enough, she’s keening that she’s close and moving against her in earnest, a breathy plea sounding from her parted lips. Before Reed knows it, Stella’s legs involuntarily close in on the sides of her head, and she loses whatever sense she had of what she was doing. She just keeps going, knowing that she’s done it because Stella’s coming and she’s tempted to mumble her own “fuck yes” into the wetness of her pussy.
And then Stella’s still, appropriately limp and practically collapsed in on herself.
Reed extricates her limbs as gently as possible, sitting back on her knees and wiping her mouth. She can smell Stella on her skin and she loves this part, the part where she smells her everywhere. In the air, on the sheets, on her hands. And she’s so turned on, so high on this feeling that she thinks she might have to go to the bathroom and finish herself off.
“Thank you,” Stella whispers blissfully and Reed smiles, bending down to kiss the softness at her hip. She breathes her in and feels confident, like there’s nothing she can’t do. As long as she can do that…
It’ll just take a minute.
She pulls away to get up, thinking up some excuse so that she can disappear and come back. But as she does so, something holds her gaze. No, not something. Stella. Stella’s body catches her eye. And it lingers, eyes focusing and refocusing, wandering over the mauled terrain laid out inconspicuously below the place she’d just been. And Reed tells herself not to stare, she tries not to in moment likes these - moments of ‘before’ and ‘after.’ But it’s just so jarring that she can’t help it. Something doesn’t compute. Her brain rejects what it sees. Because the rest of Stella is so visually flawless, so effortlessly perfect, that everything about this feels starkly out of place.
There’s the urge to touch her, to run her fingers over it like braille, uncover the stories Stella’s written there. Maybe they hold the answers she’s been seeking. Or maybe she just wants to prove to herself that they’re real, tactile evidence that they exist beyond the ghost she’s made them in her mind. More than anything, Reed just wants to know her, all of her, including these secret parts that only become visible in the dark.
And she thinks back to their day together, wind in their hair and sun in the eyes, taking in the beauty of the world around them. The sudden insight into Stella’s past, years revealed in just a moment. An unexpectedly small and simple moment sitting on an overlook. Reed cherishes those moments, the brief and weighty opportunities to discover unbridled closeness with her.
Maybe one day they’ll find that closeness here. Laying in a bed, unexpectedly revealed in a moment of ‘after.’
Then she realizes that she’s doing exactly what she didn’t want to be doing.
Her eyes fly back up to Stella’s face, hoping to find her mildly euphoric or possibly even close to sleep. But instead, she’s met with an unreadable look, pointed and vaguely terrifying in its intensity.
The last time Reed unwittingly gaped at Stella’s scars, she’d gone cold to the touch, shut down completely and run off to the bathroom. And adrenaline spikes through her veins as she tries to calculate what might happen next. If there’s any way to save this or if Stella will achingly stand to leave, pitifully attempting to gather her belongings. But the silence just drags on, pealing in her ears as she tries to think of something to say.
And Stella just stares. Quietly. Calmly.
And eventually she speaks.
“What?” Reed asks, not knowing what she means.
“Come here,” Stella repeats.
Unsure, Reed wonders if she’ll get off the hook that easily, if she’ll climb up there and drift off to sleep next to Stella, leaving her stolen moment in the bathroom long behind. But as she slinks up to the head of the bed, an arm tugs her forward.
“You know what I mean. Keep going.”
“Stella,” Reed says warily.
“I won’t move. That’s the big problem isn’t it. I’ll be still.”
“I don’t want to sleep, I want you to come here.”
“Tanya,” she says dangerously, “Move.”
But Reed still hesitates, her mind stalled out, torn between the niggling concerns in her head and the weight of Stella’s command. She opens her mouth to speak, no idea what to say, when Stella cuts her off with a look, incinerating on impact.
Low and gravelly, her voice is authoritative in a way that makes Reed’s core pulse, the need to come resurfacing as quickly as it vanished. And even as she tells herself not to do this, she feels herself ache and she wants to scream. Or slap herself. Something. Backbone - where’s her backbone? She needs to get ahold of herself, tell Stella to go the fuck to sleep and start taking her recovery seriously. She needs to tell her…
She doesn’t know what she needs to tell her.
Because there’s that look in her eyes and that tone in her voice. It leaves no room for argument and Reed’s not proud to discover the visceral, almost primitive attraction she feels toward it.
And when she moves, she feels drunk and dissociative, not like herself.
She blinks and looks down. Strands of blonde hair curling demurely around her knees as she straddles Stella’s shoulders. Stella’s eyes have softened and look a little shiny as she peers up at her. And Reed sees lust churning there amidst stubborn notes of fatigue, and she doesn’t know what to do with that...
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me, scoot up.”
“Don’t suffocate me and I’ll be fine,” she huffs, coaxing Reed’s hips forward with her hands. And Reed almost finds it funny until she hears Stella’s voice go soft like velvet when she requests, “Come here.”
She moves up so that she’s just inches above Stella’s face, her hands moving to the bed frame for support. Sliding up her body, Stella’s hands beckon her down. “Drop your hips,” she says in that husky tone, less commanding and more of a suggestion than anything else.
And Reed knows that if she got up right now, if she really let her concerns take over, she knows that Stella might be pissy but that she wouldn’t push her. Stella craves control, needs it even, in certain areas of her life to function day to day - Reed knows this, and she’s witnessed it enough times to understand it. Just as she knows that this is one of those times, an exercise in resurgence because she’s relinquished so much.
Besides, Reed won’t deny that her body’s practically demanding this. She can feel her pelvic floor tighten around nothing, releasing in frustration. And it’s as petulant as Stella, pleading with her, begging.
Not knowing when it actually happens, she makes the decision to commit, lowering herself in reach of Stella’s impatient mouth. And it’s only with the first lick of her tongue that Reed realizes how soaked she actually is. Stella breathes and the air feels cool against her folds, completely drenched in her own desire.
“Mm,” she hears Stella hum and then she feels it against her clit, slick and glorious, her head lolling forward. “Knew you’d be happy to see me.”
“I swear to God,” she mutters down at her, trying to think of something to say, anything to erase the smugness from her voice. But nothing follows because everything goes wondrously hazy, melting all around her. Even her annoyance evaporates in seconds because nothing can compete with this feeling, not even that.
She thinks she says it, she doesn’t know what she says, but she feels Stella’s hands on her, pulling her closer. And somewhere in the amalgamous daze of her mind, she knows that she’s not supposed to be making this hard for her. Fast. She’s supposed to make this quick.
So she tries her very best to relax, to fully relax and sink down into this position, giving herself over to Stella completely. And it works at first because she feels so good, so fucking good that it’s almost too good. Reed clutches at the bedframe and then the wall, feeling like she might shatter up here, afraid that pieces of her will scatter everywhere, bouncing carelessly into space with no hopes of ever retrieving them. If only she could anchor herself to something, anything. Because her only anchor is Stella’s jaw working magic against her pussy and it’s not enough, not enough to keep her steady as she soars higher and higher away from her body.
But her hips still roll, unable to fully control them as they make the tiniest movements against the welcoming warmth of Stella’s mouth. And she tells herself to let go, to let this happen, even as her thighs tremble and her knuckles lock.
Then Stella shifts a bit beneath her and Reed thinks she’ll have a break, a moment to collect herself as Stella adjusts her shoulder. But Stella’s not just adjusting her weight, she’s bringing her hand up to insert a finger deep inside her and Reed almost feels herself split in two. And she moves it slowly, adding another as her apt tongue circles Reed’s clit with that same orgasm inducing brilliance.
It’s not long before Reed’s body is calling her to ride those fingers, purling pants wafting toward the ceiling as she grinds into Stella’s face. And Stella’s other arm wraps around Reed’s leg, holding her there, pressed against her mouth as she begins to come.
Radiant spots of color erupt behind her eyelids as her fingertips press into the wall with the force of her weight and her climax bearing down on them. And she tries not to press into Stella, she tries to lift away from her, to keep herself from completely smothering her. But Stella’s arm is like a vice and it keeps her there as she comes and comes, absorbing the aftershocks of her ogasm on her tongue until Reed can’t take it anymore.
“Okay, okay,” she says, flimsily falling to the side and crumbling into a messy jumble of limbs on the sheets. She tries to focus on breathing but soon she hears the telltale tinker of Stella’s laughter and feels the comforter covering her body, placed securely around her shoulders.
“You’re not supposed to move,” she mumbles.
She tries to open her eyes but everything feels heavy.
“I know,” she whispers, “I’m not.”
Reed feels Stella’s fingers tangle with hers, and sleeps.
Coffee drips lumberingly from the pot in Reed’s kitchen, its earthy aroma blanketing Stella in the warm haven of early morning as the sun begins to rise. The room reflects the new dawn, every wall alight with the prismatic beauty of daybreak.
Reed cracks eggs into a clear bowl, piling empty shells off to the side and running her hands under hot water. She’s making omelettes and even though Stella’s not hungry, she likes this ritual - the one where Reed cooks for her. It’s a strange thing to become attached to but Stella finds an unfamiliar and indescribable peace in the gesture, something calming about the simplicity of their lives when it happens. And it’s been a long time since she’s let this happen with someone, breakfast and crying and comfort, this level of access to her own monotony.
Mundane things always become the most important.
She wraps her fingers around a healthy looking grapefruit and slices, sectioning the fruit into pieces. It smells citric and sweet as she cuts, rosy pink juice spilling onto her fingers. And Reed says something but she’s not sure what it is so she laughs anyway. It doesn’t really matter, nothing feels like it matters because she’s just so happy. So unbelievably happy.
But then she realizes, hearing it echo, that she knows what Reed had said.
She wants a piece of grapefruit.
Picking up a ripe ruby hunk, she passes it to Reed who’s busy whisking together a thick yellowy concoction with the concentration her profession demands. She looks up from it and smiles, a brilliant sort of smile that makes Stella feel warm all over, protected in this cocoon of their togetherness. And she takes the fruit and puts it to Reed’s mouth, watching as her eyes flit from the offering back to Stella’s eyes.
Dauntlessly, she bites it, a sugary stream of juice sliding over her lip and down her chin. Stella captures it with her thumb. And then with her tongue. She feels her entire body flush and then vaguely wonders if they’ll have time for this. They have to work today don’t they? It’s a relatively far off thought when Reed is all softness and warmth against her, wet mouths greeting each other, clinging to each other in a promise of eternity.
And she wants her so bad, she thinks she’ll never escape it.
Then they’re at the table, clean plates and lazy smiles. Even the air feels good as she sit there, looking at the radiant way sunlight shines across Reed’s hair. She thinks that she could look at it for hours, studying every nuance that exists within her, every nuance that exists around her. She never wants to move.
But she moves anyway, collecting their plates and placing them in the sink. She rinses everything with hot water. It’s the least she can do after Reed’s gone through the trouble of cooking. She doesn’t mind at all because there’s -
Something catches her eye over by the table where Reed’s sitting. And when she looks, everything goes cold, instantly cold. Because it’s impossible.
He looks at Reed as he pulls a chair out, sitting next to her, saying nothing. He says nothing. He sits there staring, still and staring. And Reed’s eyes go wide as she looks at him. Wider as she looks at Stella because she knows something is wrong. She knows that her father is dead. Has been dead for 27 years. But he doesn’t look any older than the day Stella last saw him, smiling handsomely as he walked out the door.
Now there’s no smile, that small smile she’d been so accustomed to as a child is nowhere to be found. His expressionless face turns towards her, empty eyes boring into her own, almost black in their vacancy. And it’s unnatural, wrong somehow. So incredibly disturbing.
And maybe he doesn’t know it.
Stella’s paralyzed, unable to think or breathe. Her heart pounds in her ears, blood beating loudly against her eardrums.
She’s so afraid, she can’t remember being more afraid in her entire life because she can’t watch him die.
He blinks. Lifelessly. An animated corpse.
She’s tired but she has to keep going. She doesn’t know why. All she knows is that there’s danger, a threat of some kind, and it’s coming for her. Coming for them.
But Gwen’s falling behind.
And she’s loud, twigs snapping and leaves crunching beneath her feet as they run. She needs to be fucking quiet or they’re going to hear her. They’re going to hear both of them. And that can’t happen - they have to keep going. They need to go faster, pick up the pace, because it’s getting closer. Stella can feel it closing in on them, dread filling her entire body as it nears.
“Stella!” Gwen cries softly, terror coloring the whimper in her voice.
Stella grabs her hand, trying to pull her along so that they can run together but it doesn’t help. Gwen just stumbles, her legs fumblingly clumsily until she trips completely, falling hard to the ground.
Stopping her momentum, Stella skids across the dirt, running back for her. And she’s pulling at her, pulling at her arms and her clothes, trying to get her on her feet, trying to make her stand. But she just won’t, she crumbles into a ball and sobs.
“Me too. But you have to get up.”
And Stella uses every bit of strength and adrenaline coursing through her body to pull Gwen a few feet away, underbrush clawing at them as she drags her behind a tree. Her body is leaden with fear, caving in on itself, and Stella has to practically carry her. Pressing her back into the bark, she settles Gwen heavily into her lap as she prays for a miracle.
Gwen trembles and Stella holds her, she holds her tight, probably too tight as she pushes against the tree, hoping that it will envelop them in some kind of protection.
It’s odd holding her. As terrified as she is, she can’t help but notice how odd it feels to hold her, to have her this close, breathing into her hair. Because it’s been so long, hasn’t it? Years and years. Decades even?
And she doesn’t hold Gwen anymore. And she’s dreamt of it too many times. So this must be a dream. It has to be.
She feels herself shaking.
She begs herself to open her fucking eyes.
She sees white everywhere, it’s so damn bright.
Blinking it out of her eyes, she looks around and she’s in her office.
She’s in her office, just her tiny mess of an office. She’s alone and Gwen’s not here. She’s just somebody that Stella used to know, and she’s not holding her, there’s no one here. She can breathe. She takes advantage it with a quivering breath, an attempt to leave the panic behind.
It was nothing but a dream. Nothing but a nightmare. Hallucination. A panic attack.
Standing on wobbly legs, she finds herself in the bathroom, splashing water over her face. God, she’s still so hot, sweating. She takes a paper towel and wets it under the sink, putting it against her neck, and it doesn’t do much.
And then there’s fear, stronger than ever. Because someone’s in this fucking bathroom and she knows it. She sees them in the mirror behind her, a set of feet peeking out under one of the stalls.
Maybe she’s being paranoid, anxious. Maybe she’s being crazy.
She wants to leave, she should get out of here, but her body won’t move.
The door swings open and someone emerges from the stall. She spins around.
Of course it’s Greg. He’s probably found her card, the small number scratched into it, she shouldn’t have left her initial. Or maybe he’s found out that she had coffee with Gwen, however short-lived and unproductive it was. And now he’s come to confront her in her own fucking office because he’s that kind of cocky. He thinks he can get away with it. But she’s faced him before and she’s stronger now. She’s been through training and learned to fight, and he’s a idiot piece of shit if he thinks that no one will hear her in this building.
But as he draws nearer, she can’t scream.
She can’t scream and she’s on the ground and it’s not Greg at all.
No, it’s Spector, his black eyes looming over her, hateful and mere inches from hers. His putrid breath against her face, his hand covering her mouth, gripping her throat, squeezing.
And again, she can’t breathe, abject terror reclaiming her body as everything goes black.
She struggles and struggles, but she just can’t move. She can’t scream. She can’t breathe.
Without a doubt, she realizes her fate so planely. The most nauseating feeling.
Reed startles awake in pain, something sharp digging into her side.
Turning over, she realizes that it’s Stella’s elbow lodged there, pushing harder even as Reed attempts to move it. And her movements are tight and jerky. Almost instantly, Reed recognizes that she must be having a nightmare, eyes fluttering madly below her eyelids, moisture collecting at her brow. Reed puts a hand to her cheek, trying to wake her gently, but then she realizes how hot her skins feels and sits up worriedly.
“Stella,” she says, hoping she’ll hear her name and come out of it.
A short gasp of air rattles into the night as Stella twitches but doesn’t wake. So Reed moves her hand, feeling how warm Stella is everywhere, and she must be caught in a fever dream. With a firm hold, Reed grabs her shoulder and shakes her a bit, “Stella, wake up.”
But Stella mumbles wordlessly, deeply lost to some subconscious battle while her breathing goes shallow and erratic. For a fleeting moment, Reed feels illogically frightened, worried even though she understands that there’s probably nothing seriously wrong. Stella’s dreaming, just dreaming, but she needs to wake up. Tossing aside her guilt, she shakes her harder and relief finally surges through her chest when Stella jolts awake.
Cloudy eyes look up at her, confused and blinking wildly.
“Stella, you’re burning up,” she says, bringing the gentle caress of her hand back to her face, trying to ground her back in reality.
“Fuck,” she murmurs, eyelids falling closed as short breaths continue to burst from her lungs. And then she lurches forward so suddenly that Reed barely has time to register the alarmed look breaking across her face. But it’s instantaneous and she’d recognize it anywhere.
Quickly rolling over, Reed moves to grab the waste bin at her bedside and puts it directly under Stella’s mouth before she vomits into the plastic lining. It happens once, and then a few seconds pass and it happens again. Reed tries to brush the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ears.
“Sorry,” Stella says in a dejected whisper, face hovering over the bin.
“You’re fine,” Reed says nervously. “Sit back with this. I’ll get you some water.”
And she leaves Stella clutching the bin to go downstairs and fill up a tall glass at the tap. On her way back, she hurriedly grabs a cold washcloth and some ibuprofen, returning to find Stella slumped against her pillow, the sick bin sitting sadly on the ground next to her.
“Hey,” she says moving it over to sit on the edge of the bed next to her. “Try to sit up and take these.”
Stella’s eyes shut tighter as she breathes out of a pitiful noise that ambiguously tells Reed, ‘no.’
“Please,” Reed tries again. “It’ll bring down your fever.” Reaching around Stella, she adjusts the pillows behind her to make it easier. But when Stella still doesn’t move, Reed doesn’t wait. She puts her hands behind Stella’s back and lifts her into a sitting position while Stella semi-cooperates. “Come on, sit up.”
Weakly, her fingers collect the pills from Reed’s offering palm and she swallows them with a small sip of water. Then she’s sinking back into the comforter, the grimace intensifying at her brow.
“Talk to me,” Reed says, wiping the cool washcloth at her hairline. “What’s wrong? What hurts?”
“Nothing,” Stella mumbles, blinking blearily as her eyes fight to stay open. “S’just my stomach.”
“Does it feel any better now?”
“Tired,” she says weakly, her eyes drifting closed. “I’m just…” And she looks seconds from sleep. So Reed lets her slip away into unconsciousness as she evaluates the seriousness of the situation. She replaces the washcloth with her hand, assessing her fever and decides that it’s relatively low. Next she grabs her wrist and feels for a pulse. Stella groans a little and Reed has to keep herself from laughing - she’s almost completely positive that Stella would never let her do this under any other set of circumstances. And then that worries her. But the pulse she finds is strong, a bit fast but steady, not erratic.
Images of her from earlier in the day flicker through her mind, the exhaustion written across her face, the weight at her shoulders. She’s probably run down, dehydrated and in need of rest.
Fixing the blankets around her, Reed resigns to letting her sleep, knowing that she’s probably fine. Then she collects the lining of the sick bin, replacing it with a clean one, and tries to fall back asleep.
A few hours later, she’s had little luck. Reed wakes in and out of dozing to keep an eye on her fever, and around 5AM, she decides that it’s useless. Fetching her laptop from downstairs, she crawls into bed and begins checking her email. Every so often, Stella’s breathing escalates and she talks nonsense words into the early morning.
Sunlight peeking through Reed’s window, Stella barely stirs, but it’s time for her to take more medication. She’s also sweat through the pillowcase; Reed should really swap it for a clean one.
“It’s time for you to take something,” Reed says trying to wake her gently. She watches as Stella’s eyes blink open, still red and glassy, registering the world around her. “You should take some more of this.”
Without noise or complaint this time, Stella props herself on an elbow so that she can adhere to Reed’s request. Her skin looks clammy and the circles under eyes carve her typically regal face into a gaunt imitation.
“Great,” Stella says sarcastically, swallowing the pills that Reed gives her.
“Like I got run over,” she grumbles, setting the glass of water down on the nightstand.
“Drink,” Reed insists, handing it back to her. “You need to hydrate. And I need to change this,” she says, indicating to Stella’s pillowcase.
Stella takes a deep breath, one that looks like it hurts, and fortifies herself to comply with Reed’s caregiving. And she manages to sit up as Reed swaps out the pillows and drink half the glass of water before retreating back into the covers, bundling herself in bedding.
Giving her a strange look, even as her eyes close on their own volition, Stella huffs out a vague “What?”
“At your office,” Reed clarifies. “I’ll call - tell them you’ll be out today.”
“Well, you can’t go in either,” Reed tries to say without sounding too authoritarian. Self-consciously, she softens. “Tell me who to call.”
Several seconds pass as Stella breathes, probably deciding how horrible she feels and Reed wonders how hard she’ll have to push the subject. She doesn’t relish in the idea of having to play doctor in these situations, but she’s prepared to. There’s only so much she can let go, only so much she’s willing to witness as Stella runs herself into the ground.
So she holds strong while a lecture (for another time) writes itself in her mind. And she can feel herself becoming frustrated and concerned in equal turns because Stella can barely sit up; the fact that she thinks she’s even capable of going to work is laughable at best. Yet she’s still silent, protesting Reed’s request for a contact. And this stubbornness even now, even now while she can barely sit, stokes Reed’s anger from the night before. She doesn’t know how to get through to her, she doesn’t know how to say the things that she needs to say, and she’s been silent for so long. For years she’s been silent and she refuses to sit back in her self-censored prison for much longer.
But then, right as Reed is about to repeat her question, Stella finally speaks.
“James,” Stella says almost inaudibly. “James Colgan.”
“Thank you,” Reed sighs, feeling herself unwind. “What’s the password on your mobile?”
Grabbing her mobile from the nightstand, Reed takes it downstairs and scrolls through her contacts looking for ‘James Colgan.’ It feels invasive to have Stella’s phone at her fingertips and for someone who’s so private, having even momentary access to it feels wrong, like she’s doing it without her permission. So she tries not to infer anything, she tries not to read names - not that she would know any of them - but she tries to do what she came to do and get it over with. And she finds his information with relative ease and dials…
“Hello, this is Professor Reed Smith,” she says, suddenly nervous. “I’m uh, calling on behalf of Stella Gibson. She won’t be coming in today and I wanted to let someone know.”
“Who is this exactly?” He sounds alarmed Reed understands why. She doubts that Stella ever calls out of work, let alone has someone call for her.
“I’m a friend of Stella’s,” Reed explains with a patient finality to her voice. Because while she understands his concern, she would never provide a more extensive explanation of their relationship to one of Stella’s colleagues, especially not without her consent. “She’s sick.”
James does not respond, not for a few moments anyway. And then he clears his throat.
“I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Reed says, inexplicably glad to hear someone else in Stella’s life express interest in her wellbeing. “But she could use some rest.”
“Okay.” And then, “You’re with her?”
“Yes, I’ll be with her all day.”
“Alright, well thank you.”
Reed’s not sure if he’s thanking her for staying with Stella or thanking her for the call. But either way, she’s glad to know that he exists and that Stella has at least one person in her life that worries about her.
“Of course. She’ll call as soon as she’s able.”
Reed ends the call and locks Stella’s phone.
“Who’s that?” A voice comes from behind her.
“What? Walk around my own home?” Lydia says rounding a corner into view.
“No, I just mean - when did you get here?” Reed asks swiping at her hair because she has no idea what she looks like. She’s been up all night and her guard’s down, she didn’t hear Lydia come home - she thought she was alone. “I thought you were at Ian’s for the night.”
“Well, I was,” Lydia explains. “But then we had a row so...”
“In the middle of the night? It was that bad?”
“He’s a prick,” she says offhandedly like anyone would know, but Reed sees hints of hurt lining her frown and knows that it must be more than that.
“It’s fine,” she says, less able to hide the bitterness in her tone this time. Then she returns to her original question. “Who was that?”
“Oh, um, Stella’s here,” she explains looking at the phone and then pocketing it. “And she’s ill so I was calling out of work for her.”
“Yeah, sleeping upstairs.”
Lydia’s eyebrows pop up as she smiles a mischievous sort of grin. “Does this mean I finally get to meet her?”
“She’s really unwell,” Reed says with an edge to her voice and Lydia’s smile retreats. “Please don’t get any ideas.”
“I don’t know…” she says crossing her arms. “‘Stress, exhaustion probably. From what I can tell, she’s definitely dehydrated.”
“You’re going to stay with her?”
“If you need me to grab the girls from school today-“
“No, no. I can get them. Thank you but… I think she just needs sleep.”
It’s hot in her office and she’s unreasonably tired. The kind of tired that wraps itself around your heart and seeps into your muscles. But she can’t lay down. There’s so much to do.
She thinks she needs to clean. Yes, she definitely needs to clean because there’s still paperwork stacked on every fucking surface of her office - she hasn’t gotten the chance to tackle it since her return. And it’s everywhere, her office is absolutely littered with it. How did it get so out of hand while she was away? Had she really left all of it just lying around?
She doesn’t like to leave a mess, not like this one.
They’re sharing an office now and it’s fairly close to hell on earth. Spencer knew what she was doing when she forced them into this cramped room together, it’s a message, a clear sign, a punishment. Stella’s got no space and looking around, his shit is just everywhere. He’s everywhere. Always asking her questions, making comments and conversation. She can’t breathe.
It hurts to breathe, she realizes, it hurts to exist.
God, she feels like shit, she should‘ve stayed home today. She should’ve listened to Reed, why hadn’t she listened to her? Why had she left?
She can’t remember leaving…
She pries an eye open and everything’s so fucking bright that she immediately closes it. And then she drags her arm out from under the comforter because she’s so hot. Christ, she needs some air.
Then she feels something soothing at her scalp and it sends jolts of relaxing energy down neck and into her shoulders. It’s repetitive like a revisiting tide and it must be Reed, running her fingers absentmindedly through Stella’s hair. For a brief moment, it’s the only good thing she can register, warm and tranquil.
Even still, Stella thinks she should move. She doesn’t really let people touch her like this, hasn’t in a long time anyway… But it feels good. She forgot how nice something this could feel. Maybe it’s just that she feels so heinous in comparison.
Then the feeling at her crown is gone and Reed shifts next to her, realizing she’s awake.
“How’re you feeling?” she asks, her voice full of softness and Stella can’t decide if she loves it or hates it. She doesn’t have much time to think it over before Reed’s asking more questions. “Same, better, or worse?”
Stella takes a moment to breathe slowly and find her patience before she mutters, “Same.” After all, she’s not used to being sick and therefore not used to being cared for. And there’s something deep inside of her, buried beneath all of this illness, that yearns for and simultaneously rejects Reed’s caregiving. There’s distant feelings of gratitude down there surrounded by more obvious feelings of absolute annoyance.
She wishes she were in her own bed.
She wishes she didn’t have to think about this.
“You should drink some water while you’re awake,” she says and it pokes at Stella’s nerves even though she’s right. Because of course she’s right, Stella has no doubt, but it’s so unfortunately not the point.
Regardless, she anchors her hands and pushes herself into a sitting position until pain erupts down the center of her skull over the shifting balance of her weight. And if her eyes could shut tighter, they would because everything feels like it’s spinning, and she’s so so dizzy from the pain.
Then there’s something at her lips and it takes her a few seconds to register that it’s a straw, a straw added to her water cup, which is now being held instructively up to her lips. And the instinctive part of her body that knows she’s dehydrated floods with relief while the ornery part of her wants to refuse it on principle. Pride eventually wins out as her hand wraps around the glass because if she’s going to drink any fucking water, she’ll do it herself because she’s certainly not a child. And however she might feel, she’s not technically on her deathbed.
“You can take more ibuprofen in an hour, it’s on the nightstand.”
Stella sips from the straw and says nothing, feeling infantile for drinking this way but it’s so much easier and everything hurts. So she concedes to feeling infantile because it’s better than the alternative, whatever it may be. Pain radiates along her muscles, this dull aching pain that feels like it will never leave and she feels disgusting. Her skin is hot and there’s beads of sweat sliding down her back and between her breasts. She needs to pee.
“How’s your stomach?” Reed asks watching her intently and Stella can’t see much but she senses it just the same. “Do you think you can eat anything?”
“No,” she croaks, setting the glass down beside her on the nightstand with a shake of her wrist. And she’s thinks she made it look relatively easy, like she didn’t have to concentrate to do it, but she’s not sure. Sinking down into the sheets, she burrows beneath them as best she can because suddenly she’s freezing, and there’s no way she could possibly ever find enough warmth.
Truly, no questions asked, she discovers the absolute clarity that she can’t bear to live like this, shrouded in the oscillating pain of existence for a moment longer. It’s too much, it’s been too much for such a long long time. If only this bed would swallow her whole...
“I’ll fix something incase you change your mind,” comes Reed’s voice softly and there’s something in it that makes Stella hurt worse than the illness coursing through her body. But she doesn’t have enough energy to unravel it. So she sits with it and lets it have her. “Give you some space, stop hovering.”
Stella’s so overwhelmed by this throbbing ailment that she barely notices the hot tear slip from the crease of her eye, forming a small wet spot where her face meets the pillow. Then she feels the cool dampness of it against her fevered skin and the realization is so startling that a few more searing drops immediately follow.
She would do anything to get away from here.
“I’ll check on you in a bit.”
There’s a soft thud of the door closing and Stella turns her whole face into the pillow, letting it absorb the wetness from her face. And the air in her mouth is acrid as she tries to breathe. Part of her wishes that Reed could come back. But Stella knows that she would never be able to make her understand. She would never be able to make her see. And even if she could, even if she could somehow find a way, nothing good would ever come from it. So few things in life are as certain as this. Whatever deep mystery Reed thinks lies within Stella, she’s wrong. It simply doesn’t exist. Because there’s no mystery to what’s hidden away inside her.
And someone as good as Reed wouldn’t be able comprehend it. She shouldn’t have to.
Stella wishes that she’d never met her.
As darkness slips compassionately around her, she hates everything about herself.
Leaves shuffle across the ground and the air feels brisk as Reed pulls her coat a tighter to ward off the chill. Even though it’s a bit cooler than she anticipated, she’s grateful for the time outside and she’s even grateful for relentless breeze. After hours of nesting at home, she’d needed a break from the stuffy staleness of that bedroom. The walls were closing in on her, even from the kitchen downstairs.
It’s not that she minds looking after Stella. Because she doesn’t.
No, it’s just that taking care of people who don’t want to be taken care of is a particular kind of draining, and Stella’s not the best patient. Obviously, that’s not surprising in and of itself - if anything, Reed would have expected her to be worse. But still… Reed shakes her head at her own thoughts and she probably looks crazy, talking to herself on the street.
Shoving her hands into her pockets as she approaches the school, she tries to let it go, this pestering feeling of being unwanted. Her mind replays it without her permission, the moment twisting through her psyche and forcing her to look at it. Stella turning away from her. Simple enough. Certainly not dire. But it has the feeling scraping up against her anew, even as she tries to push it aside. Logically she knows that Stella’s reaction probably isn’t about her, it’s more likely that she’s not used to having someone, it probably makes her uncomfortable.
And Reed knows how cranky she, herself, can be when she’s not feeling well.
But she’s finding an excuse to take it personally. Probably for no reason at all.
So when the time had come to pick up the girls, she’d welcomed the excuse to take a much needed walk. After all, Stella had been soundly asleep when she last checked on her, and Lydia was still there on the off chance that she needed anything.
Reed sighs and tries to clear her head. She turns her focus outward and tries to take in the leaves and the trees and the spots where sunlight attempts to poke through the clouds. Then she arrives at the school and waits for the girls. A few children trickle out meeting their parents or sitters, and Reed observes as if looking through a far off window.
“Mum!” Charlotte’s voice rings through Reed’s muddled thoughts.
She turns to find her youngest skipping towards her at rapid pace, a large piece of paper flapping in her hand. Bending down to her level, Reed intercepts her with a hug and the small girl feels good to hold. It feels so good to hold her. But then Charlotte’s squirming, so full of energy and very excited about the picture she drew. From what Reed can tell, it’s a forest scene complete with animals and flowers of various kinds and colors. And her daughter’s not a naturally gifted artist but she’s so imaginative that Reed can’t help but feel herself bursting with pride. She laughs indulgently, rolling up the picture to keep it safe just as she sees Jane wandering over with a friend. And then Charlotte’s calling for her to “hurry up!”
“Not so loud,” Reed reminds because she has a tendency to shout.
“She’s taking forever,” Charlotte insists.
“I am not,” Jane says approaching them quickly, parting ways with the other girl her age and glaring at her sister.
“You’re fine, darling,” Reed hugs her, planting an apparently unwanted kiss at the top of her head. “Who was that?”
“Oh, Clara,” Reed remembers Jane talk about her. “She’s one of your good friends, yeah?”
“What do you mean, you guess?”
“She’s not like Zoe or Hannah but she’s nice,” Jane says going a little quiet and Reed feels herself fill up with guilt. Zoe and Hannah had been Jane’s best friends back in Belfast and Reed remembers how upset she’d been to leave them behind. And although Reed had tried to convince Jane that they would always remain friends, she knows that distance can be devastating for people at any age, let alone children.
“Nice is a good start,” is all she manages to say before Charlotte begins talking about her day, leaving any and all conversation about Clara in the dust.
Slowly Reed finds herself immersed in it though, wrapped up in the stories of their day, asking questions and letting them ramble. So much so that they’re almost home, rounding the corner to their street, before she realizes that she hasn’t told them about Stella being in the house.
“Girls,” she interrupts through their chatter. “Girls, listen to me,” she says more firmly. “When we get home I need you to be quiet. Stella’s sleeping upstairs and she’s very sick so I don’t want you to wake her.”
“Stella’s home?!” Charlotte gasps while Jane asks a more apprehensive, “Why is Stella at our house?”
“She was at the house last night when she got sick,” Reed explains. “And she couldn’t go home today.”
“How come Stella never comes over when we’re home?” Charlotte whines.
“It was just this once,” Reed counters.
“Nuh-uh, there was that other time,” Jane says and Reed feels her face go red, embarrassment inching up her neck.
“I just need you keep your voices down when we get inside, okay?” she says returning to the matter at hand, hoping to escape further questions about the first time Stella had been at their house.
“Will she stay the night?” Charlotte asks after a beat.
“If she’s not feeling well enough to go home, she might.”
“But where’s she going to sleep?” Jane asks.
“She can stay in our room,” Charlotte offers.
“And sleep where?” Jane rolls her eyes.
“She’s in my room right now,” Reed interrupts their arguing. “And she needs rest, which means you aren’t to bother her. Is that understood?”
“When will she come over to play?” Charlotte asks as they walk up the path to the flat.
“I don’t know, Charlotte. This isn’t our house, we can’t keep crowding Aunt Lydie.”
“Aunt Lydie doesn’t mind,” Charlotte implores and Jane offers a supportive, “Yeah, she wants to meet her too,” which stops Reed in her tracks halfway up the short set of stairs.
“Aunt Lydie wants to meet Stella too!” Charlotte continues. “She told us so.”
“When did she tell you so?”
“Why were you talking about Stella?” she presses.
“Aunt Lydie asked about her.”
There’s silence as Reed looks from one child to the other.
“After the museum,” Jane explains. “And when we went to her house.”
“Why are you mad?” Charlotte asks.
“I’m not mad,” Reed says turning towards the door but even to her own ears, it sounds mad.
And the girls are quiet as they trail inside.
“Girls,” Reed says after taking a breath and hanging her coat. “Go into the dining room and sort out your homework. I’ll be there to help you in a bit.”
“Sure,” Reed says over her shoulder, but she’s already walking towards the living room, her eyes set on Lydia. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asks lowly, not wanting the girls to hear.
“Can I just talk to you upstairs,” she grates out. “Please?”
“Alright, alright,” Lydia sighs, uneasy with Reed’s tone. But she sets her laptop aside all the same and follows her sister upstairs until they’re closed safely behind the door of Lydia’s bedroom.
“What’s all this about?” Lydia asks, her question caught somewhere between annoyed and concerned.
“Why are you talking to the girls about Stella?”
“They told me that you asked about her,” Reed asserts seriously.
Reed’s fingers spring up, pinching the bridge of her nose to keep from crying.
“But not in a subversive way. In a ‘tell me about your day’ sort of way.”
“Because I’m their aunt and it’s my job to ask them about their lives,” Lydia explains defensively trying to get Reed to look at her. But she just nods and it’s a far-off thing, her eyes fixed on the ground as she processes, unable to speak. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Reed says trying to keep the emotion from her voice. “I just - they want to know why she’s here and when she’s coming over,” she explains rapidly. “And then you’re asking about her and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. This whole thing’s been one disaster after another. And they have so many questions and I don’t know how to talk to them about this. I don’t know what to say-”
“Hey,” Lydia says gently, grabbing her shoulder before enveloping her in a hug. “Come here.”
“I’m a terrible mother,” she cries into Lydia’s shoulder.
“I’ve completely put myself first.”
“You’re allowed to have a life, you know.”
“Not one that hurts them.”
“Hurts them? How has it hurt them?” Lydia pulls back, wiping a few tears from Reed’s face and tucking her hair into place. “Nothing’s happened.”
“I don’t know how to explain her to them. And it’s so new,” Reed says, her voice going small. “Might not be worth explaining…”
Lydia rubs Reed’s upper arms soothingly. “Let’s calm down, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. Especially since she’s still in the house, yeah?”
Reed takes a deep breath and tries to collect herself.
“I’m sorry,” she responds. “I’m just - I’m being-”
“You’re not being anything. You’re fine,” Lydia says firmly. “But maybe over the next few days, you know, once she’s gone… We should have a good think about it.”
Nodding silently, Reed agrees and wipes her face. “I should go check on her.”
“It’s all going to be fine,” Lydia says quietly.
“Thanks, I’m just going to…” Reed motions towards the door and quickly escapes to the restroom.
She locks the door and grips the counter, Lydia’s words repeating like a mantra through her mind. It’s all going to be fine. It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine.
She’s completely overreacting.
She needs to stop, she needs to get control of herself. A piece of advice, the passing words of an old college professor, surfaces to meet Lydia’s assurances at the forefront of her thoughts. When you’re overwhelmed with life’s Great Unknowns, the only certain thing is that they will not be solved tonight.
Everything’s snowballing, getting away from her, and she needs to stop it before she’s buried in the deluge of her own panic. Tonight’s not the night. None of this will be solved tonight let alone over the next few minutes. Her mind is spinning uselessly, self-destructively, it needs to stop.
Long exhales leave her lips as she reaches forward, turning the tap, her hand limply falling into the stream of water. And she focuses on that. The sound. The feeling. Water rushing forward. Moving consistently and cool over her skin. And she stays like that for a few minutes, maybe more, before splashing it onto her face, drinking a little from the cupped palm of her hand.
She doesn’t know what’s happening with Stella. She doesn’t know what it means for her life and she doesn’t need to know. Not tonight.
There will be time for that.
An hour passes and then Reed’s sitting on the edge of Stella’s bed.
All of the color has drained from Stella’s face and she looks small, so much smaller than Reed’s ever seen her. Sweat has tangled and matted her hair over the course of the day, and it’s hard to imagine that this is the same woman; the same woman who so profoundly walked into her life and changed everything, the same woman who’d had her hyperventilating into a washroom sink.
And she’d been antsy to come in here, afraid to check in on her.
Reed feels silly now, stupid even.
But she bats the thought away, trying not to engage in negative self-talk. It’s not what she’s here for. It won’t help.
Not wanting to wake her too abruptly, Reed places her fingers against the damp hair at Stella’s brow, sweeping upward until Stella hums, her eyelids fluttering open.
“Hi,” Stella sighs upon seeing her between drowsy blinks.
“You look better,” Reed says, moving her hand to rest on Stella’s hip.
“I feel a bit better,” she mumbles and then, “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“Really. I should go,” she says into the pillow, and it’s hard to take Stella’s assertive tone seriously when it’s barely above a whisper.
“You should eat,” Reed says and Stella cringes. “You haven’t eaten all day, you need something. And I made soup.”
“You made it?” Stella asks as if it were some insurmountable feat rather than a few ingredients thrown into a pot and left to simmer.
“Preemptive praise. You haven’t had it yet.”
“Still impressive,” she insists.
“The girls sat a place for you downstairs. But I can bring it up if you’d prefer.”
Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Reed sees her fight not to roll her eyes. “I’m not completely helpless…” she says even though the it looks like it’s taken a lot out of her. “I look like shit though.”
“You look tired. There’s a difference.”
“Would you mind if I showered first?” she asks looking down at herself, and it’s uncharacteristically self-conscious.
“Of course not. I’ll get you something to put on.”
Reed grabs Stella a comfortable change of clothes, a fresh towel, and leaves her to it. She goes downstairs and starts dinner with Lydia and the girls, not wanting to put pressure on Stella’s arrival. But when she hears footsteps softly trotting down the stairs some 15 minutes later, her insides seize with anxiety.
Emerging from around the corner, Stella pads into the dining room, flannel footed and wet haired, sporting a cottony white t-shirt. She looks almost as hesitant as Reed feels.
“Stella!” Charlotte shouts around a mouth full of soup, some of it running down her chin.
“Charlotte, please don’t talk with your mouth full,” Reed says reaching across the table to wipe her face.
“Hello, little one,” Stella says carefully approaching the table. “Hello, Jane.” Jane smiles at her while Charlotte bounces in her seat.
Standing up to get Stella’s food, Reed attempts to keep Charlotte sitting with a stern, “You can hug Stella when you’ve finished your supper.”
“I’m done!” Charlotte groans.
“You’ve barely touched it,” Lydia says next to her. “Keep still.”
“You must be, Lydia,” Stella says holding her hand out. “I’m so sorry for the intrusion.”
“Oh, please, you’re more than welcome. I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I am,” she says, gingerly taking the open seat next to Reed’s chair. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been dying to meet you, anyway. Heard nothing but good things from these two,” she says scrunching her nose at the girl and Charlotte grins around her spoon.
“Well, I wish it’d been under better circumstances,” Stella admits. “In my own clothes...”
“What’s that?” Reed asks, returning with Stella’s bowl.
“Oh nothing, we’re just talking about you,” Lydia teases.
“Thank you,” Stella says as Reed settles in next to her.
“No they’re not,” Jane says loyally, and Reed smiles at her.
“Are you going to stay the night?” Charlotte asks Stella with a blessedly empty mouth.
“I think I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”
“Hush,” Lydia says. “You can stay as long as you need.”
“Charlotte, remember when I told you that Stella isn’t feeling well? Please be quiet and let her eat,” Reed says with as much patience as she can muster.
“You made this?” Stella asks after taking a bite.
“Impressive,” she affirms and Reed feels her nerves melt under the easy warmth of Stella’s praise.
“It’s one of the five decent things I can cook,” Reed says humbly, looking away to mask her blush.
“Well, you’re much better than I am,” Lydia tells her. “One of the few benefits of having you around.”
“What about us?” Jane asks defensively.
“You too, duckling,” Lydia says winking at her.
And as the five women sit comfortably around Lydia’s dining room table, Reed notices the strange ease with which they all share their evening meal - or in Stella’s case, her only meal. That is until Charlotte practically springboards out of her seat to shower Stella in affection. If she were smaller, Reed doesn’t doubt that she’d climb right up into her lap. It has Reed observing anxiously, watching Stella for signs of discomfort, and she looks absolutely ashen but not annoyed. She pets Charlotte’s hair and gives the energetic child her undivided attention until Reed tells the girls that they can watch TV before bed.
Then they’re both scampering away, distracted for the rest of the night, and it gives Reed the opportunity to notice how much Stella has wilted since her arrival downstairs. Lydia clears the table and when Stella moves to help her, her sister insists that Stella stay sitting - it’s obvious how much the simple meal has drained her. With her children fully occupied in the other room, Reed chances a brush of Stella’s hand, causing Stella to blink in her direction.
“Back upstairs?” Reed asks with as little force as possible, not wanting to impose upon Stella’s right to choose whether she stays or goes. But Charlotte’s right, she should stay. Reed thinks of what might happen if Stella insists on leaving. She wonders if she’d be comfortable stuffing her in a cab, trusting that she’d make it home to her own bed.
Stella hums, the corner of her mouth downturned, her eyes red and wet. “I should go…”
“Can you?” Reed asks realistically. Because she’s willing to concede, if Stella’s set on sleeping in her own bed, if she’d really prefer to be on her own.
“You can always leave first thing in the morning,” Reed says gently. “If you’re up to it.”
Stella nods, it’s there but barely, somewhere off in the distance as her eyes narrow piercingly onto some insignificant spot on the table. And then they’re on Reed’s with the same icy intensity.
“Thank you,” she says. “For today.”
A small smile fights its way onto her face entirely despite herself. And she’s glad that Stella will stay.
