#qbmd

Tara’s plan comes to fruition over cups of black coffee, your scrambled eggs and a half-eaten set of Mickey Mouse waffles. 

Mindy’s brow is pinched as she drafts up the first message. 

You’re a little restless, Tara’s hand on your back doing nothing to soothe you. 

“There,” Says Mindy, after a moment, “How’s that?” 

Tara takes back her phone. 

“Hey,” She reads out, “What u up 2?” 

Tara blinks. 

“This is what took you five minutes to draft?” She asks, voice scathing. 

Mindy huffs. 

“No,” She says, “That’s just a primer. You can’t go in all guns blazing, Tara, she’ll get suspicious.” 

Tara rolls her eyes.

“Been thinking about u lately,” Tara continues, “Feels weird how we left things.” 

You clench your jaw. 

Tara rubs your back, absent-mindedly. 

“How r u doing? Sorry when my gf gets crazy like that there’s nothing I can do.” 

You scowl. 

Mindy ducks behind her coffee cup. 

“Mindy, I don’t type like this,” Says Tara, hotly, “Where’s the grammar? This sounds like it was written by a fourteen year old boy.” 

“Fourteen year old boy is Mindy’s spirit animal,” Says Chad with a grin, throwing a blueberry between his lips. 

“Shut up, Chad,” Groans Mindy, “Tara, fine, you can change the grammar. But the rest of it? Does it work?” 

Tara purses her lips. 

“I suppose it’s not terrible.” She offers. 

Mindy smiles. 

“Skip a bit,” She suggests, “Get to the good stuff.” 

Tara scrolls, and reads out the rest of Mindy’s text. 

“I always thought u were sexy,” Tara reads, “You know Ginger Spice was always my favorite spice girl.” 

Tara raises an eyebrow. 

You snort. 

“This is the good stuff?” Chad asks, “Mindy, you could have a billionaire dollars and you still wouldn’t be able to talk a thirty dollar hooker into bed with you. No wonder you can’t get a girlfriend.” 

Tara sniggers. 

Mindy shoots a glare his way. 

“I can too get a girlfriend,” Says Mindy, voice hot, “I just don’t want one right now. Girls are high maintenance, I don’t have time for that.” 

“Amen.” Mumbles Tara. 

You nudge an elbow into her side.

“Ow.” 

“You can not have a girlfriend too, if I’m too high maintenance.” You say, and Tara shakes her head. 

“You’re worth the maintenance baby,” Says Tara, as you dodge her kiss, “You’re like a really nice lawn. No house is complete without it.”

“Romantic.” You deadpan, “How come you’re a house and I’m just a lawn?” 

“You’re a mansion, baby,” Tara assures, “A ten million dollar mansion with an infinity pool.”

Mindy huffs. 

“Can we get back to the mission?” She asks, sounding annoyed, “If you don’t like my pickup lines, you’re welcome to try out your own, Casanova.” 

“I don’t need pickup lines,” Assures Tara, “Isn’t that right, baby? One look and you were smitten.” 

“And one sentence and I have the ick.” You say, crinkling your nose. 

Tara’s smile drops. 

“Babe.” She whines as Mindy snorts. 

“Give it to me,” Chad says, with a sigh, “Apparently I’m the only one around here who can talk to a girl.” 

“‘Wanna come watch me lift weights?’ is not the pick up line you think it is, Chad,” Says Mindy, voice wry, “Besides, it won’t work coming from Tara.” 

“I lift weights,” Tara says, with a frown, “I’m getting super strong, see?” 

She flexes her bicep. 

You roll your eyes. 

Mindy raises an eyebrow.

“You’re like 4’11, Tara,” She says, “I could snap you in half without flinching.” 

“I’m 5’1 and I’ll snap you in half if you don’t stop talking.” Growls Tara. 

“Guys,” Says Liv, flailing her hands, “Stop. Chad’s got it. Show them, babe.” 

Tara takes back her phone, still scowling.

“Can’t stop thinking about you,” She reads, “Should have kissed you. Sorry I didn’t.” 

Mindy tilts her head.

“It works,” She admits. 

“And if she just shows Sam the message?” You ask, “Then what?” 

“She won’t, babe,” Says Tara, squeezing your arm, “Do you even remember how hard she worked for me?” 

You do remember. 

You wish you didn’t. 

Tara presses a quick kiss to your cheek. 

“And besides, if she shows Sam the messages, Sam will know how serious I am about this.” She kisses you, “It’s going to work, babe, I know it.” 

“When are you going to send them?” Asks Liv. 

Tara thinks. 

“When she’s away from Sam,” Says Tara, “Maybe tonight. We’ll rope her into a movie night, right babe? That way we’ll know Quinn’s nowhere near Sam.”

You sigh. 

“Come on,” You say, voice a little glum, “We better head back. With any luck, they’ll be done and she’ll be gone.” 

-

“What’s your favorite breakfast food?” Asks Quinn, head pressed against Sam’s pillow. 

“Eggs,” She answers, “With Arugula, preferably. Maybe a little balsamic vinegar. 

Quinn wrinkles her nose. 

“Most people say pancakes,” She teases, lightly, “Or bacon.” 

Sam frowns. 

“I believe you should only put good things into your body.” She says. 

Quinn smirks.

“Nice to know I’m a good thing, then.” Smiles Quinn. 

Sam’s cheeks turn red. 

“You know what I meant.” She says. 

Quinn leans over and kisses her. 

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Asks Quinn. 

Sam shrugs. 

“It’s Sunday,” She says, “I was just going to relax.” 

Quinn bites her lip. 

“How about we go and get some Eggs with arugula? My treat.” 

Sam bites her lip. The thought of spending more time with Quinn is surprisingly, not that unpleasant. 

“Alright,” She says, with a smile. Butterflies flutter in her belly, “If it’s your treat.” 

-

“Sam?” Tara calls, as she cracks open the door, as if she’s scared of what’s behind it. 

You press against her back, impatient. 

“Baby, hold up,” She says, gently, “I don’t want you seeing something.” 

“They’re not going to be fucking on the dining table, babe.” You say with a roll of her eyes as you push past her. 

“Someone should.” Says Tara, voice pointed. 

You look around. 

The apartment is quiet. 

Not a peep from Sam’s room. The door is open, the bed messy and unmade. But it's empty. 

Tara drops her bag over the counter. 

She picks up a small, handwritten note. 

“Out for the day, back later.” She reads. 

“With Quinn?” You dare ask. 

But Tara only smiles back at you. 

“Not for much longer,” She says, sounding pleased with herself, “As soon as Sam’s back and out of Quinn’s clutches, I’ll send the texts.” 

She moves forward and loops an arm around your waist. Presses a hot kiss to your next. 

“Now, about that thing you wanted to do this morning,” She says, voice low. 

You cock an eyebrow. 

“I think it’s safe to say the moment has passed.” You say. 

You squeeze her hips.

“But, babe-“ Tara says, with a whine, “You said-“ 

“Another time,” You promise, “Besides, don’t you have a test to study for?”

Tara sighs. 

“I’m majoring in film, babe, I don’t need to study.” 

She looks up, bottom lip in a pout. 

“Why don’t I quiz you?” You suggest, “It’ll be fun.” 

Tara thinks.

“And if I get all the answers right then I get to rail your ass?” 

It earns her a smack. 

“You’re not going anywhere near my ass if that’s what your intention is.” You tell her. 

“I’ll go slow, babe, I promise,” Tara assures, taking your earlobe between her teeth, “I’ll go so slowly you’ll be begging for it by the time I’m done with you.” 

Your stomach flutters.  

“Maybe later tonight,” You think after a moment, “If you nail it.” 

Tara brightens. 

“Not the only thing I’ll be nailing tonight.” She grins. 

“Don’t make me change my mind.” You warn. 

-

Sam comes back mid-quiz. 

Tara hasn’t gotten a single question wrong, and you’re starting to sweat. There’s a hungry look in her eyes, as if she’s hunting down her prey. 

You welcome the distraction. 

“Hi girls,” Sam says, as if nothing in the past twenty-four hours has changed, “Do you want lunch?” 

“We just ate Sam, thanks,” You say, and she hums. 

You catch Tara’s eye. 

“Sounds like you had a good night.” Says Tara, a little snarky. 

Sam sighs. 

“Don’t start, Tara.” She warns. 

Tara folds her arms. 

“Just don’t come crying to us when she breaks your heart.” She says, a little pointed. 

“Tara-” You say, but Sam just rolls her eyes. 

“Noted. What do you want for dinner tonight? Cauliflower tacos or lentil spaghetti?”

Tara wrinkles her nose. 

“Why don’t we make dinner for you, Sam?” You interject, hurriedly, before Tara can speak, “It’s the least we can do. You cook for us every night.” 

Sam blinks, a little surprised. 

And then she smiles. 

“Alright,” She says, sounding happy, “That sounds nice.”

Sam disappears into her room. 

Tara pulls out her phone, giving you a pointed look. 

She taps a few buttons and then smiles, pleased with herself. 

“Operation you-know-who-must-die is in action,” She mumbles, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, “Now finish the quiz. I’m ready to take my prize.” 

-

Tara aces the quiz.

Not a single question wrong. 

In truth, there’s a part of you who had hoped she’d fail. But there’s another part of you positively gleeful she hadn’t. 

Tara kisses you with a victorious grin, and then smacks your ass with her hand. 

“Go get ready for me,” She says, voice low, “I’m all ready for you, baby.” 

“It’s 4PM,” You say, biting you lip, “Maybe we should wait until tonight-” 

Tara groans. 

Your skin feels sensitive, tingly. The anticipation over the last few questions has you in a hot flush. 

It feels exciting. New.

The fact that your girlfriend is preening only adds to the excitement. 

“You promised,” She whines, “Stop moving the goalposts. You want me to beg? I’ll beg. Please, baby, let me fuck your ass-”

“Tara.” Sam groans as she emerges from her room, gym bag in hand, “Boundaries, we talked about this-”

Your face flushes red. 

You’d die on the spot, if the option were possible. But Tara doesn’t miss a beat. 

“I don’t think you can lecture me on boundaries considering the noises that were coming from your room this morning.” Tara says, curling an arm around your waist. 

Sam huffs. 

“I’m going to the gym,” She mumbles, “YN - something healthy for dinner tonight? Please?”

“You got it, Sam,” You mumble, face bright red. 

But Sam is unperturbed. Nothing phases her, at this point. She leaves the apartment with a click of the front door. 

“All alone,” Tara murmurs, looping her arms around your waist and squeezing your ass, hard, “So you can be as loud as you want, baby.” 

You bite your lip. 

“Let me get ready,” You mumble, “Meet you in the bedroom in a bit.” 

-

When you’re showered and ready, you make your way into the bedroom. 

Tara’s already laid out her arsenal. 

Her strap-on, a bottle of lube longer than your forearm and a grin that tells you this almost certainly won’t be the first time she takes you like this. 

You drop your towel. 

And watch Tara’s gaze sink down. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Tara murmurs, as she reaches you out to take her in your arms, “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.” 

She pulls you down for a searing kiss. 

You’re nervous, but she always finds a way to soothe you. Firm hands on your hips, her mouth working wonders against your lips. 

She pulls you on top of her, and then pulls back, nudging her nose against yours. 

“We can stop anytime you want,” She promises, “If it’s too much, just say.” 

She brushes a strand of rogue hair out of your eyes, “I love you, baby,” She whispers against your lips, “I want you like this, but if it hurts too much, just tell me. I won’t be annoyed. Promise.” 

She seals her promise with a kiss. 

You don’t doubt her for a second. 

You capture her lips once more, arousal pooling in your stomach as you feel her against you. 

You’ve denied her before, like this. 

You wanted her to work for this. 

 But in the process, you’ve been denying yourself your own desires. 

You slip your tongue into her mouth, grind down against her, ready to give her everything. 

And then the front door slams open.  

“Tara!” Sam calls, sounding anything but mellowed after her gym session, “Get your ass out here, now.” 

The mood shatters. You pull away from Tara, head turning. 

Sam sounds pissed. 

Tara groans.

“Fuck off, Sam, I’m busy,” She says. She flips you onto your back, nudges herself between your legs.

Sam bangs on the door. 

You almost jump out of your skin. 

“Quinn told me everything,” She says, voice dangerous, “Get out here now or I’m coming in.” 

Tara freezes. 

Your heart jumps. 

Hastily, Tara slides off you. 

She fumbles around for a spare t-shirt and tosses it your way, running a hand through her hair. As if her worst nightmare has just come to realization. 

“Tara!” Sam bangs once more. 

“I’m coming, Jesus, Sam.” Tara says. 

You pull the shirt over your head, fumble around for a pair of sleep shorts. 

By the time Tara opens the door, Sam is standing behind it, red-faced, fury in her eyes. 

She holds up her phone.

Although you’re squinting, you can still make out Tara’s text messages to Quinn. 

“This is next level pathetic, Tara,” Sam says, voice hot, “Even for you.” 

“Sam, I can explain-“ Says Tara. . 

“You don’t need to explain,” Says Sam, “I know exactly what this is. You trying to prove Quinn is using me. But it didn’t work. She showed me the texts. So now what, Tara?” 

“I was just trying to help,” Tara says, voice even. 

Sam scoffs. 

“You were trying to help?” Sam asks, “You can help me by minding your own business and staying out of it.” 

“She’s using you, Sam,” Tara explodes, “It’s obvious to everyone except you. Why can’t you see it?” 

“I don’t care if Quinn’s using me,” Says Sam, “I’m using her too, in my own way. That’s what we all do as people, isn’t it? Use each other? For love, for comfort, for sex? Why do you care so much that it’s her?” 

“Why does it have to be her?” Growls Tara, “We hate her, Sam. We kicked her out of our apartment, for crying out loud. She tried to ruin our relationship-”

“But she didn’t,” Says Sam, eyes wild, “I have nothing, Tara, don’t you understand? Why couldn’t you let me have this?” 

Tara blinks. 

You swing your legs over the bed, move to Tara’s side. 

“We were just trying to protect you, Sam-” You say, voice a little shaky. 

Sam looks over at you. 

“You don’t need to protect me,” She says, “Quinn’s fun. Quinn’s easy. I need a little bit of that in my life.” 

“She’s certainly easy,” Says Tara, folding her arms. 

Sam’s face flashes.

For a moment, you think she might actually hit Tara. 

But then she clenches her jaw, and her shoulders draw. 

“I’m going away for a while,” Says Sam, after a long moment, “I’m going to stay with Quinn. I can’t even - look at you right now, Tara.” 

Tara blinks. 

“I was trying to save you.” Says Tara, “You’re going to punish me for that?” 

“It’s hardly a punishment,” Retorts Sam, “You don’t want me here anyway, you’ve made that much clear. Now you can do whatever you want.” 

“And what about rent?” Asks Tara, voice hot. 

Hurt flashes through Sam’s features. Your breath catches in your throat knowing Tara’s said the wrong thing. Again. 

“Rent?” Sam asks, voice incredulous. 

She scoffs. 

And then turns. 

You and Tara follow her out, a little hasty. Sam returns to her room and pries her suitcase from under her bedframe.

She starts tossing items in as Tara scrambles. 

“No, wait, Sam- that isn’t what I meant,” Says Tara as Sam throws her suitcase onto her bed, “That’s not the most important part of this. YN and I want you to stay. Not just because of rent.” 

Sam offers her a weak smile. 

“You don’t need your big sister cramping your style,” She says, “Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Maybe I should have just got a second job in California and venmoed you the rent.” 

“We’re glad you came, Sam,” You say, a little urgent, “We like living with you. It’s a small apartment, of course we all annoy each other. Tara annoys me everyday. And I annoy her too. That’s just how it is.” 

Sam sighs. 

“That isn’t how it should be,” She says, “I shouldn't be here, God. I shouldn’t be in your space. I should have left you both alone.” 

Tara has a weird look on her face. 

“Sam, don’t leave,” She asks, sounding crestfallen, “Please.” 

“It’s for the best, Tara.” Answers Sam. 

She zips her suitcase closed. 

“If you leave me again, I can’t promise I’ll let you back in.” Tara says. Her eyes are hard, but her voice shakes. 

Sam sighs.

She touches Tara’s shoulders, and then pulls her in for a long hug. 

“I’ll be gone a week or two,” She says, “I’m not abandoning you, Tara. We just need some space from each other right now.” 

“If you leave,” Tara repeats, “You’re not coming back.” 

Sam smiles, a little sad. 

“I won’t be gone long.” She says, “God, Tara, I'm just so mad."

She pauses, a moment.

"But I love you. Always."

Tara's face hardens.

And she doesn’t say it back. 

Sam leaves. 

Sam’s bed is shaking when she wakes. 

She has a fan plugged into the wall. Military grade earplugs. A white noise machine. 

And yet, every morning, she wakes to the sound of a squeaking mattress and you moaning like you’re on a casting couch for a bad 60s porno. 

Aggravated, she sits up. Launches a pillow at the wall in the hope it will quell your happy groans. 

It doesn’t. 

“Tara, YN!” She yells, more than fed up, “Shut up! Shut the fuck up.”

You hear Tara groan through the walls. A quiet shush. The bed stops shaking. Sam slumps back into her pillows, content. 

Tara has never cared, but at least you can be shamed into silence. 

She closes her eyes, snuggles back into her pillows for a couple more hours of precious sleep. 

A few minutes go by, and just as Sam is on the cusp of unconsciousness, she hears you let out another, loud moan. 

“Oh, Tara-” 

Sam sits up. 

Fuck this, she thinks as she grouchily shimmies back into an old hoodie, I’ll sleep outside. 

-

When Sam returns to the kitchen - after seventy minutes of tossing and turning with a pillow and a blanket in the apartment hallway - Tara has the audacity to look pleased with herself. 

She’s wearing one of your old t-shirts, absent-mindedly stroking your hair as she sips on a cup of coffee. As if her bedroom activities hadn’t driven Sam out of hers. 

Sam is fuming. Her cheeks are red as she slams her bedding onto the couch. 

You turn at the same time Tara does. 

“What’s up, Sam?” Asks Tara, like she doesn’t know the answer, “You look like you’ve just been dragged through a bush backwards.” 

“You know what’s up,” Sam growls. She snatches a mug from the kitchen counter and pours herself a healthy helping of coffee, “How many times do I have to tell you-“ 

“Relax, Sam,” Tara says with a roll of her eyes, “We didn’t realize you were awake. We’re sorry-“

“I wasn’t awake until you woke me,” Sam says, jabbing a finger towards her nonplussed sister, “This is ridiculous. It’s the third time this week. If you two can’t respect my boundaries-” 

Your face is a little hot. You shoot an apologetic look towards Sam, “We’re sorry, Sam,” You say, “We get… carried away sometimes.” 

But Tara looks annoyed. 

“This is our home,” Says Tara, “If we want to fuck, we will. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to-”

Sam slams her hand to the counter, making you jump. 

“You asked me to come here,” She growls. She looks a little wild; red cheek, hair messy and ruffled, dark, tired eyes, “You asked me to pitch in. If you want me to go, I’m taking my share of the rent with me.” 

Tara crosses her arms, unhappily. 

“I’m doing the two of you a favor by being here. You think I can afford to pay New York City rent and California rent? The least you can do is not have loud sex at six AM-” Continues Sam, voice strained. 

“You’re right, we’re sorry, Sam,” You interject, eyebrows pinched, “Right, babe? We’ll be quieter.” 

Tara’s quiet for a moment, but Sam knows her sister. She knows the things Tara’s thinking in her head, and none of them are favorable. 

“I have a life back in California,” Sam warns, “If you want me to go, I’ll go. But I’m taking my money with me.” 

Tara’s brows knit. 

“We don’t want that,” You say, quickly, “We’re very grateful you decided to help us out. Right, Tara?”

“Very grateful,” Tara says, voice tight, “Sorry, Sam.” 

She pauses a moment. 

“Babe, you’ve got the ad up, right?” 

Sam ignores the spark of annoyance that floods through her and grabs her lunch.

She sighs right before she heads out. Decides she doesn't want to start her day swimming in negativity. 

“Bye, YN. Love you, Tara.” 

“Bye Sam,” You say, with a small smile, “Have a good day.”

Sam waits a moment.

“Bye, Tara.” She says, once more. 

Tara rolls her eyes, “Bye Sam. What, you need me to walk you out or something?” 

Sam just sighs and leaves. 

-

Sam has a new job at NYU. 

A job she loves. 

Her life so far? Deadbeat father, emotionally absent mother. A murderous psychopath as a biological father. A murderous psychopath as an ex-boyfriend. 

It hasn’t panned out the way she was hoping. 

Nowadays, there’s only two bright sparks in her life. 

Her baby sister, and her job. 

What more could a girl need? 

She’s working in the history department, a subject she’s always been good at. Tutoring students who apparently don’t share her prowess for the past. 

Her first assignment is a nineteen year old boy with straight D grades. Her second is a girl who point blank asks if “the Nazis won the Korean War?” 

Her third strolls into the library now. 

Doesn’t bother to introduce herself. She walks in like she owns the place. Settles herself next to Sam with a coy look in her eye and flutter of her eyelashes. 

“Hi,” Says the girl, with a coy smile. A smile that is far too friendly for discussing the Yom Kippur war. 

Sam blinks.

“Hi,” She says, a little taken aback. She gets ahold of herself, “I’m Sam. I’ll be your tutor for the next semester.” 

This girl has long, flowing strawberry-blonde hair. Piercing blue eyes. She’s wearing a shirt that rides up over her belly button and a pair of pants that are so tight they look as if they were painted on. 

The girl watches for a moment. Surveys Sam - like a hungry wolf might appraise a rabbit. 

And then she grins. 

“We actually know each other,” Says the girl, “At least - we know of each other.”

Sam tilts her head. 

“Oh?” 

“I know your sister,” Says the girl, and her smile turns sheepish, “I used to live with her. Before she kicked me out.” 

Sam blinks. 

“You’re Quinn Bailey,” Sam realizes with a start. 

Quinn’s cheeks pinch in a tight smile. 

“Guilty,” She says with a nervous laugh, “Sorry. This is awkward. I didn’t know the school was going to pair me with you. I mean - I didn’t even know you worked here.” 

Sam leans back a little, suddenly on guard. 

“It’s fine,” She says, “I’ll ask you to be assigned to another tutor.” 

Quinn squints. 

“Actually, you can’t,” Says Quinn, sounding apologetic, “There’s only two history tutors - I checked. The other guy’s out for the next two weeks.” She leans in close, eyebrows in her hairline, “Mono.” 

She pauses. 

“Sorry, this must be awkward for you. But I really do need help. My first paper is due next Thursday.” 

Sam sighs.

“Look, Quinn,” She says, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea after you-“ 

“Threw myself at your sister?” Quinn finishes. Her face is tight - she looks a little embarrassed, “I get it. I do. But you’re the only one who can help me.” 

Sam tilts her head.

Quinn reaches over, takes Sam’s hand. 

“Please.” 

Clearly, it’s been too long since Sam felt the warmth of human touch. Because Quinn’s hand on hers ignites a spark that sends shockwaves through her body. 

You need a boyfriend, she thinks momentarily, badly. 

Sam retracts her hand, squinting slightly. 

And remembers the horror stories Tara had bellowed down the phone line. 

“Those girls are very special to me,” She says, “What you tried to do? It’s despicable.” 

Quinn looks dismayed as Sam stands. 

“Sorry,” Sam says as she straps her back over her shoulder, “You’ll have to find someone else.” 

-

Tara’s in a mood when Sam gets home that night. 

She orders takeout, instead of eating Sam’s meticulously planned, healthy vegan curry. She ignores Sam’s attempts at conversation, and turns the TV a little louder when Sam tries to offer her dessert. 

Sam gives up, not long after. 

She eats dinner by herself, trying not to let her mind drift to Quinn. 

“Please,” She’d murmured, “I really need your help.” 

Weird, she thinks. Quinn’s touch had imprinted on her mind all night. For such a devilish, evil, homewrecker - she’d seemed kind of sweet. Hopeless, almost. 

Like a lost little child, adorned in red lipstick and Michael Kors. 

But then she remembers her sister. 

You arrive home, not long after Sam’s finishing her plate, batting Quinn’s easy smile out of her brain. 

You press a kiss to Tara’s forehead, offer Sam a small smile. 

And then you throw your bag down to the floor and disappear into your bedroom. 

“Good day, Sam?” You ask when you emerge, towel over your shoulders. 

Sam hums. 

“Weird day,” She admits. She shakes her head as she catches your questioning stare, “Nevermind.” 

You watch her a moment, and then reach down to squeeze Tara’s shoulders. 

“I’m taking a shower. Pick a movie for us?” You say with a quick kiss to her cheek. 

“Sure, babe,” Tara says. 

And then she sits up long enough to shoot a glare over at Sam. 

“Just be careful not to shower too loudly,” Tara says, “We wouldn’t want to interrupt Sam’s precious relaxation time. Who knows? She might threaten to not pay the water bill next time.” 

Irritation flashes through Sam, hot and fast.  

She’d been up at six AM again. Her sister is the culprit. And somehow she’s the bad guy? 

“Stop being a brat, Tara,” Sam says, voice tight, “You’ll be twenty next year, you better start acting like it.” 

“And is that when I’ll be as demanding and bitchy and sexless as you?” Tara deadpans. 

Sam lets her cutlery clatter over her plate. Rage simmers in the pit of her stomach that begs to be unleashed. Primarily on her ungrateful shit-head of a sister. 

I move across the country to bail you out, she wants to scream, and you can’t even be hospitable? 

But you get there first. 

“Stop it.” You say, pulling the remote from her hand, and tugging her up, “You are being a brat. Apologize to Sam and go to bed.” 

Tara glares up at you. 

“But babe-“ 

“Now,” You warn, “Or it’ll be your turn to sleep in the hall.” 

Tara’s face clouds over. 

It’s a familiar look to Sam. 

It’s the one she used to give to their Father. Right after she’d choked Sam, or punched her, or pulled her hair.

Her fake apology face.

“Sorry Sam,” She mumbles, as she stands, looking anything but, “Try earplugs next time, maybe.”

“Bed.” You say, “Now.” 

Tara storms off to bed, shooting a withering glare over to Sam as she leaves. 

Sam’s lips twitch. 

She’s used to this - Tara taking her anger out on her. She’s done their whole lives. 

It doesn’t mean it hurts any less. 

You sigh, throwing your towel over one of the dining chairs. 

“Sorry,” You say, “You know what she’s like sometimes.” 

“That therapy is really working wonders, huh?” Asks Sam, a little sarcastic. Her hands are shaking, a little. 

You bite your lip, sinking into the seat opposite her.

“Good days and bad days,” You say, “Dr Colmann says miracles aren’t going to happen overnight.” 

“That girl needs a miracle.” Sam says, a little frosty. Then, she softens, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m not trying to put you in the middle.” 

“It’s fine, Sam,” You say, “I know she can be a handful. We’re talking about all the stuff she used to do as a kid in therapy.” 

Sam snorts. 

“You mean like when she cut off all the heads of my teddy bears because I wouldn’t let her blow out the candles on my birthday cake?” 

You blink, a little taken aback. 

“No,” You say, slowly, “She kept that one quiet.”

“You better not be talking about me.” Tara’s voice sounds down the hall, hot and angry. 

You look from Sam long enough to shoot a glare down the hall, “And you better be in bed. I mean it, Tara. I’ll be there in five.” 

Tara huffs, but retreats, nonetheless.

You look back over to Sam, who has a contemplative look on her face. 

“I met Quinn Bailey today,” She says. 

You stare. 

“Why?” Is what you ask, and then you frown, “She’s not trying to worm her way back in here, is she? Because that’s not happening.” 

“The only thing she’s trying to worm her way into is an A+ on her history paper,” Sam says, “I told her to forget it.” 

You’re quiet a moment, and then you nod. 

“Thanks Sam,” You say, “Can you do that? Send her away? Isn’t it your job?” 

Sam shrugs. 

“I don’t know,” She admits, honestly, “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.” 

-

“You can’t turn her away Sam, it’s your job.” Says Sam’s supervisor, sternly, in the morning, “The poor girl was in here in tears last night. There’s no one else.” 

Sam pauses. 

“It’s just-“ She tries, “She has a complicated relationship with my sister and her girlfriend. They used to be roommates. She made some unwanted advances and they kicked her out. I can’t tutor her. It’s a conflict of interest.”

Her supervisor smiles, a little passive aggressive. 

“Spend less time worrying about conflicts of interest Sam,” He tells her, “And more time teaching them”. 

He punctuates his point by tapping down on a book about Palestine. 

And Sam sighs. 

-

“I could just quit,” Sam says later, over a sad looking salad in the cafeteria with Mindy, “I mean, I only took this job because Tara asked me to help out with rent for a bit.” 

Mindy looks over, eyebrows raised.

“Doesn’t quitting your job defeat the purpose of helping Tara with rent?” She asks.

Sam bites her lip. 

“I suppose…” She admits, “Though it wouldn’t be too hard to get a new one. It’s not like the pay is that great, anyway.” 

“I thought you loved your new job,” Says Mindy, “You were saying only last week how good it feels to finally have something fulfilling in your life.” 

“It’s just a job, at the end of the day, Mindy,” Says Sam. She ponders this over a mouthful of lettuce, “Besides, Tara is my sister. She comes first.” 

Mindy purses her lips. 

“And you think she would do the same for you?” Asks Mindy, after a moment, “Quit her job for you? Fly across the country and move into your apartment to bail her out?” 

Sam straightens her shoulders. 

“I’d like to think so,” She says, somewhat defensively.

Even if she doesn’t believe it. 

Mindy shakes her head with a sigh. 

“She won’t even stop banging her girl at six AM for you,” Mindy says, “She won’t even let you get a decent night’s sleep.”

“They’ve said they’ll be quieter.” Sam says, softly. 

Mindy shoots her a look. 

“And how many times have they told you that?” She asks. 

Sam averts her gaze. 

Too many times to count. 

“Don’t do her any favors, Sam.” 

Sam stares. 

“And I thought she was supposed to be your friend?” Sam asks, somewhat pointedly. 

“She is,” Says Mindy, “She’s my friend. And I love her. But she’s selfish as fuck, Sam. You know that. You’re related to that. You’re already being a good big sister. But you don’t have to give up everything for her, Sam. Do something for yourself for once.” 

“And Quinn Bailey is me doing something for myself?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised. 

“If she lets you keep the job you love, sure.” Says Mindy, “Tara will get over it. Besides, you’re only tutoring the girl. What’s the worst that can happen?” 

Sam chews her lip. 

And considers it. 

-

“I’ll help you,” She tells Quinn, a little later over the phone, “Despite my better judgment, I’ll help you.” 

Quinn lets out a breathy sigh, “Oh, Sam - thank you so much-“ 

“I’m not doing it for you,” Sam says, voice stern, “And we’re not friends. I don’t want you coming to the apartment and upsetting my sister and her girlfriend. We’ll meet at the library, every evening around eight. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Quinn agrees, before she hesitates, “It’s not about Tara, Sam, I really just need the help.” 

Sam hums. 

“See you tonight.” 

-

“You’re meeting who at the library?” Tara explodes over the dinner table. 

Sam sighs. Helps herself to more potatoes. 

“I don’t have a choice, Tara,” She says, “It’s my job.” 

But Tara’s eyes are wide as if Sam has betrayed her. 

This is how Tara works. Black and white, no shades of gray. 

Mindy’s words echo through Sam’s head.

Don’t do her any favors, Sam. 

You touch Tara’s arm. 

“It’s alright, Sam, we know,” You say, voice gentle. 

“Are you doing this to punish me?” Tara asks, eyebrows knit, “You don’t like us fucking loudly and so for revenge you’re going to tutor the girl who tried to destroy our relationship?” 

“I need the money, Tara,” Sam says, voice tired, “If I lose this job I won’t be able to chip in for rent.” 

“So get a new job,” Tara says, immediately, as if it’s a perfectly reasonable request. 

“I like my job.” Says Sam, “I’m not getting a new one.” 

Tara splutters. She looks over to you, wide-eyed, “And you’re okay with this?” She asks, in disbelief. 

“Tara,” You say, knitting your brows, “It’s not our decision-” 

“Like hell, it’s not,” Says Tara, “You’re my sister. You’re supposed to be on my side.” 

“There are no sides, Tara.” Sam says, “This isn’t world war three - as much as you’d like it to be. I’m helping her out because I’ll get fired if I don’t. I’ve already told her she’s not coming to the apartment. You won’t have to see her. If she tries anything, I’ll shut it down. Alright?”

You touch Tara’s back. 

“It’s fine, Sam,” You say, quietly, “Baby, it’s okay. We’re not seeing her again.” 

“Yeah, right.” Tara scoffs, “Please. This is just another one of her ploys.” 

She looks over at Sam. 

“She tried to steal me, Sam, we told you that, right?” She says, sounding scandalized. 

Sam rolls her eyes. 

“Yes, you told me that,” Says Sam, “And it didn’t count for shit because you’re a loyal girlfriend and your head couldn’t be turned. Right?” 

Tara thinks. She blinks as if her brain is short-circuiting. 

“Right.” She says, voice slow. 

“Perfect,” Sam says, voice dry, as she stands, “Look, Tara, please don’t be mad at me. You know I wouldn’t see her if I had the choice.” 

Tara folds her arms. 

Sam sighs. 

She leans down to press a kiss to the top of Tara’s head. 

But Tara jerks away. 

“Go, Sam, you’re going to do what you want anyway." She says, sounding surly. 

Sam slips her bag over her shoulder. 

“Bye, girls.” She says, a little dejected, “Love you.” 

But it falls on deaf ears.  

-

You and Tara are arguing when Sam leaves. 

“Why do you care so much, Tara?” You ask, voice hot, “You’re scared she’ll try to kiss you again and you won’t be able to resist?” 

“Baby, that’s ridiculous.” Tara says, outraged, “I don’t want to see her again because she upsets you.” 

Sam sighs, and clicks the door closed. 

The sound of both your voices echoing down the hall. 

Your neighbors must hate you. 

When Sam arrives in the library, Quinn’s already there.

“Hey,” She says, voice bright, and then pauses, “Thanks for coming.” 

“It’s my job,” Sam reminds her, voice a little tight. 

“Well, regardless, thanks.” Says Quinn. 

She sets her books down, slips into the seat next to Sam, wide-eyed and eager. Sam appraises her. 

She’s dressed a little inappropriately for a library study session. 

Short skirt, crop top. Her hair in pigtails, face flush with eyeliner and blush. 

Sam ignores the flutter that settles in her belly and pulls up a chair. 

“Was YN mad you decided to tutor me?” Is her first question. 

Sam opens her book, and points to the first sentence. 

“We’re not talking about them,” She says. 

Quinn chews her lips. 

“I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Quinn says, “You seem really nice, Sam, you don’t deserve that.” 

“Quinn.” Sam says, a little on edge. 

Like she’s starting to think this is a mistake. 

“Sorry,” Says Quinn, settling onto her elbows, “You’re right. Let’s not talk about them. Tell me all about the Yom Kippur War.” 

And Sam does. 

It’s a little difficult. 

Much more difficult than teaching her other students. Quinn doesn’t take her eyes off her. She plays with her hair, bats her eyelids, licks her lips. 

Sam clears her throat, starting to feel like prey. 

But then Quinn changes the topic. 

“I hope you’re ready to be the most consistent person in my life, Sam,” She says, blowing her hair out of her eyes, “Every night. I think if you were to define my dating life, comedy would be the word that springs to mind.” 

Sam raises her eyebrows. 

“Mine too,” She mumbles. 

Quinn rolls her eyes and sighs. 

“Tell me about it. I always pick the wrong guy,” Says Quinn, sounding a little frustrated, “Or girl most recently. Always the emotionally unavailable ones - or the physically unavailable ones. I think there's something wrong with me. Like a romance disease.” 

Sam cracks a smile. 

“I think we’ve got the same illness,” She teases, “I have a similar track record.” 

Quinn sits a little straighter. 

“Oh, yeah?” She asks, “Like who?”

Flashes of Richie blindsight Sam. His smile. His laugh. They way he’d kissed her.

The way he’d lied to her. 

Tried to literally murder her sister. 

Sam swallows, bad taste suddenly filling her mouth. 

“No-one,” She says, hurriedly, “Just a bad ex-boyfriend.” 

Quinn nods. 

“I have a few of those,” She says, and then she bites her lip. 

Sam reverts to feeling like prey. Something weird simmers in the depths of her belly as she meets Quinn’s piercing gaze. 

“Have you only had boyfriends?” Quinn enquiries suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere.  

Sam’s eyes flicker up. 

“Enough about boyfriends,” She says, clearing her throat, “Back to the Yom Kippur War.” 

Quinn’s smile is sly. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” 

“I’ve only had boyfriends, and I only ever will.” Sam says, voice flat, “Now, the war.” 

“How come?” Quinn blinks, wide-eyed, “You never wondered? You never tried it?” 

“No,” Sam says, “Quinn, please.”

Quinn bites her lip. 

“Fine,” She says, with a stretch, “I’ll stop busting your balls.” 

Her eyes flicker up to Sam’s. 

“As long as you remember - balls aren’t the only option.” 

-

Mindy howls over lunch. 

“It’s not that funny, Mindy,” Sam says, looking around. Well aware people are starting to stare, “Hey, shut up. I’m in a crisis here.” 

Mindy draws her shoulders. Takes a deep breath. But her face breaks out immediately. 

Her laugh turns into a snort. 

“I’m sorry, Sam, it’s just too good-“ She says, between breaths, “She really said that?” 

Sam nods. It sets Mindy off once more. 

“Damn this girl has an agenda,” Mindy says, still laughing, “She wants into those Carpenter panties, she really doesn’t care who’s wearing them.” 

“Stop being gross and help me,” Sam hisses. 

“Just tell her you like dick,” Mindy says, with a shrug, finally calming down. 

“I think we’ve established I tried that already,” Says Sam, cheeks flushed, “I get the impression no means yes to her. You know what - I know it for a fact.” 

She chews her lip. 

“Maybe I should just quit.” 

“Relax, Sam,” Says Mindy, with a groan, “This Quinn girl - she’s persistent, sure. But I doubt she’s dangerous or anything. Worst she’ll do is try to kiss you. Hey, then maybe you can put her in a headlock too. Give you and Tara something to bond about.” 

Sam glares. 

Mindy holds back another laugh. 

“Look - say you quit - then what? You get another job, waiting tables or working at a movie theater and hate your life. More than you already hate it.” 

Sam scowls. 

“I don’t hate my life,” She says. 

Mindy nods. 

“Sure, but you don’t love it. Let’s see,” She lists them off on her fingers, “No college degree, no boyfriend, no parents, your friends are a bunch of kids you used to babysit, and your alarm is having to listen to your sister take her girlfriend to pound town every morning.” 

Sam’s ears flame red. 

“You’re disgusting,” She says, voice flat, “And my life is just fine, thank you.” 

Mindy shrugs. 

“If you say so,” She says, slurping at her milkshake. She pauses, “God, that just made me sad. Maybe you should bang Quinn.” 

“Very helpful,” Sam grumbles, as she stands, “Thanks Mindy.” 

-

Sam gets home late - on purpose. 

The last thing she wants to do is deal with the changing winds of Tara’s mood swings. Or even worse - the “I told you so”, which she’s sure is to come. 

She hits the gym. 

Tries to decompress her own thoughts. 

Quinn is only trying to get close to Tara, she reasons, Quinn wants you because she can’t have your sister. 

Her treadmill jog turns into a sprint. 

And you’re straight.  

It’s dark by the time Sam gets home. 

But when she enters the apartment, expecting an empty living room - Tara’s sprawled across the couch. 

The lights are out, and Sam squints as she makes out her sister's figure. 

Tara sits up, like she’s been waiting for her. 

Storm in her eyes. 

“I hope you’re happy with yourself,” Says Tara, arms crossed. The couch has been transformed into a makeshift bed, in which she is clearly sleeping in. 

Alone. 

“Your new best buddy Quinn has caused disarray in my relationship.” 

Sam sighs, setting down her bag. 

“What happened?” She asks, reaching into the fridge for a beer. Alcohol is always necessary when Tara is like this. 

Tara crosses her arms. 

“You know what happened,” She says, “We got rid of Quinn and you brought her back into our lives.” 

“Quinn’s not in your life, Tara,” Sam reminds her, “She’s barely in mine. You really think she’s worth picking arguments over?” 

Tara frowns. 

“I didn’t pick an argument,” Tara says, “You’re the one who brought it up.” 

“And so you’re sleeping on the couch?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised, “What did you say?” 

Tara huffs. 

“Why do you always assume it was me who said something?” She asks.

“Because it usually is.” Sam retorts. She lifts the beer to her lips and takes a long swig. 

Tara’s quiet. 

“I just suggested we should… maybe help you look for a new job or something.” 

Sam stares. 

“Make you quit your job, is what I said, I think.” Tara says, a little sheepish, “YN’s mad because she doesn’t think I treat you well, or whatever. But I told her you don’t care about that. We’re sisters, we treat each other badly. That’s just how it goes.” 

She looks over to Sam, expectantly. Like she’s waiting for her to agree. 

Sam blinks. A sharp wave of hurt flushes through her chest that she can’t quite swallow. 

“I don’t treat you badly, Tara, I love you.” Says Sam after a long moment. There’s pain in her chest, making her words hard to get out, “I flew across the country for you. I’m living in a shoebox apartment infested with cockroaches for you. I fought Ghostface for you.” 

Tara blinks. 

“I tell you I love you everyday, before I leave, do you know that?” Sam asks, eyebrows crinkled, “But you never say it back. Why do you never say it back?” 

Tara just stares, eyes owlish. 

Sam might cry. 

Mindy’s half-cocked summary of her life had also made Sam a little sad. Because what does she have, truly? 

No boyfriend, no friends, a sister who treats her less than human. Like Sam’s a piece of dog-shit on the bottom of her shoe that she can’t quite shake. 

She won’t cry in front of Tara. 

Sam drops the empty beer bottle to the counter and rubs her eyes. Her sadness momentarily turns to anger. 

“I do everything for you,” Sam tells her, after a long moment, “But I love this job. This time you can do something for me. You can accept it.” 

-

When Sam leaves in the morning, the apartment is strangely somber. 

Tara’s avoiding Sam. You’re not talking to Tara. Sam’s not talking to anyone.

You don’t really talk to anyone, nowadays, anyway, she thinks, and then bats away the dreary thought. 

She spends the day on auto-pilot. Tries to will away the self-deprecating hatred brewing in the pit of her stomach. 

Quinn’s smiling when she finally makes her way into the library. 

Maybe the only person in her life happy to see her. 

It’s a sad thought, even for Sam. 

“Joe’s in the best pizza,” Quinn gushes, touching her arm, a little bit into their study session, “Now you live in New York you’ve got to get serious about this kind of thing.” 

Sam bites her lip. 

“I don’t know how much longer I’ll be in town anyway,” Says Sam, “I’m thinking about going home.”

Quinn tilts her head. 

“How come?” 

Sam shakes her head. 

“I’m just- I’m in Tara’s space. It’s not good for our relationship.” 

Quinn hums. 

Sam blinks. 

“Sorry,” She says, catching herself, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Let’s start on the next chapter.” 

“Tara won’t have any space if you leave her here,” Quinn says, tilting her chin, “Believe me. I lived in that apartment. I know how expensive it is.” 

“It’s an expensive shit-hole,” Sam mumbles, “You know every shower I’ve had this week has been cold?” 

Quinn nods, sympathetically. 

“I remember.” 

Sam surveys her for a moment. 

Her brows crease. And her curiosity gets the better of her. 

“Why’d you do it, anyway?” She asks, “Go for my sister? I mean, five minutes alone with the two of them and anyone could see how in love they are.” 

Quinn shifts. 

Averts her gaze, suddenly shy. 

It makes Sam frown. 

“I don’t know,” Quinn says, after a long moment, “Your sister- she seems like a really good girlfriend. I’ve only had bad boyfriends. Maybe I just wanted a change. Someone to treat me right, for once.” 

“And you really thought you could do it?” Sam asks, eyebrow raised, “Seduce her?” 

“No,” Quinn admits, “But it was fun to try. I like that. People I can’t have.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow. 

“You’re lucky YN didn’t beat your ass,” Sam says, the ghost of a smile on her lips, “I’ve seen her do much worse.” 

Quinn licks her lips. 

“Your sister is really beautiful,” She says, after a moment, “But you’re much prettier. Supermodel pretty.” 

The back of Sam’s neck prickles. 

Quinn scoots in a little closer.  

Their thighs touch. A spark flushes through Sam’s body, embering into wildfire before Sam can get a grip on it. 

Quinn’s lips are red. Her blue eyes are dilated. In the glow of the library-light, Sam could almost lean in…

Instead, she stands. Snapping up like she might die if she doesn’t. 

“Quinn,” She says, voice flustered, “I’m not stupid, I know what you’re trying to do.”

Quinn blinks. She cocks her head, dark eyes flashing with innocence. 

“And what am I trying to do?” 

“You couldn’t have Tara, so you’re throwing yourself at me,” Sam says, voice firm, “You think you’re slick, Quinn, but I see right through you.” 

Quinn tilts her head. 

“I just said you were prettier than her.” She says, “Your sister - she’s nice. She’s cute in a pedestrian sort of way. But you - you’re beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.” 

Sam can’t help the blush that stems from the bloom in her stomach and sprouts beet red in her cheeks. 

Quinn Bailey can talk. 

But Sam isn’t falling for it. 

“I’ve got to go,” She says, slinging her back over her arm, “I have- plans.” 

There are no plans. Sam hopes it isn’t obvious. 

Quinn purses her lips. 

“Anywhere fun?” She asks, easy smile on her lips, “Maybe I could come?” 

“Bye, Quinn,” Sam says, voice firm. 

And all but stumbles out of the library with Quinn watching. 

-

“Mindy,” Sam groans, down the phone line on her walk home, “You have to help me. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.” 

“Let me guess,” Mindy says. She sounds like she’s out somewhere - at a bar, or a particularly echoey house party, “You have a big fat hickey on your neck courtesy of one Quinn Bailey?” 

Sam’s cheeks flame. 

“I’m straight, Mindy,” She says, though her voice hovers, “You know that. Quinn - she won’t stop. She threw herself at me again tonight.” 

“Well, maybe you should just let her fuck you,” Mindy suggests, unhelpfully. She sounds a little drunk, “The girl likes what she can’t have so let her have you. Then she’ll leave you alone.” 

“That is some particularly unhelpful logic,” Snaps Sam, “Where are you, anyway? It sounds like there’s three of you.” 

“We’re at one of Chad’s lame house parties,” Says Mindy, “God, your sister’s in a mood, you know that? She’s scaring off all the cute girls. Not even YN can calm her down.”

“Oh,” Says Sam, stopping in her tracks, “You’re throwing a party? Who’s there?” 

“Me, Tara, YN, Chad, Liv,” Says Mindy, without a beat, “Plus every other freshman on campus. Chad tried to get some seniors to come, but he’s a little far off becoming the campus hotshot again.” 

Something pangs deep within Sam’s chest. 

Loneliness coils like a snake around her heart, tugging, tugging, tugging. 

The line is quiet, and Mindy seems to realize her mistake. 

“You don’t want to be here though Sam, it’s super lame. Just freshmen.” She says, hurriedly. 

“Of course not.” Sam says, trying to keep her voice light.

Why would she want to be there? At some lame party with kids four years younger than her, drinking like it’s the first - and last - drop of alcohol they’ve ever had in their lives. 

Because, sings that little voice in the back of her head, every friend you have in this city is there. And not one thought to invite you. Not even your own sister.

“You can come if you want,” Mindy suggests, a moment later, “I’m really sorry, Sam, I didn’t even think-” 

Sam bites her lip. Hard. 

“The last thing I want to do is watch a bunch of kids get wasted off keg-stands,” Sam says. She takes in a breath, and she doesn’t know why - but she’s desperate for Mindy to believe her, “Enjoy the party, Mindy, I’ll talk to you in the morning.” 

“Sure,” Mindy echoes, “Night, Sam.” 

-

It really is pathetic, Sam thinks as she pours herself a large glass of wine, your life. It’s pathetic. 

It’s Friday night. 

She should be out. She should be drinking and partying with friends her own age. She should be dancing in a club, dragging a stranger home and regretting it in the morning. 

What she shouldn’t be doing - is lounging around in her sister’s apartment, drinking by herself. She shouldn’t be moping about an invitation to a party with a friend group that isn’t even hers.

She’s made Tara her world. 

But in Tara’s world, she’s not even a thought. 

Not a sun, not a star, not even a moon. 

Maybe, if she’s lucky, a bit of space-junk Tara can’t quite shake from her orbit.

Pathetic. 

Space-junk, she thinks briefly, that’s a good name for you. A waste of space, more like. 

Sam sinks another glass of wine. 

The buzz feels nice. But the apartment is too quiet. 

Just Sam and her thoughts - a dangerous mix. 

And then - her phone buzzes. Sam has five glasses of wine in her. She answers, without checking who’s calling. 

And her voice catches in her throat when she hears the voice on the other end of the line. 

“Hey stranger,” Says Quinn, “I just wanted to call. I didn’t want to leave our conversation the way it was.” 

Sam pauses. 

She blinks - the room spins. 

“If you’re not interested, I understand,” Continues Quinn, and her voice lowers, “But I think you’ve misunderstood me.” 

Sam’s heartbeat jumps out of her chest. The hairs on the back of her arm raise, something she can’t quite name surges through her veins. 

She swallows, but her mouth is dry. Despite the constant flow of alcoholic lubrication. 

Quinn pauses a moment, and then sighs. 

“I don’t want you because of your sister,” Quinn says, voice graveled, “I want you because you’re beautiful.”

Sam hums. 

She closes her eyes, but she’s still spinning. 

High off alcohol, high off arousal, high off something. 

It feels nice to be wanted, no matter who is doing the wanting. 

She closes her lips, once. Tries to hang up. But she can’t.  

Then, she bites her lip. 

Quinn’s touch scalds. 

She’s all rough hands and wild lips, moving quicker than Sam’s alcohol-addled brain can keep up with. 

Sam remembers moaning. 

She remembers the fascination: soft, warm, wet. 

She remembers Quinn looking over with heady eyes, and pressing the softest kisses to her lips before she drifts off to sleep. 

And she remembers thinking: Tara’s going to kill me. 

-

When Sam wakes, she immediately wishes she hadn’t. 

It's like a knife through the brain. Dry lips, dry throat. Her neck aches, though she isn’t sure why. 

And then she feels a very different ache, somewhere else. 

Her eyes shoot open. 

Memories flood back to her. The night. The wine. Quinn. 

Fuck. 

“Morning, you,” Quinn purrs as she nudges her head between Sam’s legs, “Thought I’d help myself to some breakfast.” 

Sam panics. 

She almost throws Quinn off the bed in her effort to retract, as if Quinn’s touch burns her. 

“Stop.” Sam says, drawing her legs over the bed. 

She stands, and then realizes she’s completely naked. Her cheeks burn, and she hastily reaches for her bathrobe. She tilts it around her body, arms crossed. 

“Don’t get shy on me now, Sam,” Teases Quinn, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen already.” 

“Fuck,” Sam says. She had it right last night: her sister is going to murder her, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Quinn sits up, a little uneasy. 

“Okay,” Says Quinn, slowly, “Now you’re starting to hurt my feelings. What’s wrong? Sam? Talk to me.” 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sam says, urgently. Her mind is racing faster than she can speak. Panic surges within her chest, revulsion burns deep in her stomach - though, in all fairness, that might be the hangover. She pushes it aside, “God, we shouldn’t have done this-” 

Quinn tilts her head. A flash of hurt flickers through her features. 

“Okay…” Says Quinn, “But we did. And it was amazing. Wasn’t it?” 

It was. 

But that’s neither here nor there. 

“God, Quinn, that’s not the point-” Sam hisses. She touches her head, flinches at the pain coursing through her body, “We shouldn’t have slept together. I’m straight, for god’s sake-” 

“Yeah,” Quinn says, narrowing her eyes, “You looked real straight last night with your fingers inside my-”

“It’s time to go, Quinn,” Sam interjects, “You’ve got to go before Tara sees you-”

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Quinn protests, reaching out to touch Sam’s arms. Sam flinches away. 

“Sam-” 

“Quinn.” 

Quinn blinks.

“Stop it,” Sam snaps, “You need to go. Now. Right now. Get your clothes, you’re leaving.” 

Quinn stares a moment. 

“Fine,” She says, reaching for her shirt. She gets up, completely naked, and Sam averts her gaze. 

Quinn stands for a moment and it looks like she wants to say something. 

But she doesn’t.

Sam’s heart drops as she realizes what’s about to happen. 

Quinn’s going to put on her clothes and go barging into Tara’s room. 

Wave Sam around like a trophy she’s conquered. 

A Carpenter sister, she’d brag, I finally got one. 

Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? 

But she doesn’t.

Quinn pulls her clothes on, eerily silent. 

She leaves with a final mournful look towards Sam, and a quiet shut of the door. 

Sam sighs with relief. 

She drops the robe and heads back to bed and hopes when she wakes, this nightmare will be over. 

-

It isn’t. 

Tara’s looking at her a little funny when Sam finally emerges from her bedroom, near noon. 

You’re sitting next to her, arm looped around her waist. 

“Hey Sam,” You say, tilting your head, “How are you feeling?” 

Sam looks over, a little confused, “How am I feeling?” She asks. 

You tilt your head towards the empty wine bottle on the coffee table. 

“You didn’t drink all that alone, did you?” You ask, question in your voice. Tara narrows her eyes. As if she stares at Sam hard enough, the truth will come spilling from her lips. 

“I feel fine,” Sam lies, “How was your night?” 

“It was a little hard to sleep,” Says Tara, with all the subtlety of a bulldozer, “With all the noise coming from your bedroom.” 

Sam purses her lips. 

“Guess you finally know how it feels, Tara,” Sam says, a little grouchy. 

Tara folds her arms. 

“Who’s the guy?” You ask, tilting your head, “Is he still here?” 

Sam takes a long swig of water. 

“Nope.” Is all she says. 

You hum. 

“It’s just… well, Tara and I- we didn’t think it sounded like there was a guy at all in there,” You say, treading carefully. 

Sam freezes. 

She looks over at you, trying to mask the guilt in her eyes. 

“You think I just masturbated myself to sleep?” She asks, voice wry. 

“Don’t be gross, Sam,” Tara snaps, “We know you were banging a chick. Who was she?” 

“Tara,” You hiss, smacking her, “Subtle. We said subtle.” 

Sam swallows. 

You offer her a kind smile. 

“You can tell us, Sam, there’s no judgment here,” You say, “We think it’s good you’re experimenting with your sexuality, isn’t that right, Tara?” 

Tara looks over at you, aghast, “No,” She says, and then winces as your elbow juts between her rib, “Ow- babe-” 

“It’s just- we wanted to check that person isn’t Quinn Bailey,” You interject, hurriedly, “Because we love you, Sam, and we don’t want her taking advantage of you.” 

Sam sighs, heart in her throat. 

You’ve got her now, she knows. Because who else would it be? 

“Girls,” She tries to steer, “I can look after myself. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“That isn’t a denial,” Tara says, flatly, like she’s caught her, “Sam, please tell me you’re not serious. Please tell me you haven’t completely lost your mind.” 

“Tara, it doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Sam says, “Leave it alone, please?” 

Tara huffs, frustrated. 

“It has everything to do with me,” She says, “Your poor dating choices already got me stabbed once, remember?” 

She lifts up her shirt to punctuate her point. The car from where Richie had stabbed her trawls along her abdomen. 

“I’m not dating Quinn,” Sam says, with a roll of her eyes, “I was feeling lonely last night and I made a mistake. Okay? Happy?”

“No, not happy,” Says Tara, “I want you to cut ties with her, Sam. I want you to tell her you won’t tutor her anymore.” 

Sam grits her teeth. 

“That’s not going to happen, Tara,” Sam says. 

“Make it happen, then Sam,” Tara insists, “I mean it. You’re banned from seeing her.” 

Sam’s eyebrows fly into her hairline. 

You shift, then sigh. 

“I’m banned from seeing her?” Sam asks, lips curled, “Banned?” 

Tara nods. 

“You heard me,” She says. 

Sam refrains from laughing. 

Instead, she reaches into the kitchen cabinet for an aspirin. She retrieves an empty bottle and sighs. 

“I’m going to CVS,” She says, with a mumble.

“Sam,” Tara says, “Promise me.” 

“No, Tara,” Sam says, “Back off, alright? I don’t tell you what to do with your love life. Don’t tell me what to do with mine.” 

She grabs her coat, and slings it over her shoulders.

Tara’s hands ball into a fist. 

“She’s using you. You have to know that, right?” Tara calls as Sam walks out the door, “You’re her consolation prize.” 

Sam slams the door. 

And you round on Tara. 

You smack her, lightly, across the arm. 

“Ow.” 

Tara looks up at you with wide eyes. 

“This is your fault.” You hiss.

“My fault?” She asks, in disbelief, “My fault?” 

“I told you to be nicer to your sister and now look at what you’ve done. You pushed her right into Quinn’s arms!” 

You reach out to smack her again. 

Tara pulls back, outraged. 

“That girl is like a piranha, you said it yourself,” She says, voice hot, “Sam could be a nun and married to Jesus Christ himself and Quinn would have still have her face down in the pews of some church.” 

You blink. 

“Oh,” You say, “Is that right? She’s that irresistible, is she Tara?” 

Tara groans. 

“Don’t turn this on me, baby,” She whines, “I karate-d her for you, remember?” 

You let out a puff of warm air, arms crossed. 

Tara looks over at you, a little helpless. 

“What do we do?” She asks. 

You sigh. 

“I’m not sure we can do anything,” You admit, “Sam already knows everything. And… she’s kind of right, Tara. You can’t ban her from seeing Quinn.”

Tara looks over, a little unhappy. 

“That’s unhelpful, babe,” Tara says, “I need you to go into psycho mode. Like when Quinn was hitting on me.” 

It’s your turn to glare.

“I did not go into psycho mode,” You say, voice hot, “You were the one who put her in a headlock.” 

Tara sits down, shoulders tight. 

“Somehow I don’t think putting her in a headlock is going to keep her away from Sam.” 

You settle down next to her, rub her arm. 

“Look,” You say, with a sigh, “You’re right, Quinn’s using her. And Sam will see that, eventually. She said it herself - it was a mistake. Maybe we don’t have to do anything.” 

Tara huffs. 

“Quinn’s going to hurt her, YN,” She says, “Like Richie did. Sam’s never had a you. Just shit-head boyfriends who break her heart.”

You take her hand. Ignore the inappropriate flutter that settles in your belly at her words.

Tara thinks, hard. 

“We need a plan.” She decides. 

“Tara-” You protest, but Tara jerks away from you, the expression on her face final. 

“Babe, you told me to be nicer to Sam and so I’m doing it,” Tara says, “I’m going to protect her. From that - walking bear trap.” 

“Tara, I meant saying please and thank you,” You say, pointedly, “I meant you not icing her out over stupid arguments.” 

“This is better than that,” Tara insists, “Anyone can say please, only a sister can stop you making the worst decision of your life. Please, babe. We have to do this. For Sam.” 

You sigh. 

Quinn Bailey is a menace. You’ve seen it first hand. And you love Sam. You don’t want to see her hurt anymore than Tara. 

“Fine,” You say, a little reluctantly, “For Sam.” 

Tara presses a quick kiss to your lips and then pulls back, looking determined. 

“Operation Kill Quinn Bailey,” She suggests. 

“No,” You say, “Absolutely not. You’re not-”

“Not for real, babe,” Tara says, “Metaphorically. Operation Metaphorically Kill Quinn Bailey.” 

“It’s a little wordy,” You say, eyeing her. 

Tara thinks a moment. 

“Operation Quinn Bailey Must Die,” She says, finally, “Like that dumb movie you like, babe.” 

“Operation Quinn Bailey Must Die,” You repeat, with a grumble, “How come every movie I like is dumb and every movie you like is a masterpiece?” 

“We can’t all have great taste, babe,” She teases, and then stands up, looking stern. 

“If we have a plan, then we need a team,” She says, whipping out her phone, “I’ll call for backup.”

-

Quinn’s not in the library at eight. 

Sam tilts her head and watches the entrance, frowning slightly. 

They hadn’t spoken - not since that morning, though given their last encounter - it shouldn’t surprise Sam. 

Persistent, is Sam’s view of Quinn, doesn’t give up. Ever. 

And yet here she is sitting in the library alone. 

Sam pulls out her cellphone and calls Quinn’s line. 

It rings once, then twice, before dialing out. 

Sam pinches her eyebrows together. And tries to ignore the sinking pit in the bottom of her stomach. 

She had been kind of mean. She’d all but thrown Quinn out of the house in a panic. 

But before she can marinate on that thought, Quinn’s name is flashing across the screen of her phone. 

“Hello?” Sam answers, far too quickly. 

Quinn’s quiet a moment. 

“Hi, Sam.” She says. 

“Where are you?” Sam asks, checking her watch, “We said eight every night.”

“I figured you didn’t want to see me, anymore,” Says Quinn, “Not after last night.” 

Sam pauses. 

“Last night was…” She hesitates, “A mistake. But it doesn’t have to get in the way of your tutoring.” 

Quinn sighs. 

“I think it already has,” She says, “Bye, Sam.” 

And then she hangs up. 

-

Sam cooks dinner, feeling a little glum. 

Last night had been a mistake. She didn’t expect it to go so far, with Quinn. 

For all accounts - Quinn refusing to tutor with her should be a good thing. 

Right? 

Instead, Sam feels as if she’s just been dumped. 

“Are you alright, Sam?” You ask, leaning over the kitchen counter, “You seem… a little down.” 

“Fine,” Sam answers, transferring the salmon onto the plates, “Could you please get Tara for dinner?” 

Dinner’s awkward. 

Sam knows Tara wants to say something. She’s fizzing in her seat, barely touching her food. Look of contemplation on her face like she wants to say something that might get her in trouble. 

Sam sighs. 

“Tara, just say it,” She says, sounding tired. 

Tara crosses her arms. 

“I think I said all I needed to say this morning.” She says, eyes narrowed.

“Perfect,” Says Sam, “Are you going to eat?” 

Tara thinks. 

“I just want to know, Sam,” She says, “Do you seriously think Quinn slept with you for any other reason than to get back at me?” 

You touch her arm. 

Sam sighs. 

She drops her fork. 

“If you must know, Quinn doesn’t want to see me anymore,” Sam says, with a growl, “Not after I kicked her out this morning. So, I guess you got your wish, Tara.”

Tara blinks. 

You reach out to touch Sam’s hand, “Sam, I’m sorry-”

“It’s fine,” Says Sam, “Can we please just eat and stop talking about Quinn Bailey?” 

“Alright.” Tara says, voice even. 

She tilts her head. 

“This food is… good, Sam.” Tara says, voice a little gruff. 

You side eye her. 

Sam looks up. 

“You haven’t even had a bite.” She says, pointedly. 

Tara scoops up a mouthful of Salmon and chews it, somewhat obnoxiously. 

“Good,” She says, mouth full “Really, good, Sam.” 

You rub her arm. 

Bless her for trying, even if her attempt is a little unnatural. 

But Sam’s in a bad mood, clearly. 

She stands, quite abruptly. 

“I’m just going to eat in my room, I think,” She says, after a moment, her eyes sad, “I’ll see you guys later.”

She takes her plate, and you just watch her go. Shoulders tight, lips pursed. 

You sigh as Sam quietly shuts the door, rubbing your eyes. 

But Tara looks pleased. 

“Operation Quinn Bailey Must Die is a success,” She says, happily when you shoot a look over at her, “Don’t give me that look, babe, you know you’re happy too.” 

You consider this. 

Quinn cutting ties with Sam is probably the best of all the outcomes, regardless of Sam’s mood. 

“I suppose,” You say, and bite your lip, “Be extra nice to Sam this week, okay babe? Why don’t we cook for her tomorrow night? Make her feel special.” 

Tara nods. 

“Alright babe,” She says, pressing a kiss to your lips, “Anything for you.”

She thinks for a moment. 

“And for Sam.” 

-

Sam toils overnight. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily, tossing and turning and throwing pillows against the wall in her frustration. 

Near three, she picks up her phone. 

Sam doesn’t know if it’s the lack of sleep, or the burning sadness in the pit of her stomach - but whatever it is, dials for her. 

“Sam?” Quinn asks, a little groggy, “Are you okay?” 

She shifts, and Sam just blinks into the darkness. 

“Sam, it’s three AM, what’s wrong?” Asks Quinn, with a little more urgency. 

“I-“ Sam says, and she pinches her eyebrows together, “Sorry. Nothing's wrong. I just… wanted to talk to you.” 

“Okay,” Says Quinn slowly, “About tutoring? Because, Sam-“ 

“Not about tutoring,” Sam says, “About… the other thing.” 

Quinn pauses. 

“The sex thing?” She asks. 

“Were you sleeping with me because you couldn’t have my sister?” Sam asks, unable to keep the thought to herself any longer.

Quinn huffs. 

“Fuck you, Sam,” She says, “Fuck you.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Says Sam. Her nails dig into the skin of her thighs, a little fearful of the answer. 

“No,” Says Quinn, “I wasn’t sleeping with you because I couldn’t have Tara. Happy?”

Sam blinks.

“I don’t know if I believe you,” She says, swallowing. 

“Then don’t believe me,” Says Quinn, voice flat, “It’s not like we’ll see each other anymore anyway. Goodnight Sam-“ 

“Don’t hang up,” Sam whispers. 

Quinn pauses. 

Sam closes her eyes, the blood rushing to her ears. 

Quinn is a question mark. But Sam’s lonely and sad and she knows there’s only one thing that will get her to sleep tonight. 

“Would you come over?” 

-

You wake up to Tara between your legs, smiling down at you devilishly. 

“Morning baby,” She says, smile wry, “I dreamt about you.” 

You sigh as Tara presses her lips to your neck, her hands moving down to run down the length of your thighs.

“And what was I doing in this dream?” You ask, voice husky. 

Tara smirks. 

“You were on your hands and knees,” Says Tara, “Which is where you’ll be in about thirty seconds-“ 

Your stomach flips. Your mouth falls open. 

Tara smiles, and  takes your stunned silence as an opportunity to pull your sleep shorts down your legs. 

Arousal floods through you. 

You take her lips in a searing kiss, pulling her shirt over her head. 

And then you hear a moan. 

You pause, retracting from Tara, slightly. 

She’s confused too, tilts her head to figure out if she’s heard wrong. 

But then you hear another moan. 

This is a moan you know. 

One you’ve had the unfortunate experience of hearing before. 

It’s Quinn Bailey. 

“Motherfucker.” Tara swears, and her attention is no longer on you. 

She grabs her shirt, cheeks flushed in anger as she climbs out of bed. 

This time it’s Sam who moans. 

You groan, falling back into the bed. 

“How has this happened?” Tara asks, running a hand through her messy hair, “We go to sleep and Sam’s done with her, and then we wake up and Sam’s doing her.” 

“Let’s not overreact-” You attempt, but Tara huffs, shaking her head and pacing up and down your tiny room. 

“Relax, baby,” You say, trying to pull her back down. She’s glaring at the wall between the bedrooms as if it might melt. Potentially take Quinn in the process. 

“Why don’t we go to brunch?” You suggest, biting your lip, “We can go to that little place that does the Mickey Mouse waffles you like.”  

“Now is not the time for brunch,” Tara growls, “I’m going to go downstairs and pull the fire alarm.” 

“That’s illegal,” You say, holding her arm to stop her standing, “Not to mention ridiculous. You can’t stop Sam having sex, Tara.” 

“I don’t care about Sam having sex, babe, I care that’s it with Quinn.” 

She looks over at you, a little helpless. 

“What do we do?” 

Sam moans from the next room. Quinn grunts. Your bedroom table shakes, slightly. Tara looks as though she might punch a hole in the wall and drag Quinn through by her hair. 

You rub her back. 

“Come on, don’t stress about it,” You say, pressing a kiss to her cheek. And then you think. 

“Why don’t we do that thing you’ve been wanting to do?” You suggest, biting your lip. 

You had been saving it for a special occasion. 

But right now it’s the only thing you can think of to take Tara’s mind off Quinn and Sam. 

Tara shakes you off, looking stressed. 

“Babe, you want me to fuck you in the ass while my sister is getting nailed by Quinn Bailey in the next room?” She asks, agitated. 

You sigh. 

“I suppose not,” You mumble. And then you stand. 

“Come on, Operation Quinn Bailey Must Die is back on,” You say with a grumble as a particularly loud chorus of moans sounds from Sam’s room, “Let’s rally the troops. They’ll be done when we get back. Surely.” 

-

“You told her to what?” Tara hisses, across the table of the diner you’re all crammed around. Her Mickey Mouse waffles remain untouched. 

You have a hand on the small of her back, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. 

And so far it isn’t working. 

Mindy, Liv and Chad are here to help enact her operation. 

The ‘Ghostface Hunters’, Mindy had called you. 

The ‘Quinn Killers’ Tara had corrected. 

“You told her to sleep with Quinn?” Tara says, aghast. 

Mindy huffs. 

“I didn’t think she’d actually do it,” Groans Mindy, “I thought Sam was strictly dickly.” 

“Never underestimate the charms of beautiful woman,” Says Liv, quite seriously and Chad nods, “If I didn’t have Chad, I’d probably sleep with her too.” 

Chad smiles, as if the thought is appealing to him. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Why is everyone going goo-goo-ga-ga for her, she’s not even that pretty,” You huff. 

“It’s not about being pretty, YN,” Says Mindy, with a shrug, “It’s a confidence thing. Women like  being pursued. Quinn’s good at pursuing. The world’s her oyster.” 

“Back to Sam,” You say with a huff, “What’s the plan? We need her to know Quinn is using her.” 

“Why don’t we just tell her?” Asks Chad, looking confused. 

Tara huffs. 

“Thanks genius,” She says, “We already tried that, obviously.” 

“We could plant drugs in her backpack to get her kicked out of NYU.” Suggests Liv, happily, “Chad knows a guy.” 

“Let’s try to keep things legal.” You intervene, hastily. 

Chad furrows his brow. 

“If it’s Tara she wants, why don’t we just give it to her?” He says, after a long moment. 

You blink. 

Bile rises from your stomach and settles in the back of your throat.

“Excuse me?” You ask, voice a little hot. 

“It’s not a terrible idea,” Says Mindy, “We know Quinn wants Tara, right? And that’s the only reason she’s going for Sam?”

Chad and Liv both nod. 

You cross your arms. 

“Yeah, so? She’s not getting Tara.” You say with a bite. 

Mindy rolls her eyes. 

“And she won’t YN, relax.” Mindy says, “But if she thinks she might have a shot with Tara- then boom! We send her a few flirty text messages, get her to agree to send some back and send the evidence to Sam.”

Tara thinks. 

“Isn’t that a bit mean-spirited?” You ask. The thought of your girlfriend sending sexy texts to anyone who isn’t you has you feeling like you want to punch something, “If Sam actually likes this girl, she’s going to be heartbroken.” 

“Better her be heartbroken now than before she has time to actually fall for Quinn,” Mindy says with a shrug, “What do you say?” 

Tara looks over at you. 

“It’s not the worst idea, babe,” She says, with a murmur, “I mean, if it proves to Sam Quinn isn’t serious about her, what can it hurt?” 

“I don’t want you sending nudes to other girls,” You say, voice tight, “I don’t care if it isn’t real.” 

“Not nudes, babe,” Tara assures, “Just messages. Mindy can send them from my phone. That way it isn’t even me.” 

The group is looking at you, a little expectant. 

“Maybe we should revisit the drugs.” You say, trying to quell the raging tide of fire within your chest. 

Tara kisses you. 

“You asked me to look out for Sam,” She says, “This is me doing it. This is me protecting my sister.” 

Her eyes are wide, like the chocolate buttons scattered across her Mickey Mouse waffles. 

“Please?” She asks. 

You sigh. 

“Fine,” You agree, but you’re not overly happy about it, “Mindy sends them. I don’t want you talking to her.” 

“Deal,” Says Tara, and she seals it with a kiss, “We’re going to get rid of this sex-pest once and for all.” 

“Should we do it now?” Asks Chad, “While Sam’s still with her? With any luck, she’ll see the message.” 

“No,” Says Mindy, “It’s too obvious. We need her alone. If Quinn knows Sam’s around she won’t bite.” 

“She’ll bite,” Liv promises, “Tara is hot.”

It’s Tara’s turn to rub your back. 

You shoot a deathly glare to Liv. 

“To gay girls,” Liv clarifies quickly, “She’s hot to girls who are into that.” 

“This will be good, babe,” Tara says, pressing her lips to the shell of your ear, “For Sam. This will be good for Sam.” 

-

When Quinn’s finally done with her, Sam is a sweating, heaving mess. 

Her body aches, pleasantly. Quinn nestles into her side, tugs Sam’s comforter around both of their bodies. And then presses a lingering kiss to her neck. 

“Is this going to be us?” Quinn asks, voice a tease, “I’m your midnight booty call?” 

Sam hesitates. 

“Sorry,” She says, “I’ve never done this before. Not with a girl.” 

Quinn’s lips purse. 

“Me neither,” She assures, voice soft, “But I think we’re getting the hang of it.” 

Sam hums. 

“My sister thinks you’re using me.” She says.

Quinn sighs. 

“I know,” She says, “I know she’s your sister and all, but I think she thinks a little too highly of herself.” 

Quinn looks up at Sam, blue eyes wide. 

“I fuck a lot of guys,” She says, voice soft, “But I don’t often fuck them twice.” 

She lets it hang. 

Sam frowns. 

“I don’t know what that means.” Sam admits. 

Quinn laughs. 

“It means you must be special,” Quinn says, “Tara? I would have slept with her once.” 

Sam crinkles her nose. 

Quinn grips her hips. 

“I would have slept with her once and then dodged her calls,” Says Quinn, “Because she didn’t mean anything to me. None of them mean anything to me.”

“But I do?” Sam asks, voice skeptical. 

Quinn smiles. 

“You do,” She says. She leans up, takes Sam’s lips in a soft kiss, “I promise.” 

Sam isn’t sure. 

This is all new to her; the girl, the girl-sex, the fact that this girl wanted her sister before she ever laid eyes on Sam. 

But Quinn’s eyes are round, her grip on Sam is tight. 

Her words sound honest. 

It’s been so long since Sam’s had someone be honest with her. 

And so Sam closes her eyes. 

The first thing Tara does when Sam closes the door is tighten her shoulders and barge into Sam’s bedroom.

You follow, hastily. 

Watch as she reaches for Sam’s clothing rack and tries to pry the lot off the rack and onto the floor. 

“Tara, stop.” You grab her hand as Sam’s jackets crumple to the ground. 

“Don’t, babe,” Tara says, her voice sharp, “This is all going in the dumpster. Don’t try and stop me.” 

“She’ll be back in a week,” You protest, “She’s going to need this stuff.” 

“I don’t care,” Says Tara, rounding on you, “She can walk around naked for all I care. She’s picking Quinn over me. Her own sister.” 

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” You ask, voice quiet, “We did go behind her back and try to seduce… whatever Quinn is to her. It makes sense she wants space.” 

“She’s done this before,” Tara growls, “When she was fifteen. She picked her deadbeat boyfriend over us. Over me.” 

Before you can stop her she’s pried Sam’s cluster of picture frames off her dresser and into a trash can. 

You sigh. 

And let her tear through Sam’s room like a Doberman off the leash. You’ll fix it yourself tomorrow. 

You sink into Sam’s mattress and watch your girlfriend. 

Her hands are shaky. Her eyes are watering, though you know she’s too proud to let the tears fall in front of you. 

She’s hurting. 

“Why don’t we call Dr Colmann?” You suggest, voice gentle, “She always makes you feel better, babe.” 

“I have to finish this tonight,” Says Tara, “As long as her shit’s in here, I won’t be able to sleep.” 

You bite your lip. 

“Let’s call Dr Colmann,” You suggest, “And if you still want her stuff gone after the call, I’ll help you myself.” 

Dr Colmann had given you her personal number for Tara related emergencies. 

“Tara is a special client,” Dr Colmann had answered after you’d raised an eyebrow, “And I want to make sure you can come to me if you need it.” 

You had never used it. 

Until now. 

“Dr Colmann?” You ask, a little anxious. 

You’d finally convinced Tara to sit, and firmly planted yourself in her lap so she can’t get up and continue her tirade through Sam’s room. 

“We need your help.” 

-

It’s a little after twelve in California, and Dr Colmann looks as if she’s just gotten back from the gym. 

You apologize - taking a work call on a Sunday afternoon seems criminal. Even if it’s your only option. 

But Dr Colmann doesn’t seem to mind.

“What’s going on, Tara?” Asks Dr Colmann, “You seem a little on edge.” 

You rub her back. 

Press the softest of kisses to the side of her head.

“My sister is abandoning me,” Tara says, voice a little fraught. 

“She’s leaving for a week,” You correct, hastily, “We had a small disagreement.” 

“What kind of disagreement?” Dr Colmann asks. 

“That isn’t important,” Says Tara. 

Dr Colmann sighs. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t want to be honest with me Tara.” 

Tara bites her lip. 

“I don’t like the girl she’s seeing,” Says Tara, “It’s the Quinn girl. The one we told you about last month.” 

“The roommate who tried to pursue you?” Asks Dr Colmann, taking notes.

Tara nods. 

“So the fight was about this girl?” Dr Colmann asks. 

Tara hesitates. 

“Kind of,” She says, “I thought… I thought maybe if tried to seduce her, I could show Sam she wasn’t serious about her.” 

Dr Colmann pauses. 

“And do you really think that was the best thing to do, Tara?” She asks, sounding skeptical. 

“I didn’t have a choice,” Says Tara, “She backed me into a corner.” 

Dr Colmann sighs. 

“Tara,” She says, gently, “Have you tried apologizing to your sister?” 

Tara frowns. 

“Apologize?” She asks, as if the word is foreign to her, “For trying to help her?” 

“Tara, trying to seduce the person your sister is interested in, is wrong, regardless of your intentions.” Says Dr Colmann, sternly. 

“And what about her?” Tara asks, heatedly, “It’s okay for Sam to date someone who tried to break up my relationship?” 

“No,” Says Dr Colmann, “If you’re not comfortable with who Sam is seeing, Tara, you should express that to her. In a calm, and non confrontational manner. You can lay out your reasoning and explain why you don’t think her seeing Quinn is a good idea.” 

Dr Colmann hesitates. 

“But, at the end of the day, Tara, you can’t control who Sam sees or who she dates. We’ve talked about this, Tara - you don’t have control over other people’s actions. You need to make peace with that.” 

Tara lets out a discontented grunt. 

You squeeze her shoulders. 

“Start with an apology,” Dr Colmann suggests, “Call Sam and tell her you’d like to apologize in person for your behavior. Start a dialogue, but remember Tara - calm and collected. Telling somebody they can’t do something only leads to them wanting to do it more.”

“Thanks, Dr Colmann,” You say, rubbing Tara’s back, “Should we reach out right away?” 

“It can’t hurt,” Says Dr Colmann, “But she’ll likely need some time. Give it to her. Tell her you’re sorry, and let her come to you.” 

-

Dr Colmann isn’t wrong about Sam needing time. 

She won’t answer Tara’s calls, so Tara texts her. 

“Really sorry, Sam. I don’t know what came over me,” Tara reads from her phone, lip between her teeth, “I just wanted to protect you from her as I think she’s going to hurt you. I crossed the line and I know what I did was wrong. I’m hoping maybe tomorrow we can meet up and I can apologize in person.” 

She looks up at you, a little shy. 

“Is it okay?” She asks. 

You kiss her. 

“It’s perfect,” You assure, “Sam will appreciate it.”

Tara curls into your side, the moment she presses send. 

She’s a little calmer, after the call with Dr Colmann. Sam’s wardrobe hasn’t been touched, and you’d managed to sneak in and replace all the things Tara had ripped down. 

“I hate this,” Tara admits, nuzzling her head into your neck, “I hate feeling powerless.” 

You press a kiss to her forehead.

“Remember what Dr Colmann said,” You say, “You can’t control everything, babe.” 

“Can we watch Alien?” Tara asks, blinking up at you, “It always makes me feel better.”

You kiss her. 

“I will never understand how horror movies calm you down,” You say, with a sigh, “But of course we can.” 

-

Sam doesn’t text back until the morning. 

“Thanks for apologizing, Tara,” Tara reads out, eyebrows crinkled, “I need some time. I’ll be back next week and we can talk.” 

Tara frowns, dropping her phone. 

“It’s not all bad, babe,” You soothe, reaching out to wrap an arm around her, “Dr Colmann said she’d need space.” 

“Yeah,” Tara says, resigned. 

Then, she flops back into the couch. 

“Sam thinks I don’t love her,” She says, after a long moment, “Because I never say it.” 

You tilt your head. 

“Babe.” You say, dropping down to her side. You brush a strand of hair out of her face, 

“I do love her,” Says Tara, sounding unhappy, “But she doesn’t love me. Not the real me.” 

Her eyes are sad, vulnerable. 

You kiss her, deeply. 

“It’s difficult,” You say, choosing your words carefully, “But Sam loves you. For better or for worse. You’re her baby sister.” 

“She left before,” Tara accuses, “She’d do it again. I just know it.” 

“Hey,” You say, pressing your lips to her cheek, “That’s behind you now, remember? We’re in therapy.” 

It doesn’t placate her. 

“How can you love somebody you don’t even know?” She asks, a little mournful. 

“I loved you before I knew,” You say, nudging your nose against hers, “And I love you after. Always.” 

“That’s different,” Says Tara, biting her lip, “You’re in love with me. You’re the exception. Do you really think Chad or Mindy or Liv or Sam would stay around if they knew the truth?” 

“They’ll never know,” You promise, “Baby, I know it’s hard, but you can’t live your life being scared of rejection. Sam loves you. Your friends love you. You’re a different person than you were before. You’re a good friend. And you’ve been holding back from Sam, but I know you’ll be a good sister too. The best sister. Just like you’re the best girlfriend.” 

You kiss her once more. 

“You just have to let yourself be vulnerable,” You say, “Let Sam know you love her. And the rest will fall in place.” 

-

Quinn’s apartment is beautiful. 

High ceilings, expensive artwork, luxury furniture. 

It makes Sam’s head spin. 

“You can be louder, if you want,” Quinn says, biting her lip, only moments after Sam had cum hard with her hand against her mouth, “This place is sound-proofed. Dad made sure when he bought it.” 

“Why did you ever live in that dump with my sister?” Sam wonders, sprawled out across Quinn’s pillows, “This place is great.” 

Quinn laughs, and curls herself into Sam’s side. 

“I was trying to be independent,” She admits, “I was trying not to live off my Dad’s money.” 

Sam tilts her head. 

“Did your Dad invent the toaster or something?” She wonders aloud.

Quinn presses a sly kiss to her lips.

“He’s done well for himself,” She admits, “He’s a detective. A very senior Detective.” 

“And here I was thinking government employees lived paycheck to paycheck.” Sam mumbles. 

“Most do,” Quinn admits, “But like I said - he’s done well for himself.” 

“Do you see him much?” Sam asks. 

Quinn pauses. 

“Not really,” She says, “My brother - he’s the problem child. Dad spends most of his time wrapped up with Ethan.”

“Little brother?” Sam asks, head tilted. Quinn nods. 

“The youngest… they’re always the problem kids.” Sam says, knowing from experience. 

“I know you can’t choose your family,” Says Quinn, “But man, don’t you sometimes wish you could?” 

Sam thinks. 

“I would still choose Tara,” She says, voice a little soft, “She’s a brat, yeah. But it’s only because my parents never taught her how to behave. They failed her. Heck, they failed me too.” 

Quinn smiles.

“That’s sweet,” She says, “I love how you love her. Even after what she tried to do.”

Sam shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. 

“She was just looking out for me,” Sam says, “In her own way. In her Tara way.” 

“She doesn’t need to,” Quinn promises. She leans over and kisses Sam, “I’m crazy about you. You know that.” 

Butterflies bloom in Sam’s stomach. 

“I know it’s only been a couple of weeks,” Quinn says, nudging her nose against Sam’s, “But I’m falling for you. Hard.” 

Sam blinks. 

And the butterflies evaporate. 

Uneasiness replaces them. 

“Quinn,” She says, slowly, “Like you said, it’s only been a couple of weeks-” 

“I know,” Quinn says, rubbing a hand over her hip, “Sorry, I don’t love you or anything. Not yet. I just wanted you to know I’m falling.” 

“Alright,” Sam says, voice even, “I just- it’s not-”

“Stop freaking out,” Quinn says, and kisses her softly, “I only wanted to say I like you. Don’t think so hard, Carpenter.” 

Sam relaxes. 

“I like you, too.” She says. 

And Quinn kisses her. 

-

Sam stays at Quinn’s place longer than a week. 

It’s two weeks at first, then three. 

Quinn’s kisses are ample reason to stay. Tara’s texts, each a little more desperate than the other, remind Sam of why she can’t go back. 

She loves her sister. 

But Sam’s been suffocating her. 

Dinners, breakfasts. She does Tara’s laundry and cleans up after her. Makes her bed. Helps her with homework. 

She’s been trying to replace their mother. 

Sam loves her sister, but a mother she is not. 

Sisters need boundaries. Sam needs boundaries. 

And so she calls Tara to explain. 

“We can talk,” Sam promises over the phone, “Tonight, if you want. I’ll come to the apartment. But Tara, you should know I’m planning on staying with Quinn. It’s better for both of us if I stay with Quinn.” 

“I miss you, Sam,” Tara says, voice unhappy, “I promise I’ll be nicer. I’ve been talking to a therapist, she’s helping me. YN and I won’t even fuck when you’re home - if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sam bites her lip. 

“That’s - sweet Tara,” Says Sam, “But that isn’t the problem. Not the whole problem. We’re adults now, both of us. Sisters aren’t designed to live together, forever.” 

“Not forever,” Presses Tara, “But for right now? We should be together.” 

Sam sighs. 

Quinn’s pouring her a glass of wine, wearing a particularly low-cut top. 

Sam’s gaze veers down. 

“I’ll speak to you, tonight,” Sam promises, mouth dry, “Love you, T.” 

Tara hesitates. 

“Speak to you, tonight.” She echoes, voice hollow.

-

“Ugh, why do you have to go and speak to your sister?” Quinn murmurs, a little later, when Sam is a sweaty mess under her. 

“Because she’s my sister.” Sam reminds, a little pointed, as she leans up to kiss Quinn.

“She tried to seduce me.” Quinn says, a little sharp, “I think the silent treatment is more than effective, here.” 

“You tried to seduce her first.” Says Sam, retracting herself from Quinn’s grip, “Relax, Quinn. It’s time I patched things up with her.” 

“You’re coming back after, right?” Quinn asks,  little on edge, “You’re not moving back in? Because you can stay here as long as you want.” 

Sam kisses her. 

“I’ll be back,” She promises, “But I need to borrow a jacket. I left mine back at the house.” 

Quinn’s grip is tight. For a moment, Sam wonders if Quinn will let her leave at all. But then she releases her grip on Sam’s waist. 

“Closet,” She says, with a murmur, “You know, you wearing my clothes is kind of hot.” 

Sam kisses her once more. 

Sam rifles through Quinn’s closet, a little mindless. It’s expansive. From denim to leather, seemingly Quinn has it all. Sam works through them all. She settles on a bare-bones black leather jacket that’ll go with her jeans. She pries it off the rack and slips it around her shoulders.

But then, she notices something buried near the bottom of her wardrobe. 

Her brow creases. 

It’s a picture. 

Quinn she recognises - an older man that must be her Dad. A younger guy that must be her brother, Ethan. 

And then she sees him. 

To say the wind is knocked out of her is an understatement. 

She recognises him immediately. Curly brown hair. Piercing blue eyes she stared into hundreds of times. 

Eyes she’d seen flutter closed for the last time. 

It’s Richie. 

Quinn knows Richie. 

Sam panics. 

She stumbles back, takes out Quinn’s mirror in her wake. Her chest heaves. Her eyes prick with tears. 

Out, her mind screams, you need to get out.

But Quinn’s all over her before she gets the chance. 

Sam flinches as Quinn’s arms loop around her waist. She reacts immediately. 

She pries herself out of Quinn’s arms and turns around as if she’s just been burned. 

“Sam?” Quinn asks, looking startled, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” 

Sam’s eyes are wide. 

Quinn’s eyes flicker down to the bottom of the wardrobe. To Richie. 

Her eyes widen, almost mournful. 

“Oh, Sam,” She says, softy, “I really wish you hadn’t seen that.” 

It happens in a flash. 

One moment Sam is backing up, against the wall. The next, Quinn’s pressing her to it, hand over her mouth.