#voidstories

She gasped, eyes rolling back, when her head hit the pillow, and he folded her in half. 

He made her feel good. There wasn’t much else to think about, especially not when his fingers were this slick, rubbing her to the finish line. 

They only ever saw each other like this—and at the bar, where it all begins. Cocktails for her, wine for him. It’s a respectable choice. Their shared friends surrounded them at the round table sharing the latest gossip. 

Harvey— as Calla well knows, is respectable. He never gossips, claiming it’s unethical for him, but by all means—he’d still listen. Sometimes, Calla would study his face, trying to find hints of judgement when they talked about the others in town. 

She never did. He was everyone’s fix-it person at the end of the day. She’d remind herself of that every Saturday morning when she left his bed and snuck out through the clinic. 

It was a rainy evening, so the saloon was packed. The humid summer was starting to get to everyone. Most didn’t have air conditioning and relied on the community for relief. Calla included herself in this. 

When Haley walked through the door with her boyfriend Alex, everyone stared. They were the stereotypical couple most straight women dreamed about. Calla couldn’t— but she guessed she understood. 

Alex was just so— how could Calla put this— normal. Haley, on the other hand, was turning heads. 

Everyone at their table got quiet. They must’ve been watching the most recent patrons as well.  

“Emily told me something last night when she was over, but you can’t say anything,” Leah said. Her voice hushed, but loud enough to hear over the music. Her hand was covering the top of her pint as she leaned closer

 “So.” A dramatic pause for the art, and then an exhale, “Haley used to be like, a carpet muncher.” 

Leah was a wildcard— someone who seemed sweet, polite, modest up front, but was a total wild woman behind the screen— any artist was. Elliot would attest to that. 

“I hate that term,” Calla winced, looking between Harvey and Elliott to gauge their reaction. Only Elliott had looked shocked. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Harvey shrugged. 

“I never said it was.” She took a sip of her drink, “I’m just saying it’s a vulgar name. Not to mention some people rip out their carpets.” 

“Boo, no fun” Harvey said, only looking at her. 

“Wait ew— no, go back. Used to be?” Elliott asked, leaning in. 

“Yeah, but when she started dating Alex, she did like a 180 apparently. It’s kind of tragic when you think about it.” 

And Calla thought about it a lot. 

About Haley sinking between her thighs, her honey scented glossed lips, hot breath on her skin, and damning blue eyes drawing her attention.

“Ha–,” she caught herself with a sharp breath. 

“Harvey,” She moaned, her back arched from the bedding. Her hips rolled into him on instinct. He was good at this— good with her. She felt him twitch as his hips drove into her like a drum, “Right, there,” she gasped, as her core began to spasm, “don’t stop.” 

His mouth found her neck, and like that, she knew it was over. 

She usually stayed the night after. That Friday was no different. However, when she woke up in the morning to the smell of breakfast, she almost wished she left. 

His studio apartment was fine. It was everything she’d expect from Harvey: quiet, humble, curated for comfort. Model airplanes of all sizes and shapes were displayed on shelves. The furniture was  comforting shades of dark wood and red, and the sheets— they were always clean. 

Unfortunately, for most men, this was a lot to ask of them. Not Harvey though. The biggest mess in sight was last night's clothes and an unfinished airplane on the table. 

She rolled onto his side of the bed, taking in his scent when the thought crossed her mind— Haley.

She wondered if she preferred vanilla or citrus scented perfumes, and if she liked her coffee with cream, sugar, or just plain black.

Harvey liked his black. He only ever bought creamer for Calla’s sake. Just like he made room for an extra toothbrush, and how he cleared his airplane parts to give her a spot to eat breakfast. 

She watched him through half lidded eyes as he set the table. Coffee, pancakes, and eggs— a step up from their usual bagel and coffee. 

Steam rose from the cup Harvey poured her coffee into. She couldn’t stop staring at her cup that she unknowingly claimed when she complimented it. And wondered, what if Haley doesn’t drink coffee.

Unfortunately for Harvey, the food had gone cold. When he leaned over to wake her up, she wrapped her arms around his neck—pulling him down on top of her for more. 

So they ate the reheated food in his bed. A quiet, post orgasm daze clung to them, but when Calla finished her food—which was delicious—she told him it was time for her to go.

She showed herself out. Now, it was later than she’d usually leave, so she tried to rush back home to avoid being seen in last night's clothing. And what wishful thinking it was to believe that nobody would be out this close to noon.

“Nice shoes.” She heard a girlish voice approach as she only just closed Harvey’s door. 

“Wait,” Haley laughed, stepping into Calla’s line of sight, “are they made of plastic?”

Calla paused, not quite registering the words spoken to her. Not once did she glance down at her heels. And certainly not when she deadpanned, “Nice tits,” Calla then tilted her head, “are they made of plastic?”  

Haley said nothing, and Calla, exhausted from the night before, left for home only feeling slightly guilty. 

She meant her compliment.