Chapter Text
Her shift had ended, but the torment hasn't. Tommy Merlyn sprawls out on the opposite side of her with a shit-eating grin. The kind that makes me want to punch him in the stupid face. He works in the same position as me, though he tends to cover morning shifts, and I'm there in the afternoon.
"Told you so," he says, taking a sip of the coffee I had brewed for him, two minutes before she threw off her waitress apron and saved her feet from near death by four in heels. They now rest comfortable in Adidas sneakers.
Nyssa glares at her friend. Tommy is as tall as a viking , towering above everyone else I've ever known. He has the don't- fuck- with- me muscle type build on his arms and chest. His shoulders always look like they are threatening to burst out of his shirt. He's good looking. The kind of handsome that makes all the straight girls swoon, though he's taken. Has been for a year. Band music is playing in the background. On the stage of Cafe Fix, a group of three guys are murdering their instruments. The kind of people to find performing in their mom's garage until the neighbors slap a noise ban on them.
"I was convinced," she says morosely, though she knew she was kidding herself. She feels something gnawing at her stomach lining. Her heart already curses the day her now ex-girlfriend was born. She's also slightly disgusted with herself at having been led on for so long. You know, with the usual damning thoughts: How could have I been so blind? So naive? The self-loathing is a cacophony in her head. All the signs were there. Nyssa just chose to ignore them and walk straight into the badly disgusted pitfall ahead. "I was so convinced she loved me."
"Babe," Tommy said, "I told you from the beginning the she was just saying it to get you into the bedroom. I still can't believe you fell for it." Tommy adopted a dramatic, gloomy expression. "Oh Nyssa, I love you so much, we are meant to be. I promise you that things have been stale between me and my horrible, frigid and loveless wife. We're just in the process of divorcing. Soon, I will be free, to pursue my love with you; just," he clutched his hand to his chest, face contorted in agony, "keep waiting for me..."
"Fuck off," Nyssa mumbles, aggressively stirring her cappuccino. Parts foam slop out the sides.
"Turns out tonight he's celebrating his anniversary with his wife, my dear and deluded friend, you got played."
"You could be nicer to me about it," she says, both irritated and weary because she knows he's right. It doesn't make her feel her any better. "It just feels like I have terrible taste in women."
"Yea," Tommy agrees, "You do. But you're also a sucker for a sob story. If they give you a good one, you're in, hook, line, sinker."
"That's not true," she says, though, again, her mind is now whirring through all her past encounters, leading up to Alex, who had unceremoniously snubbed her in favor of the wife she was apparently divorcing. Thinking of her sends a fresh surge of hatred. Bitch. "It's not like you have an epic relationship, either. Doesn't your girlfriend want it to be just to keep things interesting?"
"Yeah. She does. So?"
"Well. Isn't that like her saying she plans to cheat on you?"
"No. It's far from the same thing as yours. Alex was seeing to you in secret, lying to you and her wife. My girlfriend and I are completely honest about our wants and desires."
"Sure," she says, disbelieving. She feels like a relationship like Tommy's is just too good to be true. She hopes it does work. She just can't see how it would. Not that she's the perfect judge of things, but hey.
Tommy holds up his arms magnanimously. "I'm off the market. Happily and forever."
"Technically, sort of on it," Nyssa disagrees thinking of the fact that he has the ability to sleep around.
Tommy smiles thinly, but doesn't bother to contradict her.
She sighs in relief when the awful trio on stage gets off, and then perks in interest when I see Sara Lance heading towards her, guitar neck poking above her head.
Nyssa lost count of the number of times Sara bought a coffee off of her, a treat on the house for the evening when she'd be working and Sara's performing with her girlfriend. Her hair is long, curvy, with golden strands. Her eyes appear dark in the lighting, but they're actually green. Nyssa likes the way they shine, and truthfully, she tends to give her a coffee on the house just so she can get the opportunity to talk to her first hand, and steal time with those eyes. She's a good looking woman, after all.
Sure, she may have been in a relationship at the time, but that doesn't mean she can't feast her eyes on very hot women, right? It's only bad if you act on it. At least, that's what that's what she tells herself. However, in her post-girlfriend state, her body is already reacting to her presence. Nyssa dated guys in the past but she thinks she's more into women these days. She knows for sure that she's attracted to Sara. I mean, come on. She's a stunner. Long blond hair like she belongs in summer. Irises that sparkles when she smiles. A curved, oval face that would make her a good front-woman for a band, though she prefers to play guitar.
"Down girl," Tommy says, noting Nyssa's expression. "You need to stop with the rebound urges. And honing in on people who are not single."
Sara, also known as Canary, with a brown and black acoustic guitar strung over her back, smiles at her. "Hey, Nyssa. Good to see you. You working or you off?" Her voice is deep and powerful, and Nyssa smiles like an insipid idiot at her.
"Off. And bitching to my best friend about my ex-girlfreind."
"And her awful taste in people," Tommy adds.
"Bad breakup?" She says sympathetically.
Nyssa nods, letting her hand creep over the table. She's already visualizing touching her arm, stirring the little hairs on it, imagining her shudder and rolling her eyes back. She wonders what it would feel like to have her on top of her, fingers buried inside as she sucks on her neck.
The thoughts make her shuffle in her seat, aware of an ache between her thighs. Nyssa bites her lip and takes a deep breath. Her thoughts are running away frantically and she know it's not good. Maybe it's because she's desperate her heart knows the kind of people it should go for- except for some reason, her heart really likes the non-singles. And imagining them in compromising positions.
"Yeah. Recent. Tommy's cheering me up. But it seems, knowing you're playing tonight, I'm already happier than I was."
She smiled innocently, but keeps eye contact with Sara. Tommy shoots Nyssa a vicious, warning stare, but Sara laughs. "Oh. That was smooth. Maybe it'll be my turn to get you a coffe instead." She winks, and Nyssa's stomach lurches. Then, Sara glances back at the sound of the stomping boots. "Alas, though, Felicity, approaches." She reached to quickly brush her knuckles, before straightening up. Her knuckles prickle up where she touched, and she feels fairly certain that when she gets back home, she's going to be doing something a little extra before sleep tonight.
Felicity Smoak, decked in tattoo sleeves of roses and serpents on her arm, with gothic black hair and makeup, strides to our table in platforms that boost her shortness height, and pulls her girlfriend away from us. "Come on. Let's start the performance. Hey." Although, the "hey" is meant for Nyssa and Tommy, Felicity barely flicks an eyelid their way and drags an apologetic looking Canary to the stage.
After a brief consultation with the announcer, they take the stage. Felicity at the mic and Canary to the left, fingers splayed on the guitar. Nyssa is watcheing her fingers, noting to herself how long they are, and also seeing the scowl on Felicity's face. Those fingers are perfectly long. She thinks for hitting her g-spot. She thinks she's quite talented at what she does. She bets she could make her scream.
"No," Tommy says. "Don't."
"I'm not doing anything," Nyssa protests.
"You're thinking it. Stop." She grumbles, but cease my fantasies of Sara for now. She knows Tommy is right, and it's partially why she wants him around her. He's a good moral compass when her emotions are all over the fucking place. She's still bitterly disappointed by Alex. And it haunts it taints her moments she did have with him, the nights they spent together.
Bitch. She downs her coffee in one gulp, as Canary strums soft noted, and Felicity rocks the closer to the mic. Her high, raspy voice fills the room, rough but soothing.
The loss of love makes her want to scream. Always the same way, this place my heart is hurting I'll play the blame game, so that the pain ain't lurking The loss of love it makes me scream I'll brush the words away, act like my mind is certain Trapped in this self dismay, a web of my own making The love is in my darkest dreams And my heart is still here yearning Getting older still not learning Except how to fall These grasses aren't so green After all All of these things you say, I’d rather you just listen Though I can't convey what it is I'm truly missing You try to show the way but I keep on slipping, slipping Where’s the love I’m meant to see? I’ve searched so long for love to breathe, for the wings of a smile to set me free And my heart is still here yearning Getting older still not learning Except how to fall These grasses aren't so green After all Nyssa smiles, and get up with Tommy to order another drink. Nyssa love their lyrics, and she knew for a fact that Sara's the brains behind them. She often sings of searching for love – and they resonate somewhere deep inside, because she's searching, too. She's fucking up a lot, but she knows she won’t find it by sitting still. She has to believe that what she's doing is right. Well, she thinks. All things considered, she might as well enjoy this evening. There’ll be a time for me to sob her eyes out later. She sucks in air, forcing the tears beginning to well up in her eyes to back off. As if sensing her mood, Tommy wraps his arm around her shoulder, and they watch Felicity and Sara as they perform their next song. Tommy truly is a good friend, and the blunt way he tells the truth has always been something she needs. However, she still needs to step out at a point, because the mood of the music has dragged her to that hollow place. In the cool, crisp night air, with clouds obscuring the sky and the street lamps illuminating buildings and roads, Nyssa watches my breath unfurl in the air like dragon smoke. Her heart aches, and something prickles behind her eyelids. It's not that much to ask, is it, that she can have someone by her side, who isn't going to fuck her over, and loves her for who she is? The love is in my darkest dreams. Those lyrics ring true, as does not knowing anything except how to fall. She falls for people. And she loses them. It makes her wonder sometimes if she's just unlucky and falls for the wrong types, or if there's something she's doing that has made the relationships crumble apart. Quietly, she hums the words. She's a singer as well, though she dislikes her voice, because it has a high, girlish folk air. She wants to sound mature and gravelly, and not like a high-pitched country mouse. She exhales the last note, and stare up to the sky for a moment. There's no point in staying sad forever, though there's always a time to be sad. Taking a deep breath, Nyssa enters the Café and return to her friend, who promptly buys her a drink. Of course, watching Sara play helps to boost her mood, and gives her plenty of opportunities to feast on her visually. She tries to hide the obvious staring in front of her friend, so he doesn't think she's fixating on the guitarist. The beautiful, talented guitarist, who writes those lyrics, who sometimes makes an effort to catch her eye in the crowd, and smile. Later on, of course, she pictures Sara's form in her head. She sees those blue eyes, her long, light blonde hair, and those fingers brushing over her. She closes her eyes and touches her breasts under the bed covers, imagining that these are her hands. The temperature of the room rises as she tosses and turns under the sheets with a sigh, trying to capture the perfect images. She glides over her in her mind, as smooth as silk, and presses into Nyssa as she nibbles her ear, and tells her that she wants to fuck her senseless. She pictures her saying it with a low growl, her voice dipped into sultry, body igniting tones. She knows she shouldn't be doing this on a level, but her body and that tantalizing scent of her triggers arousal in her, and she wants to experiment further with this new thread of thought, having never been with a woman this beautiful before. Will it be soft? Rough? Will she be gentle when she touches her, or aggressive and pushy? Would she stare at her naked form, suck at her breasts and dig her blunt nails into my skin, before licking me dry? How would her tongue feel down there? She thinks with their legs tangled together, they would fit quite well. Perhaps they would be like a jigsaw puzzle, or their long hairs, brown and blonde, mix together in a light brown tint as they writhe under the sheets. She might fix her with those eyes that change color in the light, and assault her body in mounting desire, wanting nothing else but Nyssa in that moment. It's almost too easy when she finally dips in her wet core, and stroke at the tiny nub there. On bad days, it can take thirty or forty minutes to orgasm, and with her last girlfriend, just so she didn't feel bad, she pretended to get off, and then would take care of her issue later. With the vision of Sara in her head, and the thought of her sighs, and her voice – the feeling increases with every stroke, until she topples over the edge, and the warm flood of orgasm flows through. She knows she should feel guilty, for tending to matters in this way, but she doesn't. It's not cheating if she just thinks about it, right? She's justifying it for Tonny and herself. People dream about celebrities all the time. People indulge in their fantasies, and it does no harm. Why shouldn't Sara have a place in her hall of fame? Though Nyssa wouldn't mind having her touch her like this for real. Nyssa gets up, washes herself down, then clamber back into bed and drift into a contented sleep.