#o'solo

The night has been hot and humid, the air fanning damp and warm across skin and the sky darkly threatening from where it hangs above the street. Kelley has the taste of cinnamon in her mouth, sharp with alcohol, and she grips her phone in one hand as she navigates the treacherous city streets. She’s just past tipsy, the lights looking warmer and less defined than they are and her body wired with energy.  

It’s past one when the rain finally starts to come down, wet and warm and slow, and the first drop lands on her forehead. She reaches up to wipe it away and looks up just in time for the sky to fall out. The rain goes from slow, to steady, and straight into furious. Within seconds, her dress is splattered in rain drops. She feels guiding fingers on her upper arm a moment later, leading her with the gentlest suggestion across the sidewalk and into the dim overhang of a neon bar. When she turns, Hope is huddled in close behind her, just beneath the brief shelter of the balcony above them. Her face is close. Hope’s warmth radiates across the small space and into the thin material of Kelley’s dress. Her hand is still on Kelley’s arm.

“Let’s get a drink in here.” Hope says, glancing out at the thin sheets of rain that splatter the road. Rain catches Kelley’s ankles and she nods, following Hope into the bar with one hand to her lower back like an afterthought. She steps up over the doorstep and into the dark, red tinged warmth and buzz of the bar. The sound of the rain disappears behind them. Hope leads the way to the bar. She always does, her tall figure cutting through crowds that seem to part around her. Kelley sticks to her back, her fingernails curled in the material of Hope’s sweater. She’s had just enough to drink that she’s not overthinking the way she wants to lean in and put her forehead to Hope’s shoulder, then inhale.

When they reach the bar, Hope leans into a space and Kelley leans into her, sticking close in the mass of people. Her arm curls around Hope’s waist for balance, strangers passing close around her and buffeting her further into Hope. Hope doesn’t seem mind. Doesn’t even seem to notice. Kelley lets her hand drift, her middle finger catching on the rough material of Hope’s jeans, snagging a belt loop, drifting somewhat dangerously low.

They’re invisible here, tucked into the crowd, their faces blurred by the alcohol flowing through everyone’s veins. They disappear.

Hope hands Kelley a mixed drink with a cherry floating on top. They tap sweaty plastic cups together, their eyes catching briefly then turning out to the crowds.

“Where do you think everyone else went?” Kelley has to lean in close to ask, her chin brushing Hope’s jaw as she speaks, her stomach pressed to the sharp angle of Hope’s hip.

“Back to hotel.” Hope calls back. “Or…” She gestures broadly with her drink at the multitude of bars that line the streets, the multitudes of people inside them. Kelley’s phone lights up in her hand, like an answer to her question, but it’s only Ali telling her she’s headed back to the hotel. “C’mon, let’s sit.” Hope says, nudging around her. Kelley hooks one finger into Hope’s belt loop shamelessly and follows her across the bar.

They find rickety seats framing an even more unsteady table at the other side of the room. Hope sets her drink down in the middle, her fingers coming away damp and dripping. Her leg bumps against Kelley’s beneath the table and lingers. Kelley reaches out and finds herself thumbing the thin bracelet on Hope’s wrist, turning the thread between her thumb and forefinger, just brushing the skin below. She sees the goosebumps stand up on Hope’s forearm.  Everything else fades away.

-

They’re in Germany the first time Hope tells Kelley she loves her. They’re in Germany and the sun is white on the water, bright spots of light that dapple in the wind-whipped waves. Hope lifts her sunglasses to her head and wraps her whole arm around Kelley’s waist, pulling her in close, and she whispers it against Kelley’s mouth. It’s the clearest sound Kelley has ever heard.

Even now, she can bring up the exact tone and volume and cadence of Hope’s voice the first time she said it -- like she’d been planning it. Like it was welling up from somewhere else.

Even now, Kelley can taste the way the words had felt on her tongue.

-

Kelley chooses New Jersey to tell Hope she loves her. Wet, damp, familiar New Jersey where Hope fits in at her side just as well as she does everywhere else. It’s early morning and Kelley is running her usual route, down familiar streets and on a quick jot through the park, past familiar and favorite places.

This morning is different though, because Hope is next to her dressed in full Nike gear, her cheeks red in the cold dawn air. Her breathing rate matches Kelley’s, her tall form catching some of the glare of the rising run. Kelley is always off balance the first few days they’re together- sometimes it lasts the entirety of the brief time they’re able to spend in the same city. Always put a bit caught off guard by how good it feels to have Hope at her side, how Hope’s steady yet electric presence invades all the corners of her, the way it clicks into her space. It’s not that things are bad when Hope isn’t around- it’s the way things are better.

They hit the end of the route and Kelley slows. Hope matches her pace almost instantly, coming to stop beside her. They walk the last block to Kelley’s apartment, breathing evening out. Hope’s shoulder bumps hers just once. They pass through the gate to Kelley’s backyard and their feet have barely hit the grass when Hope says, “Race you.”

Kelley catches a glimpse of Hope’s smirk and then she’s halfway to the deck. Kelley takes a shortcut, both hands on the railing of the deck to elevate over it, and she’s a single step behind Hope through the back door. They whip through the living room and Kelley gets her hands on Hope’s hips on the stairs.

“Cheating!” Hope yells, but she’s laughing and struggling up the steps with Kelley’s weight around her waist. Abruptly, Kelley lets go.

“Last one in the shower makes breakfast.” Kelley darts past Hope and hops onto the landing. Her shoes and shorts go first, thudding against the wall. She’s temporarily slowed when Hope’s shirt hits her in the face and then momentarily slowed a bit more by Hope, shirtless in her hallway and tugging off her pants.

A moment later, Kelley’s lost her shirt and is halfway out of her sports bra when she hits a snag. Namely, the sports bra, which has snagged both of her arms and trapped them at her shoulders. She falls back against the wall. She can hear Hope laughing, but she can’t see much through the tangle of her arms.

A moment later, Hope’s hands are warm and wide at her sides.

“Does this mean I win.” Hope says, her gentle fingers threatening to tickle. Kelley’s laughter spills out of her, making movement more difficult. She gives up.  

She feels Hope tuck her face into her neck, feels the gentle puff of breath against her skin. The moment quiets. The rough material of Hope’s sports bra drags across Kelley’s breasts as Hope straightens. Her fingers hook into the sides of Kelley’s bra and drag it over her head. It lands somewhere in the hall.

Hope gazes down at her. Her face is still flushed from their run, hair pulled back, and Kelley slides both arms over Hope’s bare shoulders. She draws her in close.

Hope is still a handful of inches away when Kelley says, “I love you.”

It feels like exhaling. It feels the way jumping out of a plane might feel. It feels the way the back of the net sounds when it whips with the force of a shot. It feels like a breath between them.

“I love you.” Hope responds, chasing the words with a kiss that marks a particular part of Kelley’s heart.

-

Hope’s hand turns beneath Kelley’s restless fingers, trapping her movements with a gentle hand. Their fingers lace and still. Around them, the music meanders on and in between the crowd. Kelley downs half of her drink in one sip. The cherry bumps against her teeth.

“Do you think the rain’s let up yet?” Hope asks, her hand like an afterthought in Kelley’s. Hope’s pinky twitches, grazing the side of Kelley’s palm, and Kelley’s fingers squeeze slightly in response.

“No idea.” Kelley responds. “But people are looking less damp.” The drink is starting to settle heavy in her bloodstream and she runs her thumb along Hope’s palm, brushes against Hope’s skin aimlessly. The crowd picks up in volume for a moment, filling out the bar with sound, and someone jostles their table as they squeeze by.

Kelley knows this night is becoming dangerous. She knows her hand in Hope’s and the way they keep dodging eye contact is equivalent to a heavy step backwards in their story. Their boots nestled together beneath the table, a regression. She knows the way this evening ends if she wants it to. She knows what’s building up between them, tension coiled tightly like a spring and old habits rearing their head. She pretends like she hasn’t spent months trying and failing to fall out of love with Hope.

“I missed you.” Hope says softly, and there’s a depth of complicated emotion in her eyes that’s too dense for Kelley to parse. Hope says the words like a proposition. I missed you, an open invitation. Kelley feels it in her chest, words stark in their plainness, and it’s so tempting to believe. She starts to open her mouth to reply, to echo her, but the sentiment catches in the back of her throat and never makes it past her lips.

-

Hope tells Kelley she doesn’t love her on the corner of a mostly empty street, the skies grey and cloudy above them. Her mouth is still sticky with Kelley’s chapstick, still warm and red.

She doesn’t say it in as many words, not as bluntly as she could, but the truth of it is clear. The truth of it cuts through Kelley. What she really says is:

“I’m falling for someone else.”

Kelley’s just kissed her and she still has the daze of Hope in her head -- a sort of dreamy calm that comes from the warmth of Hope’s mouth -- so the words startle her. Almost like someone stuck a foot out and caught her ankle. At first she thinks it’s a joke. Her hands stay flat over Hope’s collarbones, frozen in place, but when she leans back far enough to see all of Hope’s face, her hands fall from Hope’s chest. Her stomach falls with them.

Hope reaches to catch her hands a moment too late, her fingers grasping at nothing, and Kelley lets her flounder.

Hope says it simply and unapologetically, almost excising herself of it, but the corner of her mouth turns down in a frown and her hands hang empty. She sets her mouth a moment later, her face carefully cool, but her fingers flex towards nothing. Kelley is still trying to remember how to breath.

“Who?” Kelley gets out, but as soon as the word leaves her mouth she knows it doesn’t matter. As soon as she says it, she wants to take it back, but more words are leaving her mouth without permission. “When?”

Hope takes a short breath and sets her shoulders. Kelley hasn’t seen this kind of armor on her in years. Never thought she would be standing outside of it again. Hope takes a breath, and she lets it out, and she tears through everything they’ve built together.  

-

Kelley wants to tell Hope she doesn’t love her a hundred times after that. Wants to say the words because she’s furious, or she’s hurt, or because she needs some sort of distance established between them.

She wants to tell Hope a hundred times, and a hundred times it would be a lie.

-

They don’t leave the bar until it starts to empty out, late into the night. There’s a distinct split between the handful of people still left inside – between those loud and drunk, sloshing cups that are filled to the brim, and those huddled alone at intervals in the bar, nursing the bottom of a long finished drink. The musicians play on, though they’ve dwindled in number. Kelley picks through the ice left over in her cup. She feels Hope’s foot against the outside of her leg, warm and bumping into her distractingly. There’s something safe about the two of them in this bar, something temporarily familiar and easy.

When they walk outside it’s into a heavy darkness, one that almost has weight. The clouds in the sky and the narrow streets block out any runaway light. It’s warm and wet, a tangible darkness that rests against their shoulders. On the sidewalk, Hope’s hand bumps against Kelley’s. They walk a few steps away from the bar, not ready to leave it.

When they reach the end of a half-shadowed alley, Hope peeks down into it and then laces her fingers through Kelley’s. She tugs her just into the dark shadows of the building and she leans down and kisses her, one hand splaying against the small of Kelley’s back. It’s all Kelley’s been asking for all night.

Kelley lets out a breath that turns into a soft moan, Hope’s body warm and lean against her. She bites down on Hope’s bottom lip once, then soothes it with her tongue. Hope tugs her closer.

When they part, they’re both half-panting. Kelley can barely see Hope’s eyes in the dark, but she can still feel the firm hold of Hope’s hand on her back, the warmth in her stomach and lower. Hope goes to pull Kelley back into her, but Kelley puts a hand up, braces it on Hope’s abdomen and stops her. Indecision rises between them for a second, then another.

“You’re not wearing your ring.” Kelley finally says. Hope bends her fingers reflexively. There’s the thinnest of tan lines from an engagement ring not present. It’s a question that’s been hanging all night.

Kelley doesn’t exactly have the right to ask anymore, but then again maybe she does. She can’t see Hope’s face in the dark but she can picture her pursed lips, that tense dip of her mouth. Beneath Kelley’s  hand, Hope’s abs flex as she moves away.  

“We’re taking a break.” Hope hesitates, then leans back into the building behind her. A dim stream of streetlight reaches her face. “I asked for a break.”

Kelley can’t help the excited uptick of her heart rate, the way her and Hope’s eyes meet with unintentional meaning. The space between them seems to open up with possibility once again. Kelley moves a careful distance away on the sidewalk, out of the shadows so that she can really see Hope’s face. Her arms cross over her chest, but there’s a distinct urge to lean closer. The night sways sticky around her.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” It might be the worst lie Kelley’s ever told, and Hope doesn’t fall for it. She chuckles and looks down toward her feet for a moment. When she looks back up, she has a smile on her face. One Kelley hasn’t seen in a while.

“Somehow I doubt that.” Hope says dryly, and Kelley rolls her eyes in response, trying to quell the hurt that’s rising in her chest at Hope’s gentle teasing. She always thinks she’s over it until Hope is right in front of her once again.  Always thinks there’s nothing to say until they’re both saying it. “Kell, do you ever think –”

Hope cuts herself off, standing up taller against the wall and looking slightly chagrined.

“Don’t, Hope.” Kelley says tiredly, her heart aching again. It’d be too easy to let this happen. Too easy to dive back into the depth of their feelings, to go home with her, let it feel good, but Kelley knows she’d be gone again and out of reach by the morning. Another emotional notch in the bedpost.

It’s hard though when Hope is standing there with her eyes like that, brimming with hurt and truth and trust, brimming with feeling that Kelley is trying not to delve back into. Up until this moment, Kelley really thought she could fall back into bed with Hope without the emotional baggage of it. She realizes just how stupid that was.

“I know I fucked up. I know I ruined a good thing.”

“I can’t do this. We can’t go through all of it again.” Kelley tries to halt the words before they spill from her, almost ashamed of the lingering emotion that she can’t manage to scrape out of her, but the words come anyway. “You know I still love you.” She murmurs the phrase, suddenly close to crying without anticipating the arrival of tears. She takes a few steps back and stops, needing the space as much as giving it to Hope. She’s tired and drunk and her body is still thrumming with attraction, with what should have been a physical trip down memory lane.

She should probably be expecting it, but she still stumbles when Hope crosses the space between them and kisses her, her mouth desperate, like she’s trying to get the last taste of the words love you out of Kelley’s mouth.

After a moment, Kelley puts her hands to Hope’s cheeks and holds her away. They hesitate a few inches apart, Kelley trying not to give into this easy out, Hope swaying in front of her. They’re both breathing quickly.

Kelley knows if she kisses Hope again, it’s all she’ll do for the rest of the night.