Archive of Our Own

If someone told you that, someday, you were going to be stupid enough to listen to your, well-meaning despite everything, friends and sign up for a stay at a compound whose main focus is to ‘help you heal’, you’d call them batshit crazy. Well, who’s laughing now?

In all fairness, things would’ve gone differently had you not reached out for help after a mental breakdown. Maybe if you had simply stayed quiet, your friends would’ve minded their business, but, hey, God gives his shittiest battles to his stupidest of soldiers, or whatever the fuck people say, so, now, you were making your way through the facility, taking everything in with a keen eye, hoping that you would find something to justify your leaving the place sooner rather than later – self sabotage was your middle name.

The guy that was walking you through it – David, or Danny, whatever – would not shut up about the wonderful progress everyone who attended the… hippie getaway made. And to be fair, they didn’t look crazy. Well, the fact that they all dressed in different shades of purple didn’t exactly help, sure, but after your experience with religious bullies, you wouldn’t really clock the people you were looking at now as such. At least they didn’t seem to be horrifyingly keen on wallowing in enough self-guilt to last them a lifetime. If anything, they looked… almost too happy, which, you know, can also be incredibly annoying but for totally different reasons.

“Just want to clarify that you don’t need to do anything you are not comfortable with,” Danny, or David, sweetly explained. His smile was warm, reaching his eyes, and his hands were clasped behind his back. He seemed genuinely happy with showing you around the place, but his mood did not have its desired effect on you, “Our community is built on trust and consent, and even though you—” that did it. Doing your best to hide your annoyed exhale, something you failed miserably at, you put your hands on your back pockets and placed all your weight on the balls of your feet. This made David (or Danny) pause his speech. His smile did not waver, though, telling you he probably had enough experience with… scepticism to pay your reaction no mind.

“Listen, I know you’re trying to give me a rundown of the place, but everything you’re saying right now? I’ve already read it on the brochures. So, you can relax a little,” you told him with firm conviction. Turning your head to give the man who was carrying your bags a quick, albeit tense, smile, you looked around the room he had brought you to in a slightly nervous manner. The place didn’t resemble any of the stuff you were used to, but there was still something about it that made you feel a bit queasy – you were not too keen on trusting someone who seemed far too enthusiastic about welcoming you into whatever the hell the place you were in was. Nothing good ever comes out of that.

“I understand coming here was not entirely your choice,” he softly spoke. His toned matching the way he looked at you. You couldn’t say there was any pity there, but the staring was so… persistent that you had to look away entirely.

“Understatement of the century,” you tersely answered after letting out a humourless laugh. You knew your friends did not mean to take any agency away from you, but you were only there because they had pressured you, not because it was something you had chosen for yourself, which added a whole new layer of ‘I don’t want to be here, damnit’ to an already fucked up situation.

“But,” he interjected, not allowing you to drown yourself in your thoughts too much, “I am certain you’ll find everything up to your standards. You’ll be very happy here, I am sure of it,” he finished, giving you another kind smile. Your lips formed a thin line, then. You did not consider yourself to be a rude or meanspirited person, quite the opposite, in fact – you wanted to embrace the world and everything around you with open arms, but it was difficult to do that when that was what had gotten you hurt in the first place. Squinting your eyes at the guy, you fought off your demons and chose kindness, at least for the time being.

“Right. Thanks,” you responded, not really sounding too ecstatic about it but doing your best not to look too irked by the whole thing.

“I’ve told Charlotte you were coming, by the way. She thinks it’s best to welcome you into the community herself so I’m sure she’ll show you around a lot better than me,” he said the woman’s name as if you were already meant to know what the hell he was talking about which, for some reason, was not the first time he had done it. Furrowing your brow and narrowing your eyes, you gave him a slightly bemused look when you next spoke.

“Am I, uh… Supposed to know who Charlotte is?” was what you asked, and the second the words came out of your mouth, Danny looked at someone who was walking up to you and politely bowed his head, which was sort of fucking weird, by the way. You’d soon understand why he had done it though, because when you finally craned your neck to the side to follow his gaze, your eyes landed on one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your whole life. What was once an overused sentence used to overexaggerate the way you felt about a woman’s beauty was now totally spot on.

Her beautiful, raven coloured hair, which cascaded down her front, seemed to be most carefully maintained, practically glowing whenever a ray of sunlight hit her. Her eyes were warm, kind and inviting, suddenly making you realise why Ulysses had to be tied to the mast when he had heard the sirens sing, and her smile? That just about did you in. It had no rigidness too it; it wasn’t wide enough for you to see it as fake, or trained, oh, no. It was very much deliberate. It was there because it was meant to be there, and you were the one she was smiling at. It was soft in the way it accompanied the laugh lines forming around her lips and eyes, which, once again, made you feel some type of way, nearly disarming you and making you feel as though maybe you should stand taller, or comb your fingers through your hair in order to look more presentable in the presence of whom you could only assume was the mind behind the compound you were now in. Hey, maybe being forced to go on a mental health retreat wasn’t so bad?

Now standing directly to your right, Charlotte clasped her hands near her midriff and inclined her head toward Danny, who, by the way, was looking at her as if she had saved his entire family from a house fire, or something, which she probably did!

“David,” she smoothly went. Her velvety voice almost causing you to miss how the man’s name was, in fact, not Danny. Why was everything about her so hypnotising…? And why on earth did she smell so good? A scent that almost made you feel… nostalgic? “Thank you. I will take it from here,” she said, as she extended her arm towards the end of the corridor, silently telling the man that was carrying your bags to take them to your room. They were, initially, not too keen on letting you bring in your own stuff, but you were stubborn enough to make them see that if you were forced to dispose of all that was familiar to you then you’d cut your visit short and leave straight away. Curiously enough, Charlotte paid it no mind, focusing, instead, entirely on the way your face showed very little emotion other than your lips twitching downwards slightly when the eye contact went on for a bit too long. She was quite literally studying you – you figured that if she had a microscope with her, she’d be using that as well. Fortunately for you, you had experience with these kinds of people – they let silence drag on for too long, making you feel like you should overcompensate by saying something, anything, to break the silence. It wasn’t the worst you had been subjected to when it came to mind games, but something that small can give away important bits and pieces of a person’s character. If she was trying to strip you naked with her eyes, and not in a good way, you wanted to let her know that you were doing the same. Contrary to what you believed, however, once she took note of your meeting her gaze in a defiant manner, her eyes softened, almost impossibly so, and an easy smile painted her lips, “Welcome. How are you feeling?” she genuinely asked, tilting her head to the side a bit as she awaited your response.

“How do people usually feel when they come here for the first time?” you reflexively replied, trying to look calm even though your voice had an edge to it. You didn’t know if it was because of the way the compound itself made you feel or how beautiful she was, but, even then, the woman did not take the bait.

“We’ve reported a multitude of reactions over the years, but most tend to deflect,” her voice had small hints of laughter behind it near the end of her sentence. She was obviously choosing her words very carefully, which still did not stop her from teasing you a little bit. Yeah, you were deflecting. So what? “David has told me this is your first attempt at intracommunal healing, correct?” once again, her words left her in a very gentle manner. You did not know if she was doing so because suspicion was written all over your face or if it was simply the way she spoke. It almost made you want to tip your head forward so that you’d hear it a bit closer to you.

“Ugh,” you went, squeezing your eyes shut as you ran a hand over your face. The term she used was not exactly ideal. It made the compound sound pretentious when you were certain all they did was smoke weed, hold hands, sing and dance around the fire, “Sorry. Yes, it is. I, uh,” you trailed off when you locked eyes with the woman, whose gaze remained incredibly understanding, once more, “Don’t really know what to do from here on out,” and the way those words left you nearly made you grimace, because there was absolutely no need to give away that much to a woman you did not even know.

“That is all right,” her honeyed tone made your throat bob as you swallowed, something you know she caught, since her gaze flickered from your eyes to your neck momentarily, and, for a second you thought she was going to reach out and rest her hand on your shoulder, but she thought better of it at the very last second. Part of you wished she hadn’t, but you knew it was for the best, “Think of your arrival to the group as a clean slate. You don’t know us, and we don’t know you. From this point forward, all that matters is the work you do from within,” she warmly instructed, placing her right hand over her heart to further accentuate the point she was trying to make.

“The only reason you don’t know me is because I refused to provide any personal information other than my first and last name,” you pointed out, narrowing your eyes up at the woman as you placed a hand on your hip. You watched as the smile on her face dropped, slightly, but not because she was angry. The humour that left her lips had now settled entirely on the upper half of her face, her eyes, now full of mirth, wrinkling when she took note of your tone of voice. It made you feel a bit silly, even. Why were you trying to wind her up if she didn’t give a rat’s ass about it?

“Yes, and we respected your wishes, did we not? Our goal is to make you feel comfortable so that you’ll find enough reason to grow into the best version of yourself. We will not push you into conformity. Our community is—” it was just as she was about to wave her hands around to break out into a speech that you gave her a look and quickly interrupted her.

“Built on ‘trust and consent’, yeah. I’ve been told that already,” you finished the sentence for her, causing the corners of her lips to tip downwards, curiously enough, in amusement. You never thought you would romanticise a downturned smile before this moment, and yet! Even the smallest of movements that she made were reason enough to make your heart race a bit for whatever damn reason. There was something so wrong with you.

“And soon you’ll see just how true it is,” she pleasantly continued, making you, once again, wonder if staying was a good idea, “Let me show you around?” she asked, taking a few steps forward and extending her arm towards the exit of the building you were in. In a moment of weakness, you let your eyes travel along the woman’s golden kaftan, which flowed, in the most endearing of ways, as she walked. Clenching your jaw and averting your gaze, you had to nearly force yourself to meet the woman by the door, which she held open for you, ignoring all the warning signs your gut was sending your way telling you to get the hell out of there.  

Were you doing the right thing?

[x]

“Your room,” her calm voice broke your reverie, causing your head to snap to the side to meet her gaze. At least the one guy was right about her being a much better guide than he was, not that you were biased, or anything. It was strange, though. She spoke of what surrounded her in such a caring way that you could not help but pay attention and really listen. To be fair, you already did spend a lot more time listening and being attentive than you did talking, which was not always a good thing but, now? Now you were actually thrilled that was the case because it gave you the opportunity to take note of how Charlotte’s tone of voice would change whenever she spoke of things that clearly brought her comfort, or the way her smile would settle into something softer whenever someone stopped what they were doing just to greet her. It made her look a lot more approachable, at times, even if you could not bring yourself to trust a single thing she said.

“Thanks,” you noncommittally went, your vacant stare making it obvious to anyone who cared to pay attention that you were a little too far removed from your own mind and body. At this, Charlotte tilted her head to the side, following your gaze and making you pay attention to her once more. Giving her a quick, tense smile, the woman responded by intertwining her fingers and taking a deep breath through her nose, which, in turn, caused you to do the same. This caught you off guard, a little bit, but it seemed to be what the taller woman was looking for.

“It is normal to be cautious at this point in time,” she gently reminded you once she had given you a moment to think. Doing your best not to prolong the eye contact for too long, you let out a puff of air and went over all your life choices.

“Yeah, I know,” was all you said, your tone flat, which still didn’t make the woman move a single muscle on her face.

“Is there something on your mind? Judgement free zone, as I am sure you’ve noticed,” she warmly pointed out, unclasping her hands momentarily to extend both her arms toward you in a welcoming manner. She still had that stupid, kind smile on her face, the same one that made the tips of your fingers feel tingly. What the fuck?

“I appreciate it, really. I just… don’t know if this whole thing will be of any use to me. I’m not the kind of person you take to a… place like this,” you fought off the urge to call it a ‘hippie getaway’, and you were glad you did, because something told you it would be best not to get on the woman’s bad side. If she did have one.

“And what kind of person are you?” was what naturally left her, as if the question held absolutely no weight whatsoever. It made you pause for a moment – you could tell your face had dropped, because Charlotte’s smile shifted into what you could only describe as deeply sympathetic, which got on your nerves a little bit.

See, there was nothing more sinister to you than looking at yourself in the mirror and wondering who, or what, you were. You figured you weren’t made to stare into your own eyes, ever, and not just because you feared what you would find staring right back at you. Someone like Charlotte asking you a question of that nature felt incredibly humiliating for a multitude of reasons – perhaps it was due to the fact that, whenever you looked at her, you felt as though you had to crane your neck to look up meet her gaze. Why do those who stand taller extend faux compassion to the people sitting at the bottom of a very long stairway? You did not appreciate being looked down upon, even if unintentionally. Someone like Charlotte committing the ignominy of attempting to understand you was… upsetting.  

“That is something you will only find out in therapy session number three hundred and twenty-four,” you deflected, once again, something the woman did not miss, even though she did not press for an answer.

“Oddly specific number,” she teasingly pointed out, attempting to bring some levity to the conversation once she realised you had not cared for her question “We understand. You are free to leave whenever you like,” she spoke in a matter-of-fact way, almost giving you a false sense of safety before you could control yourself once more.

“Oh, you definitely want to say more than that, I can tell,” you nodded at her, eyes scanning her face for anything that hinted at whatever it was that was going through her mind at that moment. All you knew was that she was exceedingly hard to read, which, in any other situation, would’ve entertained you, but now? Now, you weren’t in your element. You did not know whether to fight or flee, and the fact that the woman standing before you was extremely attractive, and regarded you with kind eyes and a soft smile, was most definitely not helping.

“There is nothing more to be said. Your privacy is yours to keep,” she told you, the corners of her eyes wrinkling as she gave you a knowing look, “We do not wish to make you feel as though you are trapped in a cage. If, for some reason, you don’t think we can help you in any way, shape, or form, then that is final,” she finished, mouth quirking upwards when your eyebrows knitted together.

“But?” you tentatively asked, feigning your impatience and urging her to keep talking. Maybe you just enjoyed the sound of her voice. Maybe you were just insane.

“But there is power in taking something that was initially thought of as a punishment and turning it into an opportunity, or even a gift. Whether or not you wish to leave is a choice only you can make, but you have the potential to do great things here. You have the option to silence those who have ever doubted you,” now, that last bit was something you could get behind. Sometimes, being petty brought you the catharsis you were looking for.

“You’re telling me I can become a better person purely out of spite?” you deadpanned, and the face Charlotte made caused you to pinch the bridge of your nose in an attempt to fight off the laugh that almost threatened to escape you.

…

“No, that is not what I said at all,” she naturally went, but only after staring at you for a good 5 seconds in complete silence. Even so, after noticing you hiding your amusement, she responded in kind – the way her throat bobbed indicative of the fact that she had also wanted to let out a chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” you waved her off dismissively, circling around her to get to the door to your room. You figured it was best to cut the interaction short, because, whenever you opened your mouth, you were one step closer to saying something completely out of pocket.

“I will be giving a speech in a couple of hours. I would love to see you there,” she told you, right as you had your back turned to her. Funnily enough, since you only focused on her voice, you were immediately able to take note of the way she sounded a lot… firmer? Almost as though she did not want to unnecessarily open herself up to a potential rejection.

“I’ll think about it. Danny’s got me working in the stables, I think? I don’t know how tired I’ll be,” you said, making your way into the room and looking around with both hands on your hips.

“David,” was all that reached your ears, even if there were hints of amusement in the way she spoke.

“Sorry?” you replied, turning to look at her quizzically.

“His name is David,” ah. Well, that was embarrassing. Kind of.

“Right,” you totally gave up, then, but not before turning your back to her once more, shutting your eyes and letting out a long, yet silent, string of curse-words.

“It is great to have you with us, really. We cannot wait to see all the progress you’ll make,” was what she said before she gave you your own space, since it was clear you did not wish to continue the conversation any further. You could respect her for her patience and the fantastic way in which she played host, but there was still something about the place that you couldn’t quite name. All you knew was that you couldn’t shake it off, no matter how many gorgeous women appeared in front of you.

[x]

Hearing three sharp knocks to your left, you jerked yourself awake, jumping up in your seat so quickly that it almost made you feel disoriented. It was just as you were about to massage your temples in a fruitless attempt to mitigate your migraine that you noticed a flash of fabric out of the corner of your eye, which was when you quickly, and comically, twisted in your seat and made direct eye contact with Charlotte, who looked beyond confused by the whole thing.

After spending most of your morning caring for a horse, which was, apparently, part of your “self-care” therapy, you decided it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to attend Charlotte’s speech, especially since she had seemed happy with the idea of seeing you, the newcomer, there. You saw it as an opportunity to study the people around you which, initially, seemed like a great idea, but soon proved itself to be the exact opposite. Other than the fact that you arrived late and caused Charlotte to nearly lose her train of thought as she locked eyes with you and gave you a knowing smile, you were met with a view that had almost made your heart sink to your stomach. There wasn’t anything particularly eery about it, sure, but the way the whole thing presented itself was too… familiar.

There she was, standing in the middle of her listeners, who had made a circle around her, giving her speech. It wasn’t a kind of speech you were used to – it was less about morals and more about self-acceptance – but the way she looked then sent a chill down your spine. When you quietly entered the room, only she acknowledged your presence. Everyone else’s eyes were fixed on one thing. One figure. Some were nodding along as she spoke, others were too busy crying to muster up anything else.

You refused to take a single step forward, choosing to remain rooted in place near the exit. You could barely make out what it was that she was saying, all you knew was that, suddenly, the light coming into the room was a bit too strong and illuminated her spot at the centre of the circle a bit too well, and it made sense. Preaching seemed to come to her most naturally. The words she spoke flowed beautifully – the speech itself was, essentially, meant to make you feel good about yourself – which, in turn, brought about the strongest, most overwhelming sense of disproportionate guilt that even you started to question your own sanity and—

Suddenly, nothing felt right. Suddenly, the way they were gazing at her, as if completely transfixed, sickened you. The way they sat at her feet, practically kneeling, as they took in what she said like starved dogs made you acutely aware of just how unwelcome you felt, because that was all it was. Broken people desperate to reshape themselves and move in different ways. That used to be something you longed for, way back when. Before you became a servant to your own sadness. It was the kind of experience that forced you to always keep your hands empty, should you forget what you had once been told to hold in them.

Trembling hands; moist cheeks; a man with a kind face telling you to repent and your voice dying in your throat after you’ve begged time and again. Help me. Clean me. Make me better.

Takes a lot to get back to yourself after something like that.

You lock eyes, then, and you lose all firm foothold. You had built your entire self around The Wound, hoping that, with enough time and work, something new might come of it. But now, she was looking at you, watching you as though she found you recognisable by the very same scar you had attempted to conceal.

It was wrong. It was all so wrong because your hands were sweating and your heart was racing and yet she would not look away. Instead, she spoke directly to you. She had followed the blood-trail and found you at the very end of it. It was not right.

She had been in the middle of her sentence when you left the room almost as quietly as you had entered it, and when the time came for you to go to sleep, you refused to do it under their terms, which was why you were now in the situation you were in.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me!” you shouted, your hand flying to rest above your heart before you realised you had to give the woman some sort of explanation for being found sleeping in your car. You tried not to look like a petulant child as you opened your car door and doubled over, your elbows resting on your knees and your face in your hands, as you attempted to collect your thoughts.

“Is everything all right?” came the question, and she was still as soft-spoken as ever, making your heart ache a little. She sounded confused though, which, in a different situation, would have made you laugh.

“Yes? Why?” you snapped, not knowing what else to say. Part of you felt bad for responding that rudely, but you were not feeling all that well at that moment and the fact that Charlotte seemed adamant about keeping an eye on you only stressed you out even further.

“You are sleeping in your car,” she flatly pointed out as if it were obvious, sounding almost offended by the way you were reacting to her showing concern over the state you were in.

“Yeah, because I was just… looking for something. Watching over a horse all morning and the constant hippie talk really had me beat. Can’t really blame me for needing some fucking peace and quiet,” you responded defensively and your voice had an edge to it. It was silly, but you were beginning to get upset at the woman for not understanding something you had not even told her yet. It was, technically, not her fault that you were having a mental breakdown, but something told you she wasn’t as innocent as she seemed to be. She let the silence drag on for long enough for it to feel uncomfortable, watching you with a keen eye as she slowly, but surely, regained her composure, and with her back taut and her thumb pressing into the palm of her left hand harshly enough for her nail to nearly bite into the flesh, she plastered a smile on her face and spoke once more.

“You’re going to feel sore in the morning if you sleep here, don’t you think?” and she was back on her bullshit once more. She spoke too well and too softly. Leaning back against your seat and locking eyes with her, you attempted to study her only to leave empty-handed. In fact, as soon as you glared up at her, it was her eyes that bored into you and not the other way around.

“I’ll be fine,” you cooly replied, causing the woman’s smile to almost slip, which was when she tilted her head to the side to see if your keys were in the ignition. Was she… trying to stop you from leaving? Or preparing herself for your potential departure? Because those were two very different things. Either way, when she noticed they weren’t, her posture visibly relaxed, and you started to wonder if you were meant to be seeing all of that – perhaps all her preaching had her just as tired as you, making her less… aware of how much she was reacting to what was in front of her. That, or maybe you were beginning to see right through her act a little too well.

“Come, let me take you to bed,” she said in a soothing pitch after putting some space between you and her. She beckoned you closer with her hand once you did not respond, wordlessly urging you to follow her. You considered all your options, then.

Were you seeing her in a different light because of what you had experienced in the past, or was your pulse quickening because you knew you were in actual trouble? Was your perception of the woman skewed, or had she given you enough reason to leave?

It was hard to know who you were dealing with when they did not allow themselves to be comprehended without their permission, but, then again, you could relate. Perhaps you were being too harsh, and she was simply trying to help?

Man, there was something so fundamentally wrong with you. You look at a bunch of people doing therapy together and your mind immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario, almost as though light struck at odd angles and, suddenly, you were a kid again, standing in a badly lit corridor with Charlotte standing at the end of it, hands outstretched and all.

“Sorry?” you shot out, scratching your neck in visible frustration before letting your hand fall back to your thigh. Because why the hell had she phrased it like that?

“To your room? You do remember where it is, yes?” came the clarification and, oh, she was fucking with you. She rested her right above her stomach as the other fiddled with her rings and, in a moment of weakness, your mind wandered. There was no reason for someone’s hands to look that good. You knew she would take off her rings before she—

“That was not what you said,” you murmured, stepping out of your car, locking it and biting the inside of your cheek for good measure. Please, get your shit together. You can’t see her, of all people, in that light.

Something told you she had heard what you had said under your breath, though, because she was silent for a bit before finally speaking once more, her voice tight in a way that told you she was amused.

“David told me you did well today. Athena seemed fond of you, which is impressive. She is our most stubborn mare,” she trailed off, turning her head to the side to look at you. You accompanied her as she walked, forgetting where you were in a way that was almost inexplicable, but it was hard to stay focused whenever she’d address you differently, her velvety voice sounding almost flirtatious whenever she’d tease you, “You wouldn’t happen to be an equestrian, would you,” and there it was again. It wasn’t a question because she knew she was being silly. She simply wanted you to listen to you talk, so you complied. Against your better judgment.

“What? You’re kidding me—No, I am not an equestrian,” you responded, your brow furrowed.

“How would we know? You’ve been very guarded, there’s very little you’ve told us,” she said with graceful simplicity, and you were now back to the push and pull you had grown accustomed to. She simply couldn’t mind her business, it was as though she had made it her mission to get you to open up, not just in general, but to her specifically.

“Okay, well, I’m good with animals and I’m not an equestrian. There’s two new things about me,” you impatiently bit back, ignoring the way in which your knuckles would brush against the fabric of her kaftan as you walked.

“David also mentioned you did not have the luxury of ‘alone time’ prior to your coming here. Perhaps your comment was said in passing, but it was insightful, nonetheless, don’t you think?” she pushed once more, dismissing your attempt at evading her questions completely.

“I don’t see how that can be a vital piece of information,” you laughed humourlessly, wondering why the hell David had even taken a mental note of something you said just to make awkward conversation. It was true, but Charlotte did not have to bring that up.

“Lack of alone time can mean many things. It’s why you chose self-care out of all the other therapies, no? You are aware that forgetting to take care of oneself is detrimental to one’s mental, physical, and spiritual health,” she continued. The underlying insinuation that you had failed to look after yourself was not lost on you, and, despite your best efforts, you felt the familiar feeling of anxiety pooling at your stomach as the conversation went on.

“I just like horses, I don’t know what else to tell you,” you offhandedly told her, which was when the woman did something you were not at all prepared for. Having had enough of your evasive behaviour, she took matters into her own hands, quite literally, and gently grabbed you by the wrist, effectively stopping you in your tracks. Your insides tightened and there was a part of you that sort of hoped she would not let go, despite the way in which her touch almost felt as though it were burning you alive; biting into your skin and finding its home in your flesh. Apparently, the two of you had danced around the issue for far too long. Long enough for even someone like Charlotte to decide it was time for you to finally face the music.

Not knowing how to react, you simply stared, which was not the best idea, considering the woman’s eyes nearly had you lost in a trance. Sensing your distress, she turned your palm heavenwards, her fingers still curling around your wrist while she used her free hand to caress you. It felt as though she had broken some moral code, or sacred rule, by doing so. There was so very little about that moment that allowed you to breathe – it was haunting in the sense that you had unearthed something you had buried in the past and were now allowing it to inhabit you in the present, and yet her eyes, as she regarded you, were as kind as always, and her touch was warmer than anything you had ever experienced. You lost track of how many times her thumb repeated the same, languid pattern on your palm, and by the time you returned to yourself, Charlotte had already started speaking.

“I would like you to participate in a group session tomorrow. I believe it would do you some good,” she said. The evening air felt too cool on your skin. How did she feel so warm?

“How do you know what is best for me,” you numbly asked even though you were not really looking for an answer. You gulped, averting your gaze and choosing to focus, instead, on one of the lampposts a few feet away from you.

“We don’t, and have never claimed such, but if you stick to riding a horse all day you will miss what is most important,” her tone was light, urging you to focus on her voice instead of losing yourself to whatever was starting to creep up on you, “Human connection,” she enunciated her words, letting her thumb press into your palm a bit more firmly – a reminder that she was still there, “Letting people see you,” and you knew why she was saying all of those things. You knew because ‘self-punishment is not inherently redemptive’. You had heard that phrase a million times before, thinking that you’d start cutting yourself some slack if you said it aloud more often. Easier said than done.  

“This whole… trying to fix me bullshit is fine and dandy, but I need you people to understand that there’s things about me that are just… loud, absolute and inconvenient. I can’t settle for what you’re preaching because it has never been of any use to me, do you understand? Gentleness is not something that’s out there, in the real world. It’s all… cutthroat, oppressive and bleak. The world doesn’t work the way you want it to,” you roughly explained, your voice cracking whenever a terrible memory attempted to sink its claws in you. The moment was so intense that you almost missed how you had, unintentionally, resorted to holding the woman’s hand in your own in a vice grip.

When do they ever listen? Every time you cried out to the heavens all you heard in return was the sound of your own voice echoing out in the void.

“Take a moment to understand one thing. You cannot heal a wound if you keep stumbling forward with no destination in mind. No one here is trying to fix you,” she earnestly told you, letting go of your wrist to rest her hand over yours, which was still holding hers, “There is nothing to be fixed, only improved. I refuse to accept someone like you would stand for moral resignation when there is still so much work that can be done,” she spoke as if she believed every single word she was saying. There was so much hope, to an overwhelming level, almost, in the way she chose to let you hold onto her hand as she reminded you of how reshaping your suffering into something a bit more bearable was still possible.

“You don’t know me,” you spoke as if it were a confession, barely above a whisper. What is wretched is not meant to be touched. You remembered.

“You are right. I don’t,” she agreed, almost regrettably, her throat bobbing as she trapped the words she wished would remain unsaid. Smile slipping when her lips twitched downwards, she brought your joined hands closer to her body as her face twisted into a more serious expression, “So, let us,” and then, you looked at each other for a long moment, taking in each other’s words. When you exhaled a sharp breath, Charlotte gave your hand another reassuring squeeze, letting you hold hers there for as long as you felt as though you required an anchor.

She walked you to your room, with a hand on the small of your back, guiding you, and by the time you lied down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, your heart was thumping furiously beneath your ribcage.

[x]

“Great work, everyone. Now, for our next task I would have us to go back to basics for a moment,” Charlotte’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. Stretching your neck a bit, you let your head hang low momentarily as you picked up non-existent pieces of lint from your whatever shade of purple your pants were. You were not too excited about joining the purple gang, but you decided that getting horse shit on clothes that you bought wasn’t exactly ideal. When Charlotte asked that you’d participate in a group session, you immediately wanted to say no, but there was something about the way she held your gaze for far too long that gave you an odd sense of purpose. Maybe… even if you were feeling overwhelmed, Charlotte would be there to bring you back to earth, who knows, “Some have been here longer than others, and to all of those who have already participated in an exercise of this nature, I ask that you engage with it as if it were your first time. Work in pairs, with whomever is closest to you. Look into their eyes, if you are comfortable with doing so, and take turns telling each other what brought you here and how that pain made you feel,” the request made you fight off the urge to roll your eyes – it was a terrible fucking idea. Sharing your trauma with someone you didn’t know? Might as well tell you to confess.

Turning your head to your left, hesitantly, you locked eyes with a man whose most prominent feature was his long beard. Great. Jesus. He greeted you with a quick wave and repositioned himself so that he’d face you. He looked nice enough, but it still didn’t make you want to participate in whatever the hell was about to happen. As if on cue, you looked up and made eye contact with Charlotte, who was already looking right at you. Tipping her head to the side and mouthing a gentle ‘come on’, all while smiling at you, made your hands feel clammy, so you quickly followed her requested and turned to face the man as well.

“I can go first, if you’d like?” he said, after a moment of awkward silence. Blowing out a puff of air, your eyebrows nearly shot up to your hairline in exasperation as you nodded in agreement. Yes, please.

“I was in a car accident with my husband. I was the one behind the wheel. He died and I didn’t,” okay… what the fuck. And how were you supposed to react to that? You were never all that great at dealing with grief, either in your own life or someone else’s, but the fact that the man seemed at peace with it calmed your nerves a little bit.

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” you genuinely went, even if a bit awkward still. Thankfully, he did not seem to mind.

“Yeah. I was lost for a very long time. Couldn’t afford a therapist and his family blamed me for his death long enough for me to start feeling some type of way about it. I was in a really dark place when I came here, and sometimes those same thoughts still creep up on me, but you know what they say,” he gave out a half-hearted shrug, which was when you noticed he was still dealing with the aftermath of it all still, “Healing is never a linear process,” he spoke as though he was trying to comfort himself, which made sense. You tend to repeat the sentences that are said to you by your therapists and the like, even when they don’t sound all that helpful.

“So, you still struggle?” you cautiously asked, unknowingly searching for a way in which his pain could validate your own.

“Trauma is not something that goes away. You can mitigate it and try to silence those thoughts with a copious amount of therapy, but there’s always gonna be that little voice in the back of your mind that’ll try to tell you what to do or say. There’s always a reminder that you’re not really a good person and that everyone secretly, really fucking hates your guts, but the whole point of this place is that it gives you the right tools to make you see that voice as something that only ever feeds you lies,” he trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes as his hands toyed with the hem of his shirt, “All that matters is that you don’t listen to it, even when you can hear it, and sometimes that’s only a step that you can take with the help of others,” was his final advice, and, after taking a breath, he gestured towards you, “What brought you here?” and isn’t that the million dollar question?

“You mean… what made me hate myself?” you joked, exhaling harshly through your nose in response to all the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm you then.

“Sure,” he said, understanding, at the very least, your self-deprecation.

You sat there, avoiding the man’s prying eyes and gazing off into the distance instead, and wondered how you were going to say the one word without sounding like a fucking idiot. Yeah, maybe saying it out loud could be a kind of defeat that resembled a victory, but it didn’t make it any fucking easier.

Healing was never easy, and neither was therapy. Part of you wondered that if by talking about what you had gone through meant you were speaking it into existence and, therefore, making it even more real. That, maybe, the solution to it all is to never mention it again and leave it behind… but that never worked. Either you suffer because you had to relieve those moments, or you spend each time in constant agony because you’re betraying the version of you who endured it all, in the past, by not talking about it. It was a matter of what would hurt less, and you didn’t know if you could ever make that decision. Not with your tainted hands and tired eyes.

“God,” you spoke as if you had opened up a poisoned wound. It sounded metal, though, which pulled a chuckle out of you against your better judgement. God as the number one enemy of the state. It felt odd to speak of what plagued you when the man in front of you had lost his husband and family.

“Religious trauma?” he asked, sounding as serious as ever and making you realise that, maybe, this wasn’t the time to laugh.

“It sounds stupid, doesn’t it,” you responded with a bleak look on your face, shaking your head and picking at the skin of your thumb.

“No. Why would it?” and that was what made you look up at him once more. He had bags under his eyes and a knowing smile on his face. Yeah, maybe he understood what you meant, “Maybe… being here, with a group of people whose belief system hinges solely on the urge to do better will do you some good, right? Maybe it can rewire your brain into thinking that loving communities can, and do, exist,” he tried. You weren’t one to use drinking as a coping mechanism, but some shit really had you yearning for it. The conversation was too heavy for you to remain engaged for that long and, unfortunately, his words weren’t helping like you thought they would.

“Yeah, I don’t know about all that, but I appreciate the effort,” you truthfully told him, giving him a tense smile.

“I know that this is hard, trust me. How about you start by naming what brings you pain?” oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Really,” you deadpanned, slowly taking in a breath once you felt yourself starting to get defensive.

“Hey, I’ve done this exercise before. Humour me,” but you didn’t know if you could because there was only so much you could say without feeling as though something had begun circling for a kill.

“Guilt. Shame,” the words flew out of your mouth faster than you intended. You hoped that, by getting it over with quickly, you’d prevent the ghost of the past from settling permanently within you. “Thinking that I will never be good enough,” you choked out after a moment’s reflection. It made you want to scrub yourself clean, because if you remade yourself anew then maybe, just maybe, you were worth saving.

“For whom?” came his question, and it nearly made you splutter, truly. There is no saving grace for the sinners. There is no house of God for those who had been hung upside down and gutted. They turned your body into a slaughter house; opened you up and found you lacking. To whom did you not feel good enough for? Well, that was simple, wasn’t it?

“How are we feeling?” came the interruption before you could give him your answer, which was when you realised you had balled your hands into fists – your nails pressing against your palms so sharply that you thought you would draw blood. You blinked several times to regain your senses, clenching your jaw when you realised your mouth had been agape, and, when you looked up, you saw her. You had to squint your eyes to try and make out her face – not even your own hand shielding you from the light was enough to make your vision refocus and grow accustomed to the light.

Charlotte stood to your right with the sun at her back and, oddly enough, with a halo of light forming around her head. Your mind was playing tricks on you, surely.

“I think we’re making some progress. Got you to open up, at the very least,” he said, speaking as though the conversation you were having had not nearly wrecked you. Letting out a sharp breath through your nose, you tried to regain your composure, but it was very difficult. You had been forced to think of too much, too quickly. Did you feel any better? Debatable.

“I knew you would. Fantastic work,” was what Charlotte said before kneeling beside you to place a hand on your shoulder, silently requesting your attention. Part of you knew you shouldn’t meet her gaze, because if you did the feeling growing inside of you would only solidify even further, but when she gently squeezed right before letting her touch move from its initial spot to the expanse of your back, you knew you were in trouble. She rubbed soothing circles there, causing you to turn your head while keeping your eyes glued to the floor, “You are doing well. I am proud of you,” her warm tone of voice paired with the way she was caressing you made your breath all but hitch, which something she had noticed, no doubt.

You pressed your tongue against your back molars and hummed, which was the only response you could muster up. Charlotte, on the other hand, seemed happy with whatever progress you had made which, in turn, made your heart swell a bit with pride. Knowing that was all she could pull from you, she stood up and resumed her rounds – checking up on the rest of the people in the group.

You watched her go, the fabric of her clothes following her movements as she walked, and when she glanced over her shoulder to look back, her eyes only ever locked with yours.

[x]

Sitting on a bench facing the lake, the cool evening air was making you shiver but was also sobering you up enough to not bother you as much as it usually did. After the therapy session, you withdrew yourself completely, saying that you needed some silence before going back to work once more. Staring off into the distance, the view was compelling enough for you to nearly forget why you had gone there in the first place, but there was still a faint, buzzing sound in the back of your mind that reminded you of how your past struggles still coiled inside your body. You were so out of it that by the time you heard footsteps approaching you, Charlotte was already standing directly to your left.

“How do you just show up out of nowhere? How is that something you do?” you numbly teased, hugging yourself a bit tighter now that her prying eyes were watching you once more. Instead of replying straight away, Charlotte took a spot on the bench, not leaving much space between your leg and hers, which had your mind racing. Part of you wished to reach out and—

“You’ve done well today. I was half expecting you not to show up,” she confessed, repositioning herself so that she was practically facing you, her knee now brushing against yours – you started picking the skin on your thumb.

“I have to do the therapies, so,” you absent-mindedly replied. Charlotte studied you for a bit before reaching forward and grabbing a gentle hold of your hand, stopping you from harming yourself any further. You went rigid under her touch – an automated response. You ground your teeth and turned your head the other way, noticing how her touch went slack for but a moment.

It felt as though you were lost in a dark fog and Charlotte, of all people, was the only one looking your way and turning on the light. For a moment it felt like something had been quietly set in motion and it fucking terrified you. The clock was once again ticking and you had to start over. Hope for absolutely everything and expect, or receive, nothing. The horrors persisted but so did the unnameable, and perplexing urge to hold the entire world in your hands just to prove that you could. But how does one face it all with a smile when adorned in blood?

“You don’t have to do anything,” she softly spoke. Your cheeks felt wet – had you been crying? Well, yes. You were scared. You were scared because your heart and mind wanted different things – one longed to follow the light whilst the other feared it would all come crashing down over and over and over again.

There was something growing inside of you; griping your heart like a vice. A biting, wretched thing. And yet…

“What happens now? Do I have to confess, or something? Will you pray away all the fucked up stuff I’m experiencing?” you gravely went, furiously wiping the tears from your face whilst still avoiding the woman’s gaze.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, sounding utterly confused. You wanted to laugh. To turn to her and tell her you knew exactly what she was doing, but… Being at the receiving end of the woman’s attention felt good, in the most sickening of ways. Almost impossibly so.

“Please. He must’ve told you what we discussed, right? That’s how these things work?” you pressed, your face twisting in anger.

“He has told me nothing,” she clarified, squeezing your hand in an attempt to bring you back to her.

“So, you’re here because?” you said in an accusatory tone. You turned to face her – your facial expression matching your tone of voice – and, for a second, you could have sworn Charlotte’s face had darkened. You knew that even someone as patient as her had her limits, but there was something else there, clouding her eyes.

“Because I wished to see how you were doing. The exercise you did usually takes a toll on newcomers. Your comfort is of paramount importance to us, always,” she held your hand as she spoke, but it was clear your lack of trust in her had offended her enough for her gaze to harden. You had not intended to displease her, of course, but there was so much floating around in your mind that, sometimes, it was hard to separate friend from foe.

Either way, when another tear threatened to fall down your cheek, Charlotte used her index finger to gently wipe it away and, unfortunately, your fatigue got the better of you and you ended up shutting your eyes and leaning against her touch, which was already gone. Noticing this, the woman reached towards you once more to fully cup your cheek this time, and the breath that left you told her everything she needed to know. It was almost embarrassing, really, and the guilt that followed had you screwing your eyes shut in self-disdain.

Taking in Charlotte’s every caress like the love-starved dog you were. It was both terrifying and humiliating. You craved it in the same way sharks loved blood, but, whenever you received it, it felt as though it could only ever be endured.

“Having trouble sleeping?” she asked as her thumb brushed your cheek. You remained rooted in place, afraid that the woman’s soft touches would disappear as soon as you’d move an inch. You were wrong, however, because when your gaze found hers, all you saw were Charlotte’s eyes flickering towards your lips before locking with your own once more.

You sucked in a breath, doing your best to act as if you had done so due to the fact that you were crying but if the twitch of her lips was of any indication, she knew better.

“You could say that,” your voice was barely above a whisper. What you would be without your frustration? Was it fair to force Charlotte to bear witness to the pure, human longing that you felt? And if what you craved was a sin, why was she looking at you as though religion itself could be completely reinvented just so she could fit in your hands?

“Come with me,” she smoothly requested after a moment of silence, withdrawing from you completely, making you shut your eyes in disappointment, before standing up. After regaining your composure, you were meant to stare up at the sky and ask whomever cared enough to be listening a simple question: why? When your gaze turned heavenwards, however, all you saw was her, looking down at you, with her hand outstretched, silently asking you to take it. It was at that moment you realised that, maybe, some things – some people – were truly meant to be worshipped, “Please?” she enunciated sweetly, the corners of her mouth curling upwards in a tentative smile.

You stared up at her in silence for a few seconds before blinking your tears away and letting out a breath, and when you held her hand in your own, her skin was warm.

[x]

“Thank you,” you said, taking a sip of the tea Charlotte had given you. You sat on her couch, cross-legged, and held the warm mug tightly in your hands, focusing on the feeling as you heard the woman walking around behind you. When she took her spot on the couch, you noticed how she was only wearing a golden, thin silk dress – your eyes lingered on the woman’s exposed shoulders for as long as it was still appropriate, but you mentally kicked yourself for it regardless.

Her skin… looked so smooth. Her scent was divine and her eyes, which were once again studying you, urged you to draw nearer. You sipped your tea, instead.

“You still feel the urge to sleep in your car, I take it,” she asked, throwing her right arm over her couch and resting her head on her hand to prop herself up, “I am not judging, just… trying to understand,” came the gentle clarification, and of course she was. It was strange to you how a woman like her would look at someone like you – the one who stands without beliefs – and feel the need to bring you back to life. You still believed she had second intentions – perhaps even unbeknownst to her – but you would be lying if you said you did not long for the way she touched and looked at you. There was something almost… holy about it.

“There’s… some things about this place that remind me of a time I am happy to leave in the past. Remembering is not always good,” you confessed, brushing your index finger over the brim of your mug in a lazy, unfocused pattern.

“And your car resembles a safe space,” she connected the dots, clearly refraining to say much else in case you took it the wrong way – it made you chuckle a bit, in fact, which, in turn, removed some of the tension from Charlotte’s shoulders.

“I guess so. Really wish it didn’t though because I miss not running on fumes all day due to lack of sleep,” you sighed, feigning irritation, causing Charlotte to exhale sharply through her nose in an almost-laugh.

“You could request a joint bedroom if you’d like. Perhaps you’re keeping yourself awake because you feel as if you must stay alert at all times. Having someone else in the room might help,” you knew she was only trying to help, but you would rather die than share a bedroom with the purple skittles squad. Charlotte was the only person in that compound that brought you comfort, and that was when she wasn’t making you experience an identity crisis.

“I think I would rather sleep in my car, thanks. No offence. I’m sure they’re all great people to share a bedroom with, but that’s not really my thing,” you winced, sipping your tea once more and watching Charlotte’s reaction over the rim of your mug. She raised a hand to reassure you before speaking.

“No need to explain yourself. Not to me,” she looked almost amused, but her words had so much weight to them that you could not help but stare. Charlotte, on the other hand, was quiet, almost as though she was letting you drink her up until you had your fill. It caught you off guard a little bit – you were used to seeing her in a different light. She was a warm and caring person and it was clear she was making an effort to get you to relax when near her, but it was also hard to ignore how you felt as if she did not exist in the same plain as you. You looked up at her and she looked down at you. It made you feel… something, but you did not know whether you wished to experience it differently. Either way, if felt like your dynamic had shifted. Charlotte was growing bolder, in her own way – or perhaps now that she knew you were not opposed to her touches, she decided to ramp it up a little but, even then, that would not explain the way she looked at you.

Before you knew it, your eyes had dropped to the woman’s lips, and the downturned smile she gave you in return almost had you biting your tongue in desperation. Your hands shook, making you hold the mug in one hand so that you could flex the fingers of your other one.

It seemed as though you let silence drag on for too long, because Charlotte, who you could tell was an extremely tactile person, reached forward to rearrange the strap of your tank top, which, apparently, had been twisted. That was nothing to dwell on, the problem was that her touch lingered. She let the back of her index and middle fingers brush the top of your shoulder, letting them drag all the way down to a spot that was dangerously close to the top of your breast. You clenched your jaw. She noticed.

“I’ve been, uh… taking care of the horse—Athena. You weren’t kidding when you said she was stubborn,” you swiftly changed the subject, only able to breathe properly once she was no longer touching you.

“I wasn’t,” she went, her voice warm with hints of laughter, “But you can handle it,” oh… the woman’s meaningful reply had you shutting your eyes for a brief moment before you downed the rest of the tea in one go. Women were both your weakness and your demise. All your life you had been taught to supress who you were – Charlotte felt like the ultimate test of character.

“Sorry. It’s been a long week,” you regrettably went, attempting to hide the fact that she had made you feel incredibly flustered. She only hummed in response before reaching down to lightly massage her calf, not once breaking eye contact with you.

“It is Tuesday,” she deadpanned and, for the first time in a hot minute, you actually laughed, making her mouth curve into a bashful smile that she attempted to contain by lowering her head and training her eyes on the couch. Wow. What the fuck was happening?

Setting the mug on the table in front of you, you twisted your body so that you’d finally face her entirely, mirroring her position as you subconsciously tipped your head forward, as if under a spell.  

“But what about you? I mean, I’m guessing the woman who had the brilliant idea of coming up with a place like this must’ve had to go through some bullshit of her own, right?” and, maybe, you should’ve kept your mouth shut, because the way in which Charlotte’s face slowly fell as you reached the end of your sentence made you feel as though you had committed a terrible crime. She seemed almost surprised, for a second. It was probably related to the fact that everyone expected you to know who she was when you didn’t. Were you… missing a vital piece of the puzzle?

“That does not matter. The community is the priority here,” she reminded you, but there was something off about the smile she plastered on her face. There was an edge to it, almost as if she were telling you to refrain from asking too many questions. Her eyes were harsher and her brows drew together ever so slightly. Was she… fighting herself?

“Are you not part of ‘the community’?” you asked, looking at her quizzically, “And you were saying something about deflecting. Know what? I get it. Sometimes talking only makes things worse,” you dropped the subject hoping she would go back to her usual self, but the light in here seemed to have dimmed a bit. It made you want to scramble for a way to fix it, but there was only so much you could do. So you rambled. You rambled because you were nervous.

“I would just like to preface this by saying I don’t need you to pathologize everything I say and do, but… How do you do it? How do you… live in two different worlds? I mean, I don’t want to offend you but I know that what you’re doing here is just an act. So, I suppose what I’m trying to say is… how do you not feel at odds with yourself?” you hesitated, not knowing how to vocalise what your heart was asking you to say. Charlotte, on the other hand, looked slightly taken aback by your question, which was normal, considering you had just accused her of not being a spiritual guru. You were talking out of your ass though, in hopes that, by telling yourself that there was nothing special about the woman, your heart would race a lot less often, “Ever since my past happened, I feel like I have a bunch of versions of me that I failed to bury for whatever reason. I used to cope with that relatively well, but for the past couple of weeks it’s been getting worse. It’s as if I look in the mirror and see a handful of people instead of just… me,” you all but choked out, your voice tightening with emotion and shame.

Charlotte regarded you in silence for a moment, her eyes scanning your face as the wheels in her brain turned. There was an odd sense of unity in the way she visibly fought to find the right words to say, almost as though the topic at hand was important to her, as well.

“Those… versions of you might represent what you’ve chosen to repress. Primal desires left unspoken, unattended. Sometimes they are not there to haunt you,” she spoke with caution, joining her hands in her lap in what seemed like a futile attempt at self-control, oddly enough, “But to remind you of what could have been, or of what once was,” she continued, not once letting her eyes fall from yours.

“But I don’t want to unearth whatever the fuck it is,” you spoke in a slightly panicky manner, making your words sound a lot more serious than you intended, which was unfortunate, considering your… confession was hitting Charlotte like a brick wall – you would never dare point it out, but you did not miss how she pressed her thumb against her palm, harshly, as soon as your tone of voice changed. This was why you had been told to come to the compound, no? Deep down, you had this sick, ceaseless, almost neurotic, need to be understood by something, or someone, larger than you, “I was miserable back then. I was sad, angry and afraid. And now I— I’m trying to silence those thoughts, I really am. Because if the tide isn’t just right… there’s a big chance I won’t be coming back up for air, you know?” you explained, gulping in clear distress when your heart tightened in your chest. Charlotte nodded in understanding, taking in your every word as though her life depended on it.

“That won’t happen. It won’t,” she reassured, the tendons protruding from her neck indicative of the fact that she was practically just as stressed as you, “I see so much pain in you. I can feel it, even,” she reached forward then, resting her left hand where your heart would be, letting her thumb stroke your skin as she spoke, “But there is also a big part of you that wishes to tear down that one wall and leap. Change is never easy, but you have a love in you that is bigger than everything you fear. Hold it. Use it,” she earnestly instructed, leaning forward even further and placing her other hand on the side of your neck, cupping it while her thumb brushed your lower jaw, “And if you cannot do it alone, I will hold it with you,” and she had meant every word. Her eyes were wide, her bottom lip trembled almost imperceptibly as she sat there, feeling your pulse quicken at her words.

It almost felt wrong to reach up and hold on to the woman’s wrist, but you did it anyway even though your hand was shaking. A beat passed. You did not feel sane, and you could guess Charlotte didn’t, either. She gave you a woeful smile then – a fallible god whose warm hands alone could violently reshape your entire world; could make you feel at ease despite you having felt as if you went your whole life living without a skin.

You felt completely alienated from yourself then. You wanted to believe her. Your body, heart and soul were telling you to present yourself at her feet and that terrified you.

“Fuck, I—shit,” you rasped out, your stomach tightening into knots before you pulled away from her touch entirely and let your nails dig into the couch instead, “I don’t belong here. All this… live, laugh, love bullshit is not me. I sink my teeth into things, I don’t care for them. Do you understand? I don’t know what it’s like to be sacred or pure,” you spat out, speaking as though you were making a last-ditch attempt to try and stay the hell away from the woman, yet she would not let you.  

“Sacred or pure…?” she repeated, going silent for a bit as if she were expecting you to explain. When no reply reached her ears, she continued, “We do not ask that you lose your grit. Your strength is what makes you you, but you are mistaking that strength for an urge to hurt and neglect yourself, and that is—” she abruptly stopped, keeping herself from finishing her own sentence. Your gaze was glued to the floor, so you missed the way in which Charlotte grabbed fistfuls of her own dress as she collected her thoughts, “It needs to stop,” she eventually said, sounding almost resigned, her voice tight with emotion.

She was right to pinpoint the love that you desperately wished you could express, however. It was, ironically, something akin to religion itself – larger than the common conception one may have about it. It was devastating. It consumed you, gnawed at your bones relentlessly. You don’t know what you would do without it, no matter how irksome it could become at times. It was the price you paid for the heart you had.

“Come here,” Charlotte called out to you, repositioning herself so that she could embrace you a lot easier. It was too much for you to handle though, so you simply stared at her dumbfoundedly. She understood, giving you some room to breathe before slowly reaching toward your hand. You flinched, moving away from her touch at the very last second as the muscles in your jaw twitched. If you keep touching her, you’ll stain her.

There had to be some sort of middle ground there. An alternative that would not make you feel as though you were undeserving of her touch. All you ever did was take her hand – what would happen once she would no longer extend it? Your own desperation disgusted you, yet you still placed your hand in the middle of your bodies, on the couch, palm facing the ceiling, and it was not long before she enveloped your hand in hers. It had been her choice. You held out your hand and she had met you halfway.  

“Tell me… what do you want?” she asked, her words dissolving and echoing around in your mind like scattered, autumn leaves. You could not meet her gaze – she was this close to being wedged in between your ribs – yet the urge to look nowhere else was becoming almost obtrusive.

“I… I want…” you faltered. Oh, you were too young to properly put your thoughts into words yet too old to be repressing your needs. Chuckling humourlessly, you involuntarily held her hand a bit tighter and she responded in kind, forcing you to drag your gaze away from the wall and back to her. She looked so incredibly beautiful at that moment – her hair framed her face perfectly as she tilted her head and gave you a faint, downturned smile, “It’s not worth it. Helping me is pointless,” you spoke with such continental sorrow that she could not help but spring into action, reaching towards you to cup your cheek and giving you a look that left no room for argument.

“No, it is not,” she said with firm conviction, but her next words were a lot softer, “Not to me,” and part of you wished to flee, because there was no universe in which you could withstand her eyes and the unshakable, unbending faith she had in you.

You chewed on your bottom lip and resisted the urge to think about how your entire body had been set aflame at that exact moment. No other part of your body existed except for where her touch had been, the rest of it was something akin to a ripple in murky waters.

You wanted nothing more than to surge forward and claim her lips with your own, but the thought alone had you shutting your eyes in shame. Almost as if sensing the lump that threatened to form in your throat, Charlotte snaked an arm around your body to pull you close to her chest and this time you let her, burying your face in the crook of her neck despite your arms going limp at your sides. She ran her hand up your back, taking her time with it, before her fingers tangled in your hair – there was almost a sense of urgency to it, as though you were both living on borrowed time. You said nothing and simply let the feeling watch over you – to be touched by someone greater than you, feeling as if you had been split open with a knife only to hold the hand of the person who had caused it and pull them even closer to you.

You did not know when but, at one point, your arms circled around the woman’s body as well. Your fingers splayed across her back as you grew accustomed to the warmth radiating from her skin – all-encompassing. When her lips brushed the shell of your ear, you made a fist. You were too far removed from your body to make out the words she whispered in your ear, all you knew was they resembled a prayer said to you in a language still unknown to man. Your eyes stung with unshed tears, and you held her even tighter.

[x]

Stubborn was an understatement, the damn horse was testing your patience whenever you took her out for a ride, making you look ridiculous in front of everyone else.

At one point, as you were riding along near the lake, Athena simply stopped moving, and when you tried spurring her, she jerked her head, ripping the reigns from your hands, “This fucking horse. What’s gotten into you today? I’m trying to get stuff done here!” you complained petulantly, forgetting the fact that Athena was a horse and could never understand what the fuck you were saying. Giving her a few pats on her neck, you took note of how she was not responsive to your touch, yet her ears drew back when a loud sob came from your left.

You held on to the saddle and averted your gaze towards the lake, wanting to mind your business in case someone was having a mental breakdown in one of the therapies, and you would’ve succeeded if not for the several voices who joined in. The words they spoke were unintelligible, but there was no mistaking those cries. Something in you told you to turn back, but like a bloodthirsty, undefeated creature, you felt this deep, inexplainable desire to simply give in and look in the direction of all the commotion.

In one of the spaces between seconds, Charlotte came to your mind. It was funny, however, how, in your mind, she did not have a face. Her body, composed of immense light, blinded you and burned your skin; seeped into your open wounds, finding her home there. You did not ever consider the possibility of your, unhealed, wounds emitting light, but now they did.

When you slowly turned your head to your left, what you saw felt like another punch to the gut. Charlotte, with her back turned to you, stood on a podium of some sort, her hands extended towards the others – the white shawl she had draped around her shoulders making her look as if she had wings – as they sat before her, forming a kind of web, completely connected as they gripped one another’s shoulders. You did not know what that particular exercise called for, all you knew was that they were all crying, their faces contorting in grief.

Athena, now nodding her head with urgency and pawing at the ground, mirrored how you felt, yet when you urged for her to move once more, she remained rooted in place, as if you were under some kind of obligation to witness what was happening. You could feel something in you shifting, and as if on cue, Charlotte then slowly turned her head, glancing at you over her shoulder before properly facing you with a smile you were well-acquainted with by then. When you did not respond in kind, her face gradually dropped, and so did her arms.

You felt dizzy. What had you done to yourself? Why had you allowed this ancient feeling to take root inside your chest? Had you not suffered enough?

If She was sacred, then why were you so afraid of Her? Afraid of how you seemed almost reborn in Her reflective eyes? Did you even recognise yourself in them? Did what you see there terrify you? She was consuming you and you were letting Her. She made you want to believe again, and that alone violated everything you had ever stood for. It completely deconstructed your reality, rebuilding it into something you did not recognise. You had cut God out of you with a rusty knife only for another to make Her way to you. She had opened the incision; She had stuck Her hand inside and planted Herself there. What sickened you the most was the ever-growing lust you felt – there was something animalistic inside of you that craved to feel what She would do to you. You had seen the look in Her eyes. She yearned for it, too. It was why She had come down from Her height just to feed you. If She was not God, then, at the very least, She had one inside of Her, and it was starving.

Throat closing up as realisation dawned on you, you nearly begged Athena to listen to you so that you could leave that place and, thankfully, third time’s the charm because the second Charlotte made the decision to leave her podium and start walking toward you, Athena finally listened to your commands and galloped out of there as fast as she possibly could.

[x]

“We’ve missed you at group therapy today,” Charlotte took omnipresence way too seriously, because, whenever you were feeling anguished, she would always show up. Unfortunately for her, you weren’t exactly able to make conversation after what you had experienced a few hours prior.

“I know,” you curtly responded, wishing you had shut the door to your room and hidden in there instead of leaving it open and allowing the woman to come look for you. Tying your boots and evading the woman’s gaze, you felt all air get sucked out of your body the second she stepped into your room. You were both adults, but it was a lot damn easier to avoid Charlotte for the rest of the way, which was what you did. You knew she had noticed, as well, because there were at least two separate occasions where you had locked eyes with her and immediately chanced course, walking toward the opposite side of the compound just to avoid speaking to, or even just being near, her.

“Is there… a specific reason for your absence?” she pried yet sounded concerned all the same.

“I was trying to think. Funnily enough, I haven’t gotten much time to do that ever since I got here,” you borderline complained, fetching a sweater from one of your drawers so that you could go outside for a walk. The way in which you moved around the room told the woman she was not exactly welcome there which, in turn, made her tone of voice a bit sharper than usual.

“Then let’s talk about it. Address it—” but you cut her off at once. If she did not understand, then you might as well rip off the band-aid and tell her why, exactly, you were avoiding making conversation with her. Holding your sweater in your right hand so strongly that your knuckles turned white, you spun around to face her and gestured with your free hand to accentuate the point you were trying to make.

“You scare the shit out of me,” you blurted out, gritting your teeth to keep yourself from sounding too emotional. At your words, Charlotte squared her shoulders and clasped her hands at her front, recognition dawning on her face, “I feel like something in my brain has fundamentally changed. The thread has snapped, and it frightens me because that’s not how this was supposed to work. I can’t— I don’t know how to stop it anymore,” you confessed, a pained expression settling on your face. Speaking those words into existence hurt like a bitch – coming to the realisation that there were older versions of you that you that were crawling out of the hole you had thrown them into felt like a sick joke. Charlotte, on the other hand had a blank expression, almost as though she had come to terms with what you were telling her.

“Let me help you. You don’t have to do any of this alone,” she tried, not sounding sure of herself.

“You don’t get it!” you snapped, making Charlotte rear back in surprise. At this, you briefly shut your eyes and raised a hand in lieu of apology, “You— when I look at you, I feel something. Something larger than respect or admiration, and before you say anything, no, it’s not necessarily a good thing. Not to me,” you quickly explained, feeling beyond vulnerable at that moment and wishing you could simply cross the room and ask to be held by the woman, “I think that maybe I should leave,” you finished, your lips twitching in distaste at how pathetic you felt. Surprisingly, Charlotte did not give much of a reaction, nor did she look surprised. It was as though she had always expected you to leave the compound at a certain point in time. For some reason, that made you feel worse.

“But you’ve been making so much progress. The work that you’ve done is unmatched—” she tried, a flood of emotions ghosting her features when you interrupted her once more.

“Cut the crap. If you really do care for me then you would let me go,” you said with firm persistence, ignoring how Charlotte was visibly trying to stop herself from saying more than she should, her mouth opening and closing before her lips were set in a hard line.

“That is true,” she sombrely conceded, her voice nearly breaking near the end of her sentence, forcing her to clear her throat. You stood there, looking at each other in completely silence, your hands balling into fists at your sides as Charlotte’s fiddled with her rings compulsively. There was something there, under the surface, that neither of you could quite make out. All you knew was that the urge to drop down to your knees and completely devote yourself to her was growing too large to bear, “Is that what you want?” she finally asked, her words hitting you squarely on your chest as Charlotte’s glistening eyes bored into you. You took in the sight of her then – her faltering smile; her flushed chest and tired gaze. You shuddered at the thought of abandoning the one person you could ever see yourself praying to.

“What I want is way fucking harder than leaving,” you spoke, your voice heavy with feeling. You had hoarded the unsayable in your mouth for so long that you did not know if you could ever truly speak it. Charlotte’s body language emanated a kind of self-control that was close to wavering, but her eyes told a different story. Her eyes spoke of an unparalleled devotion to another, the kind that you turn to you and say ‘Do not speak my name. Swallow it, instead, and give me your throat’.

“Like I said, it is your choice to make,” she repeated, her shoulders rigid and her whole body went rigid, almost impossibly so. For some reason, her lack of reaction only made you want to grip her shoulders and shake her awake – you weren’t a mentally stable person, far from it, actually, but you did not wish for her to hide her true self from you out of fear. If anything, seeing her through a lens in which she appeared more… human was better for you. Yet, it was hard to chip away at the walls surrounding her. You would rather drown in her ocean than not at all.

“I need you to do something for me,” you began, throwing your sweater on the bed and taking a few, cautious steps toward her. Charlotte tilted her chin up bit as you drew nearer, “I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me something real. None of that… regurgitated nonsense that you say in speeches to make people feel… elated, I don’t fucking know. I want you to be you. For just one second,” you pleaded, your brow knitting in exasperation as you attempted to reach out to her.

Your words seemed to hit Charlotte like a truck though, because, as soon as you finished your sentence, the woman scanned the room in a slightly panicky manner, her mask nearly slipping as she looked for a distraction. You could tell she dreaded losing control over the conversation, and when you reached out impulsively to rest a hand on her shoulder you thought better of it at the last second, letting your hand hover over the woman’s frame instead before letting it fall to your side once more. Charlotte never noticed; all she did was turn away from you briefly as she lifted a hand up to her temple to gently massage it. Had you actually given the woman a headache…? Should you be… offended by that? Either way, you gave her some room to breathe. You knew how overwhelmed she would make you feel, at times – you were no stranger to what she was experiencing. Or at least you thought.

“When you ache, my pain increases tenfold. Your suffering is my own,” she breathed. You did not know what she had meant by it – you did not know each other well enough for… something more to be there. Was she implying you were spiritually connected? Why were you inclined to believe that, as well?

“I told you not to—” she interrupted you at once.

“I am trying,” she tersely responded, sounding slightly hurt and annoyed by the fact that you had interrupted her, “If you let me,” she added once she realised she had come off a bit too harsh. Turning around to lock eyes with you, you noticed how her chest was now completely flushed in to what you could only recognise as an anxiety rash. You averted your gaze, both because you were ashamed and because you wished to preserve the woman’s privacy, but it was when she next spoke that you knew there was no escaping. You heard her let out a shaky breath before she paused to get a hold of herself. After a few, long seconds, she broke the silence, “I hunger for things I shouldn’t,” she grimly disclosed. And you understood. You understood all too well because you felt the exact same.

Absorption. That’s the word you would use to describe your relationship, if you could even call it that. There was no greater act of devotion than to allow someone to sign your death with their teeth – you stood alone for the longest time only to find out there was one truth you could stand for. No, you did not believe in their God. No, you did not care for the teachings of the church and the martyrs and the sinners, because when you wallowed in despair in your room, Charlotte was the one standing before you. She was the one reaching out. She was the one who hungered.

“Yeah,” you choked out, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought off the urge to kiss her right there and then.

“We—” she hesitated, shaking her head in an exasperated manner before correcting herself, “I understand if you feel as though you must leave us, I do,” she smiled, her eyes looking beyond pained, “But I would prefer you didn’t. I… cherish the moments we have spent together. Learning,” she was clearly trying to brush off the importance of your staying in the compound, but, thankfully, you weren’t that blind yet.

“Learning,” you repeated, picking at the skin of your thumb, “Is that seriously what we’ve been doing,” you asked, shifting your weight from one foot to the other when you realised that, maybe, unpacking what you felt for the woman was too hard for you, at least at that moment. Charlotte seemed to agree.

“There’s more to it, of course there is. And, if you left, you would be missed,” she ripped those words out of her chest with so much effort that you thought she would pass out. You ‘would be missed’… by whom? Almost as if she had read your mind, the woman took in a harsh breath through her nose – you were stressing each other out, at that point, but there were still too many questions left unanswered. You were about to press on when the woman broke the silence once more, “There is only so much I can…” she trailed off, quickly outstretching her hands before letting them fall back down to her sides. Her bottom lip trembled in evident distress and she carried a look on her face that you could not quite describe.

… haunted. She looked haunted.

It was a wretched thing, really. Everything was falling apart and yet all you longed to do was fall to your knees and pray to Her.

“Okay,” you breathed, causing Charlotte’s entire body to exhale as she grabbed a fistful of her kaftan. You chewed on the inside of your cheek – you were already half-dead. The least you could do was follow her, “Okay,” you repeated a lot more meaningfully, sounding certain of the choice you had made.

It was done. There was no turning back now.

[x]

So, maybe going out for a walk, to clear your head, without any pants on was probably not the best idea you’ve had, but it was an emergency. Besides, it wasn’t like you were walking around naked. No, you had class – you put on a robe before walking out, so it wasn’t that serious.

Following the gravel path through the compound, you felt a shiver go up your spine as you walked. You chose to ignore it, at first, choosing to tighten the robe around your body further in a self-soothing way, but when a noise came from the woods to your right, you spun around to face whatever it was that had been following you. You stared at the tree line for a bit, squinting your eyes so that they could make out any potential threat roaming in the dark, but came away empty handed. You were about to take the hint and start walking away when a familiar voice called out to you, making turn around so quickly that even your robe came undone. Doubling over and resting your hands on your knees, you tried to slow your thundering heart – the adrenaline rush was so sudden that you were no longer cold, either.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Charlotte said, her voice warm with hints of laughter. She was… fooling around with you? Now, of all times? Straightening your posture and throwing your head back in exasperation, you let out a puff of air – she had scared the shit out of you, again. Evidently.

“Yeah, no shit. What the fuck is your problem?” you asked, not really looking for an answer. It was only when you locked eyes with her that you realised something wasn’t quite right. She was still looking at you, sure, but that was precisely the problem. She was looking at you, as in… giving you a slow once-over, letting her eyes linger on the bottom half of your body before she pursed her lips slightly and started fiddling with her rings, averting her gaze but only after having her fill, which was when you felt a breeze.

Springing into action, you quickly tied your robe around your body once more, trying to ignore the fact that you had practically flashed her and she had not been opposed to it. At least you had worn underwear. Now, that would’ve been awkward.

“You look lost,” she clearly teased, leaning on her windowsill as you gazed up at her mutely. You let yourself take in the view for a bit – there were things you still refrained from fully indulging yourself in, but to look up at a woman you were planning on completely devoting yourself to was not one of them. The warm lighting in her study made for a picture-perfect sight as she gazed down at you attentively. It made you want to walk up and climb up her window in grandiose romanticism to plant a kiss on her lips. You would never do that, of course. Not from where you were standing, at least.

“Well, I am not. I’m just… exploring,” you lied, a shiver coursing through your body when Charlotte humoured you, moistening her lips with her tongue before she spoke.

“In the middle of the night? You must be taking it seriously,” Charlotte answered, her amusement evident in the way she spoke. It did not take a genius to know you had lied, but she seemed far too preoccupied with other matters to lecture you over you not prioritising your sleeping schedule. Your eyes were fixed on the woman’s lips, at that point, and you knew she had noticed, because she propped herself up on her elbow and stared at you with a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. Whatever was happening between you then was new – even the way in which Charlotte looked at you felt more… charged? With what you did not know, but it was not something you had seen before, “Aren’t you cold? You’re barely wearing any clothes,” oh, she was dying to point that out. Crossing your arms at your midriff, you tilted your chin upwards slightly, feigning superiority, before giving her a reply.

“You saw nothing,” you deadpanned, chest swelling in pride when that pulled a warm chuckle out of her. For some reason, your interaction seemed like a test, which was unfortunate considering you really wanted to give in. If you, or Charlotte, played your cards right, you would probably get down on your knees and praise her in a way you really knew how. Realisation hit you, then. Was any of what you were doing right? Did you deserve to step out of your solitude and feel the warmth of the sun on your skin? Would She let you? Did any of it matter?

No. No, it didn’t. You longed for her in inexplicable ways. You wished to present yourself to her completely; to worship her so you’d recognise her by touch alone. All else was simply background noise meant to distract you from your one, true goal. If she had always meant to consume you, you knew she would do it softly.

“Would you like to come in for some tea?” she asked, her eyes scanning your face for a reaction in case it was something you were not comfortable with. Your chest rose and fell once, quickly, as you thought about being in a room alone with the woman again. Part of you felt obnoxiously giddy, but your hands were still shaking, “To help you sleep,” Charlotte went on when you did not give her an immediate response.

Smiling to yourself almost bashfully, you pursed your lips and looked around you with your arms crossed. As if on cue, a stronger gust of wind hit you, almost as though the universe itself was telling you to get your ass inside, so you did.

“Sure,” you replied, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth as you locked eyes with the woman one last time before circling the building and making your way to her. All you could think of was how a small smirk had tugged at the edges of her lips.

[x]

Turning around after having dressed yourself, you happily discarded your robe, setting it down on the couch, as Charlotte walked towards you with some hot tea and a smile on her face. You were apprehensive about letting the woman lend you one of her pyjama pants, but you figured it was better than walking around with a tank top, a pair of briefs and nothing else. The downside of it was that she was… taller than you, meaning that, if you were not careful, you could trip on the pants she had offered you and embarrass yourself even further. If God truly was real then that would not happen. 

"Thanks," you said, plopping down on the woman’s couch as she set your mug on the table. Now, to be fair, you had agreed to come in just for the tea, but there must have been something in the air that night because you no longer felt a debilitating, emotional breakdown brewing simply because you were sharing a space with the woman. It almost felt… rewarding. Knowing that all you had mulled over led to you feeling an almost overwhelming calmness now that she was near you - the energy was always there, sure, but this time was different. You were different. As if on cue, Charlotte stood in front of you and gestured for you to scoot over so that she could sit. You complied, but only lifted your head up, hinting that she should sit and you’d rest your head in her lap, which was what happened. You could not recall a moment when you had felt that safe. There was something about the way Charlotte initially went from being hesitant, not knowing if she should agree to your silent request, to running her fingers through your hair. At one point, her nails scratched your scalp just right, pulling a full-body shiver from you which, in turn, caused her to pause her ministrations briefly. It was only when you reached up to brush your knuckles against the woman’s shoulder that she realised it had been a positive response. 

You were mostly quiet, after that, your tea long forgotten by then as you let the woman stroke your hair. It was when Charlotte placed a hand on your collarbone, just below your throat, as her other hand continued its task that you realised you had been this close to falling asleep, so you opened your eyes and gazed up at her. 

You knew she was a ‘touch’ kind of person and, in many ways, you were, too, but the opportunity had simply not presented itself - not to mention it was difficult to gauge Charlotte’s reaction to your potentially touching her outside of any… therapy or pep talk contexts. You did not know if you were worthy of it, but Charlotte seemed to be standing at the exact opposite end of the spectrum. She loved to touch - you saw it as her way of expressing things she otherwise wouldn’t talk about, though you did not know why. Either way, being touched by her was not something you were unaccustomed to. What you were not expecting, however, was for her to be staring off into the distance with an inscrutable look on her face when you gazed up at her. You pondered over what you should do, not knowing if you should break her out of the spell she was in or if you should simply mind your business, but the look on her face was starting to freak you out a little bit, which was when you placed a hand over her own, near your throat. At this, her head immediately snapped toward your joined hands — she watched you closely for a bit, but, as you made to stroke her hand with your thumb, the lines of worry on her forehead gradually dissipated. She seemed a bit taken aback by your taking the initiative to caress her instead of letting the moment pass, as you usually did, and when you moved to the woman’s digits, to toy with her rings, she flexed them so that you could find better purchase. 

Your throat felt a bit tight. You had not looked away from each other at all, not even as you made it a point to readjust each and every single one of the woman’s rings as if it were your job or something, and the most important bit was that she was letting you do it. Not only that, but you had managed to pull her out of whatever place she was in moments before you had touched her. The hand in your hair had gone completely still — it was only when you made to intertwine your fingers with hers that the woman subconsciously grabbed a fistful of it. Her touch was still gentle yet present enough for you to know who had the high ground and it wasn’t you. 

The moment wasn’t meant to last long, however, because when you raised your other arm above your head, ignoring how it brushed against the woman’s stomach, Charlotte noticed a wound on your hand and immediately sprang into action, letting you hold her other hand still as she inspected your wound, her brow furrowing, "What is this?" she queried, eyes searching yours for an answer. She was being dramatic - the cut wasn’t deep at all even though it would probably leave a scar, but the point was there was no need to get all up in arms about it. You appreciated the woman’s concern, of course, but you would never tell her that.

"Oh, uh… the dumb fucking horse was going to kick me and I sidestepped straight into some of the bullshit that they use to do... barn stuff. Which was sharp, by the way," you replied, chewing on your bottom lip when Charlotte narrowed her eyes down at you — was it wrong to say that her assertiveness made want pool at the pit of your stomach? Was it a sin to picture yourself on your back with Charlotte looming over you? You felt this… unquenchable thirst for her. It both terrified and excited you. Perhaps, in her mouth, you would finally feel holy. 

"You've barely bandaged this,” she pointed out in an exasperated manner, moving your hand around to fully examine it like a goddamn hawk. It made you feel warm inside, truth be told. It was when she brushed her thumb over your wound a third time that you made to grab a hold of hers, stopping her from fussing over you any longer. 

"It doesn't need any bandaging, it's just a small cut," you reassured her, your eyes softening at the woman’s display of affection. Charlotte wasn’t happy with your lack of care, however. Making a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat, she made to stand up — to help you bandage your hand up, no doubt, giving you a bemused ‘don’t be silly’ as she attempted to get up. Sitting up just as quickly, you grabbed the woman’s waist instinctively and gripped, forcing her to go completely still as you captured her full attention. In a moment of weakness, your eyes fell to the woman’s lips and your head tipped forward subconsciously, matching the way Charlotte’s mouth slowly parted in response. It was most definitely a sexually charged moment – it made you grow acutely aware of where you had placed your hands, and, when you had been this close to jumping away from the woman as if you had been burned, Charlotte held onto both your wrists, her fingers digging into your skin as she kept your hands in place. Was she… granting you permission to break that barrier? It seemed like she was. You really, really hoped that she was. 

By the time you let out a shuddering breath, of all things, Charlotte had made a big showing of dragging her hands, previously gripping your wrists, all the way up to your biceps, making you shiver in response. You ached for her. It was as clear as day now, for the both of you. Fingers pressing down on the spot where upper thigh meets her waist, you thought about where your night would end were you to keep pushing for something to happen — you were practically having a panic attack at that moment and Charlotte had barely even touched you, how the hell were you meant to handle the real thing? Clearing your throat when you felt the overwhelming urge to squeeze your thighs together, you put some much-needed space between you but not enough to keep you from letting you run a hand down the woman’s thigh until you reached her knee, giving it an appreciative squeeze. Charlotte, on the other hand, tucked her hair behind her ear in an attempt to disguise just how strongly the moment you shared had affected her. She had failed miserably at it. 

"Can we not... move for a bit," you finally went, your voice rough with want. Repositioning herself so that she was facing you, now sitting sideways, the position caused you to follow the woman’s movement, meaning you were now hesitantly stroking the back of her thigh. The scene almost looked… domestic? Well, the fact that you were wearing your pyjamas, half of which were hers, wasn’t exactly helping, but it also added a whole different layer of sexual tension to the moment. Charlotte, on the other hand, looked far more presentable than you, which wasn’t surprising - the contrast between her wearing one of her gorgeous kaftans and you needing to be offered some pants in order to take off your robe was just a little bit funny. 

"Are you all right?" she sweetly asked, removing your touch from her leg so that she could hold your hand — she was not over the wound yet. It was clear she wanted to do something about it, to fix it, but your request had been too meaningful to be ignored. Fingers twitching when her feathery touch brushed over your pulse point on your wrist, you could barely focus on what you had wanted to say, let alone form a coherent sentence.

"I'm fine, I just… I like looking at you," was what came out, and, for a moment, Charlotte just stared at you, silently wondering if you were going to elaborate, but when you didn’t the downturned, amused smile that broke out on her face was enough to make you lose your footing. Looking at your joined hands to avoid the woman’s gaze, you felt a lopsided, childish grin tug at the corners of your lips when you next spoke "For clarification, that sounded a lot better in my head," you light-heartedly went, making Charlotte chuckle in a knowing way. Reaching out toward you to remove invisible pieces of lint from your… her… pants, her knuckles brushing against the side of your knee, she seemed unwilling to give you any space, which was not something you were opposed to, not anymore. You were glad to know she seemed to understand your push and pull dynamic — it made things easier for you. There is only so much you could do when crippled by the immensity of a task. It was not easy to care for something, not with your heart. How were you meant to look up when you had spent your whole life looking down, digging your own grave? Yet, still, your fingers twitched whenever Charlotte caressed your palm. Your hands trembled whenever her eyes dipped lower, staring at your mouth when an unspeakable amount of hunger. You were nothing but a mirror to each other – forcing the other to bear witness to their own desire. 

“Please, speak your mind. Remember what we discussed at the therapies,” she teased, her voice pulling you away from your own thoughts, never startling you. You scoffed but not in a malicious way. Her voice was light, unburdened and free as she set aside the role you had become familiar with. It was incredibly endearing. Perhaps you were doing something right?

“Shut up, you’re only saying that because you love hearing me talk. Me constantly exposing myself gives you an edge,” you joked, feigning frustration as you placed your tongue over your back molars, fighting off the smile that was already pulling at the edges of your mouth. 

“And what if it does?” she bit back, looking at you through half lidded eyes as her posture changed significantly, “Do you not think that where you are at now makes for really good progress on your part? Giving yourself away doesn’t need to be as tumultuous as you’ve made it, not when this is what you find on the other side,” she squeezed your hand to further accentuate the point she was trying to make. There was almost a hint of smugness in the way she spoke, almost as if she knew you had found her attractive from the moment you had laid eyes on her, and she had used that to her advantage. It was never that simple, however. You longed for her to the point of reinvention, it was progress, sure, but you did not quite know what it meant for you yet and nor did she. Her choice of words lingered in your mind, though. ‘Giving yourself away’… was that how she saw it, as well? Would she react differently if you were telling her to give in? 

“So you… like whatever we have now?” you ventured, feeling your heart hammering away in your chest. Charlotte’s face dropped for a split second, her eyes alone telling a story just by looking at you. Something told you the whole thing was just a big metaphor — that her hand only reached out to grab yours because it was lonely and had long pleaded for something to touch back. You, on the other hand, were conflicted about occupying a body with such an enormous amount of baggage attached to it. You held onto all of it despite knowing your knees would buckle with every step you took, and Charlotte had the power to make or break you. If she had the stomach to swallow your heart, then you would let her. She would make it beautiful.

“I think it serves as a reminder,” she spoke, her voice so soft you had to tip your head forward a bit to fully retain what she was saying. She had a faraway look in her eyes as she mulled over your words, knowing there were a multitude of ways in which she could misspeak, or reveal too much. You understood her well. You recognised the way in which she asphyxiated herself to the point of not understanding her own thoughts, all jumbled and floating around in her mind — the ineffability of feeling so much you become your own executioner. Her eyes became unfocused then, even as she held your gaze. You could see so much in them that it frightened you. There was a sea of hurt there. Suddenly, you felt devastating pang of tenderness which drowned all your senses. For something so soft, it had surely felt violent enough for you to surge forward and cup the woman’s cheek. The movement had been hasty, but your touch gentle, yanking her away from whatever was threatening to overwhelm her at that moment. 

“A reminder…?” you asked, so that she would ground herself as opposed to drifting away any further. The fear God instilled in you was meaningless when compared to your urge to embrace the woman before you. Charlotte’s lips parted as she let out a breath, the soft light in her eyes now turning into an open flame, eager to kiss the fingertips of your extended hand. Purify me. Consume me. And if you grow into a forest fire then take me with you.

“That we are human,” she all but choked out, and you understood. Eyes searching your face wildly, you then reached towards her hand and let your fingers entwine, the movement slow and deliberate, as though you were both well aware of the risks surrounding such action. As if you knew moments like these were not meant to last and that, when turning someone into a God, only misery will come of it. Even so, none of it mattered. It did not matter, not when your fingers slipped through hers and she dug in, as if she had meant to mark you, the pads of her fingers turning white because of it. Part of you hoped she would leave her fingerprints on your skin.

She stared at you for a moment, completely nonplussed, as though she were trying to see whether or not you were a hallucination; if you were really cupping her face and if her fingers were actually digging into your hand — she even gave it a tentative squeeze, letting the feeling wash over her. You felt the weight of her stare, which, in itself, was a tremendous thing, but when the woman suddenly surged forward, cupping the back of your neck to pull you toward her, and claimed your lips with her own, your heart nearly beat its way out of your chest. You sat there, eyes wide and completely frozen, her lips pressing against your own, long enough for Charlotte to break the kiss and all but rear back in shock. She was panicking — her face contorting slightly in what you could only perceive as self-disgust as she fumbled for a way to apologise to you. Before she could get a word out, you tipped your head downward and palmed your forehead, your breathing laboured despite the kiss not having lasted longer than 3 seconds. Could you even call it that? It was more like… forcefully and desperately seeking out a form of comfort. She had kissed you, but you had not kissed back. There was obviously a reason for it. 

“I’m sorry, I— I wanted…” you trailed off, eyebrows knitting when you realised you could barely get any words out. Your shock was palpable, which wasn’t helping either, “I can’t fucking think, just give me a second,” you snapped, growing frustrated with yourself and the fact that you could not help her understand what you were thinking. Your lips tingled. You wished you could tell her that.

“I should be the one apologizing. I lost myself, it will not happen again,” Charlotte said with a bleak look on her face. 

“No, I— fuck,” you hissed, accidentally brushing your wounded hand against the couch. The pain wasn’t unbearable at all, but the wound was too fresh for you to be causing any more damage. At this, however, Charlotte slapped her hands on her thighs impatiently and immediately stood up, extending an arm towards her bedroom, making you give her a puzzled look which she quickly wiped off your face by subconsciously flaring her nostrils. Huffing and puffing like a kid, you got back on your feet and followed the woman’s directions. Her room smelled almost as good as she did — the warm lighting paired with the way in which she had decorated it really set the mood for what was about to happen, as well. As in … Charlotte taking it upon herself to bandage you up properly and nothing else, of course. Her bathroom was a lot more modest than you thought it would be, though. If there was one thing you could say about Charlotte was that she looked and smelled expensive — the kind of woman to leave you wondering if you would want to be her or be with her. You knew which one was you. 

The warm, earthy tones of her space, a space she had decided to share with you, gave you a false sense of security — deep down, you were nervous as hell. Afraid that you would say or do something wrong and ruin everything for the both of you, but when she went through her things to look for a first aid kit and started undoing your bandage, you could not help but stop and stare. She was completely focused on her task, even if there was a hint of something in her eyes that made her look less composed than usual, and she looked so beautiful. It seemed that caregiving and tenderness were second nature for her, something you would happily think of as endearing.

When the pads of her fingers ghosted over your red and angry wound, you flinched, earning you a glance from the woman — she was waiting for your consent. 

The strength of your desire hit you with the weight of a thousand suns, it sat on your tongue and made you tremble — you did not know how long you were able to hold onto your self-control, but it was starting to become a nuisance more than anything else. When was it appropriate, really, to make the first step? Would you simply take a page out of Charlotte’s book and act spontaneously? Nodding at the woman, wordlessly giving her your consent, you allowed her to finally finish her long-awaited task of bandaging your hand correctly. Her touch always gentle, lingering unnecessarily whenever she noticed you shiver; glancing at you whenever your breath would hitch in a poor attempt to conceal how much it stung. It all meant something. Maybe that was her way of apologising to you or, maybe, she did not wish to see you discarding your own well-being this often. Either way, when her work was done, she circled around your body to put away her things, stepping behind you once that had been taken care of and placing both her hands on your shoulders. 

You looked at each other in the mirror, her thumbs stroking your skin, wordlessly conveying all that words could not, and when you locked eyes, she looked at you in an unfamiliar way. You moistened your lips reflexively, flexing your wounded hand to grow accustomed to the way in which the bandage restricted its movements. You did not know what to focus on — your chest was rising and falling steadily, and your mouth felt dry — and when you made the mistake of looking at yourself, it was then that you realised Charlotte was beholding you with the same amounts of care you carried in your eyes when you looked at Her. As if on cue, Charlotte wiped her hands on her kaftan, due to nerves, perhaps, and stood beside you.

“Better, no?” she asked, giving you an uncertain smile. It was better, all right. No one had ever touched you as softly as she did. It was driving you mad, but part of you knew you wouldn’t have it any other way. If you were meant to hunger for each other then let it be raw; restless. Desire was never meant to be diluted — you either felt it or you didn’t. 

“Yeah. Better,” you agreed, balling your hands into fists in barely contained frustration. After mulling over what had happened in the woman’s living room, you came to the conclusion that it was pointless to postpone what you now knew you both felt. Taking the first step into the unknown was always difficult; sometimes, the only way you can sate your hunger will sicken you, but you did not wish to hold onto it any longer. You had mothered it for far too long — it never deserted you. It was time to let it go. As realisation dawned on you, you turned to face the woman, your eyes burning in a way even Charlotte could recognise. After cracking the knuckles of your unwounded hand, you spoke, “I don’t know if you regret doing what you did, but I would like to try again. I think we can do a lot better than that,” you half joked, your voice was heavy with want and your chest nearly heaving. Charlotte took a moment to study you, her eyes crinkling even if she was, otherwise, straight-faced. You saw her take in a slow, calming breath, her gaze lowering to focus on your lips. At this, your tongue peeked out of your mouth, moistening the left corner of it as you unknowingly mirrored the woman, taking a breath with her. 

“It would not be hard to beat,” she smoothly agreed, her voice a lot rougher around the edges, her arousal evident in the way she spoke. The way she was looking at you emboldened you, truth be told. After she had said her piece, you took a step toward her, acutely aware of the fact that you were now breathing the same air. Seeing as how she was taller than you, you tilted your head up a bit, trying not to lose yourself at the sight of the woman meeting you halfway, craning her neck so that your noses were touching. You felt your heart tighten in your chest — you were forcing yourself to experience it freely. It was hard, as it always had been, but, then again, no one was like Charlotte. Things were different with her, so much so that, when your noses brushed against each other and your lips parted, you let out an involuntary sigh. Finally. 

“You say that, but I am scared fucking shitless right now,” you breathed, tipping your head even closer to her, smiling slightly when your top lip brushed her own. At this, Charlotte hummed in response, something you could not quite decipher — it seemed as though she was hinting at the fact that she was just as nervous as you but pushing through it out of sheer desire. It was when she placed the flat of her hand on your sternum, tentatively, that you wordlessly teased her, nudging her nose with your own, giving her an idea of what you were ready to do next. Charlotte seemed to understand because, before you knew it, she was grabbing a fistful of your tank top, which was when the tip of your tongue slid against her bottom lip. It lacked confidence, but it was so feathery light and gentle that it made Charlotte give out a shuddering breath. Seeing as how that elicited a positive response, you grew more and more comfortable with the position you were in, wishing to pull more delicious sounds from the beauty before you. It was when you were about to repeat the movement a second time that your tongue brushed hers — you paused for a second, letting yourself get accustomed to the feeling, but it did not take long for you to fully commit to it. Circling an arm around Charlotte’s waist, you pressed your tongue against hers a bit more firmly, choking back on a moan when you entered her mouth. Swiping her tongue against yours a third time, it was then that she sucked on it, rendering you absolutely speechless. 

You let the woman have her fill, feeling as if you were this close to breaking out in a cold sweat when she pulled back a bit, making you think she had had enough, only to move back in to plant an impassioned, open-mouthed kiss on your lips. Groaning in response, you parted your mouth, granting her more access as your lips locked. Your first kiss might have been easy to surpass, but this was unlike anything you had ever experienced. It was slow and sensual — you could feel the way in which she hungered for you with every small breath she exhaled; how her hand snaked around your neck pull you deeper into the kiss; how her eyes were snapped shut due to how focused she was in breaking the final barrier that separated you. She made you feel whole. Kissed you as though she was doing her best to get it right. With your fingers splayed out on her back you pulled her impossibly closer to you. 

She made a noise in the back of her throat when you broke the kiss to take a much needed breath, your fingers digging into the woman’s hipbone as you opened your eyes and met her burning gaze. She seemed to disapprove of your decision to come up for air, and part of you felt the exact same way, which was why you took initiative then, surging forward to capture her lips once more. This time, it was different — desperate, hot and wet and neither of you cared, not when you moaned into each other’s mouths; not when you held onto each other so fiercely that you could not even dream of ever pulling away. Your hands caressed all they could reach, making a mess out of the both of you, which only proved you right. You wished to experience it like this or not at all.

Her hand was now gripping your hair with purpose, her hold on it tightening every now and then whenever you would do something a bit more cheeky, like biting on her bottom lip or pressing a thumb against her side, making her take a hold of your hand and move it to her back, where she thought you would behave. She was wrong, of course, because by the time you were both nearly panting into each other’s mouths, your hand dipped lower, grabbing the woman’s behind and digging your fingers into the supple flesh for good measure. At this, Charlotte pulled away, but not before you jumped at the opportunity to suck on her bottom lip, letting go it with an audible pop once she playfully, and gently, shoved you away. 

“Are you sure?” she breathed, looking so dishevelled you could barely even take her seriously. Giving the woman a smug smile, you watched as her facial expression went from unsure to playful in a matter of seconds. You did not know when you had decided that this would be more than a heated make out session — it was probably when the woman’s fingers threatened to slip under your tank top a third time, but seeing as how she did not have your verbalised consent, she refrained from doing something you could be uncomfortable with, which you were extremely grateful for. In fact, the idea of her being an attentive lover only made things worse for you. She watched your body language so closely that she knew when and where to stop, when and where to touch. You wished to repay the favour if she’d let you. 

“Fuck, yes,” you truthfully told her, a grin breaking out on your face when Charlotte gaze dropped to your chest, “Are you?” you queried, not because you wished to tease her, but because you wanted to make sure she was all right. Charlotte’s lips twitched at your question as you awaited her response, but when she made to walk back into her room, still facing you, and outstretched her hand, her head tilting to the side in a suggestive manner, you had your answer. 

Following the woman and reaching out to hold her hand, you attempted not to trip over your own feet as she looked at you with hooded eyes. It was your turn to gulp out of nervousness then, but your mind went blank when Charlotte grabbed the fabric of her kaftan and hiked it up enough to climb up the bed, turning to face you with an expectant look in her eyes, her movements slow and deliberate. You stopped just a few feet away from her, taking in the sight of her there, waiting for you, but something told you you were not the one in control there. There was a silent command in the way her gaze travelled down her body and in the way she tilted her head up slightly, looking at you down her nose with her lips parted. Suddenly, you felt self-conscious and did not know what to do with your hands. You could not remember the last time someone had looked at you with such… lust filled eyes. Sure, you had slept with women before, but most of it had been mindless – all of it was over the second the itch had been scratched. Charlotte, though? Charlotte was deliberately taking her time with you, both because she wanted you to be comfortable and because she preferred it that way. 

Moving closer to the bed when she let out a soft, but commanding, “Come,” you bit your tongue hard enough for it to hurt, and by the time you were beginning to second guess your role in all of this, Charlotte moved to her knees, now at eye level with you, and placed a questioning hand on your lower stomach. You shuddered in response, inhaling and exhaling once, sharply, causing the woman’s lips to quirk upwards as she studied your every reaction. Even then she chose to give you some breathing room and enough time for you to decide whether or not this was something you wanted. When the muscles of your jaw twitched and you quickly nodded your consent, Charlotte made a big showing of hiking up your tank top, fully exposing your stomach as her eyes remained locked with your own. It was only when you turned your gaze heavenwards that you felt her rest the flat of her hand on the newly exposed skin, and when that was no longer enough, she took her time running her hand up your front, only stopping once she was near your throat, her hand exiting through the collar of your tank top.

“Look at me,” she requested, her voice a bit harsher than before, which you were… kind of really into. Moaning low in your throat, you forced yourself to meet her eyes. You half expected her to say something about the fact that you had looked away, but what she did instead made your knees nearly give out. After scanning your features for any sign of distress, she planted a kiss in the corner of your mouth before reaching for your top with her other hand, knuckles brushing against your skin the whole time as she pulled it over your head, exposing the upper half of your body to her completely. At this, she sat back and examined the fruit of her labours, which, once again, made you moan with want, only this time, it was a lot closer to a whimper. 

She made you remember what your body craved. There was something so oddly comforting about the way in which she took the sight of you in, not once lingering where she shouldn’t. It made you feel wanted for the first time in a long, long time.

It felt wrong to break a silence that felt sacred to you, so you simply stood there for a bit, waiting for the woman to make her move. It was when you held onto the fabric of the pants she had lent you that she reached toward you, hooking her index finger under the hem of your pants and pulled you closer to her. Once your knees hit the bed, she started planting kisses on your skin at a languid pace, her warm tongue peeking out and pressing against your ribs; near your belly button; just below your left breast… it all made your breath quicken, but it was her sinking her teeth into your neck that almost made you lose control. Cursing under your breath, you turned your head, your nose brushing against the woman’s cheekbone as she moved back once more but not enough for you to be unable to kiss her. Closing the distance between you for the umpteenth time, you revelled in the fact that, despite her being the one that was clearly in charge, your tongue entering the woman’s hot mouth still made her inhale sharply through her nose. 

Pulling back when she felt the need to take things further still, you watched as she moistened her lips in anticipation before surging forward and taking your right nipple into her mouth. At this, the moan you let out was a lot less constrained, something Charlotte seemed to enjoy since you felt her hum of approval reverberating against your skin. Letting her tongue circle around it enough times so it would stiffen, she bit on it, gently, before moving to your other nipple, which had been neglected up until that point, and sucked. You felt the woman’s hands moving in between your bodies then, which was when you noticed she had been too busy taking off her rings to touch you. The jewellery hit the floor audibly and rather unceremoniously, but you could not have given less of a shit. Once she was ready, she let your nipple fall out of her mouth before planting a kiss right above where your heart would be, and only then did she focus on pulling your pants down your legs, leaning forward to nibble on the spot just below your ribcage.

You realised she had not even taken a single piece of clothing off, which disappointed you immensely, but you were also not the kind of person to interrupt a beautiful woman who was on a clear power trip. Charlotte sat on her feet then, making your pants pool at your ankles with one swift motion, and you subconsciously placed your hand on the back of her head, which immediately earned you a knowing look. Well… damn. You were about to say something smug, which probably would have embarrassed you anyway, when the woman leaned closer to press a kiss on your mound, and you let out a desperate moan at the fact that your underwear was in the way. You looked down at her, shivering at the way in which she stared up at you as she made it a point to press a kiss just off-centre of where you wished she would touch you the most. She knew what she was doing, and she was damn good at it.

You half expected to be on your knees by then — that had always been the goal, right? To worship her. Pray to her. Devour everything she would give you like a starving dog. And, yet, there you were. You had presented yourself to her as a sacrifice, and she was now accepting your offer. 

After she had left you standing in your briefs and teased you relentlessly, she repositioned herself on the bed without ever looking away from you, shuffling over so that you could take your spot near her, which you wordlessly did. Once you had your back pressed up against the mattress, Charlotte pulled up her kaftan and straddled you, which was when your hands fell to the woman’s thighs. You gripped her strongly enough for her eyes to flicker to your wounded hand — was she concerned about you undoing her hard work? Shit, she could really multitask. Intertwining her fingers with your own so that you’d give that hand some rest, Charlotte then fought back the urge to roll her hips against you, which killed you a little bit inside. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you pointed out, taking your time running your hands up her thighs. Once you reached her hip bone, you made to hold onto her waist, applying some pressure there and pulling her towards you so that she would rub against your lower stomach, even if just a little bit. You felt how warm and damp she was against you which emboldened you even further and caused you to pull her towards you a lot more firmly. At this, Charlotte’s lips slowly parted, but she remained poised regardless of what you did, “You’re holding back, I can tell,” your observation made her narrow her eyes down at you ever so slightly. She seemed to mull over your words, but she quickly lost her train of thought when her gaze travelled down your body. Dragging her hands up your chest to cup your breasts, part of you thought she was trying to distract herself by touching you instead of giving your words too much thought. You made a poor attempt to regain her attention by digging your fingers into her sides a bit, but when she slid her thumbs across your nipples once… twice… thrice, the groan that left you was almost embarrassing. 

“Let me take care of you,” she spoke, leaving little room for argument as her voice dropped considerably. She seemed to appreciate the sounds you made for her whenever she’d touch you, but her self-control had increased significantly. If you were in her shoes, you would have given in a long time ago. You moistened your lips when she spoke, your brow furrowing in concentration. You nodded your consent and waited for her to make her next move. You were soaked, at that point, and when Charlotte threw a leg over your body to swiftly move off the bed, you propped yourself up on your elbows and stared at her with a questioning look in your eyes. It was only when she lingered near the light switch near the door that you realised she preferred to do it in the dark, something that you understood, despite knowing full well you had to unpack it at one point. Staring at you meaningfully as she turned the lights off, you fell back down to the mattress, throwing an arm over your eyes as you felt a surge of adrenaline flowing through your body. You were nervous as hell but, ultimately, you yearned for her to change you. To ruin you completely.

You heard her making her way toward the bed once more. You felt the mattress dip when she made to lie down beside you, to your right. And, when you eventually gained enough courage to lock eyes, the light provided by the moonlight was hitting her face in the most haunting way possible. It made her, once soft and warm, features look sharp and cool. Still, and with desire lodged in your heart, you screamed, always screamed and kept screaming for more. Your lust felt as heavy as lead by the time Charlotte tipped her head toward you, resting her forehead against yours as her hand trailed down your body with feathery light touches, making you wonder how it would feel to fully, and truly have her. You were staring into each other’s eyes when her hand slipped in your underwear with purpose, her digits dipping straight toward your desire without ever fully entering you or touching you were you needed her most. 

You mouth fell open in a silent moan and Charlotte mirrored your expression subconsciously, but when she realised just how wet you were for her, she hummed approvingly, letting her middle and ring fingers tease your entrance once, twice, before firmly pressing the heel of her palm against your clit. When you chocked back on a moan, Charlotte brought her bottom lip in between her teeth as she watched your pleasure play across your face. She contented herself with moving her palm from side to side against you for a bit, her lips quirking upwards and her eyes wrinkling whenever you would gasp, sigh or groan at her touches, but it did not take long for her to realise she wanted more. Choosing to put you out of your misery, she effortlessly entered you with two fingers, her touch deserting you almost as quickly as it had come as you realised she had merely meant to gather some of your desire so that she could then spread it all over your centre, purposefully avoiding your nub enough times to make you squirm in frustration.

“Please,” you pleaded, moving to grasp the woman’s wrist and trembling when she made a noise of acknowledgment in the back of her throat. 

“Please, what?” she murmured, her voice rough with all the want she was attempting to conceal. Cursing under your breath, you lifted your hips up and off the mattress when the woman’s words hit your ears. You felt dizzy with lust and she was trying to get you to form a coherent sentence for her? That wasn’t going to end well. Or maybe it was. If you behaved, it was probably going to end a bit too well. 

“You have no idea how much I fucking need this. I need—,” you almost trailed off several times throughout your sentence, half in a daze, and by the time you were pushing yourself to get your words out, Charlotte planted a soft kiss on your cheek, smiling, smugly no doubt, against your skin before finally giving you what you wanted, earning her an unabashed moan as you got so flustered you felt the need to bury your face in the crook of the woman’s neck. At this, she circled her arm around you, cupping your head as her fingers rubbed slow, tight circles on your clit. 

Legs jerking whenever she would rub you just right, you took the opportunity to pepper kisses all over the woman’s neck, or whatever parts of it you could reach, as she kept her agonising pace. There were moments where you would stop kissing her neck to moan against her skin, something that always earned you a scratch on your scalp and something along the lines of a proud ‘good…’ being whispered in clear approval. It was when you let out a shaky breath that Charlotte pressed her hand against your forehead, tipping your head back and making you meet her gaze for what she would do next — she wanted to look at you as she fucked you in the moonlight. If it wasn’t for the way you gave out a wanton moan the second she increased her pace, you would’ve called the moment pure and romantic in a cheesy way. But there was nothing pure about the way a pleased smile slowly appeared on her face as you whimpered against her mouth. There was nothing pure about the way you reached under your underwear to find the woman’s hand, not applying any pressure to guide her movements but simply leaving it there, above her own so that you could feel her moving against you, her fingers wet with your desire. You let her set the pace as she saw fit, but, at one point, you felt as though you needed to feel her all over. It was overwhelming and drowned all your senses, so when you tugged on her hand and set her digits directly at your entrance, using the hold you had on them to slowly push two of them inside, Charlotte let you, going as far as to immediately curl her fingers to pull another moan out of you. She does this twice, letting you grow used to her filling you up, before retreating entirely, letting the tips of her fingers rest there, curling them into you just a little bit, going one knuckle deep only to tease you.

“More,” you whispered against her mouth, letting out a prolonged hum when the heel of her hand pressed against you more firmly in response to your being vocal, “You know I need more. Please,” you begged, feeling dizzy when she pressed the front of her body against your side a bit harder, making you wish she were not wearing any clothes. It was when your nails dug into the woman’s hand in a silent request that Charlotte decided to finally slip her fingers inside, not moving them at first before building up a rhythm, which was when you let out a long string of curse words, the things you were saying were so filthy that you took Charlotte by surprise, who inhaled roughly as you came up with several different ways to beg for her to fuck you.

You felt a strong sense of urgency to touch her then, and so you did — hand grasping at everything you could reach, as the other rested comfortably above Charlotte’s, your mind was too hazy for you to fully acknowledge what you were doing. It was only when Charlotte hissed that you realised you had dragged your nails down the woman’s back one too many times. She was lucky enough to still be wearing her kaftan, however, because you had not been gentle. Regardless of how good she was making you feel, you opened your mouth to apologise to her, but all worry dissipated from your features when she added a third finger, as though she were rewarding you for what you had done.

Not once breaking eye contact as she fucked you, you let the filthy, sucking noises coming from in between your thighs fill the room, and when it all felt too intoxicating for you to bear, you squeezed your eyes shut and moaned every time Charlotte nearly pulled out of you only to plunge her fingers inside once more, going three knuckles deep, before you could complain. She moved in and out, in and out, in and out, focusing entirely on you and the faces you would make the whole time. Right as your legs were beginning to shake, you felt her withdraw from you completely, making you snap your head towards her with a bemused look in your eyes. Paying your obvious disappointment no mind, she made to sit in between your parted legs, patting your knee in a silent request to have you lift your hips so that she could take off your underwear, which you did. Throbbing with want when the woman’s eyes dropped to the apex of your thighs, you could tell how badly she wanted you from the way her gaze grew unfocused when she saw you clench for her, feeling the way your arousal spilled out of you in response to her burning gaze. It seemed that something had clicked in her brain the second that happened, though, because she was now very obviously trying make you come as quickly as possible. 

Setting a hand on your thigh to keep your legs open, she used her other hand to continue where she had left off, wasting no time in sliding two fingers deep inside you, not moving them around too much to let you grow accustomed to the feeling once more, before adding her third, driving her fingers into so suddenly that you let out a guttural moan in response. When her fingers hit you just right, your legs clamped shut around the woman’s hand, which earned you a knowing chuckle, but did not make what the woman did next any more bearable. Using the hold she had on your thigh to make you open up for her once more, she then brought that hand to your center, using her thumb to rub you as her fingers gave several pointed curls whenever she would almost slip out of you. 

Slapping a hand on your mouth to muffle your moans, your gaze flickered from the way her hands were moving in between your legs to Charlotte’s eyes — it was clear she disapproved of your choice to restrain yourself, but it seemed she was far too focused on guiding you toward the precipice, or throwing you over its truth be told, to voice her displeasure as much. Everything about that moment made you throb with want. Not only was she absolutely destroying you, but she was also sitting impossibly straight before you — there was something about the way she was fucking you all while keeping her posture, never straining despite the fast pace she had taken upon herself to set.

“Fuck,” you suddenly cursed, “like that but harder,” you croaked out, whimpering against your palm as Charlotte heeded your advice instantaneously, keeping her unforgiving pace but driving her fingers into you a lot harder. Eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head, you made to grab a fistful of the woman’s soft sheets, mouth agape as she corkscrewed her fingers, allowing her to hit the spot just right, over and over and over again. You were overcome with lust — the sounds her fingers were pulling out of you; the beads of sweat gathering on your forehead; your legs shaking as she touched and kissed you in places not even the sun had reached. It was all too much, and by the time her thumb rubbed over you once, twice, thrice, you knew you would not be able to hold on for much longer, and you were right. 

Pushing past your self-consciousness to quickly prop yourself up on your elbows to look at the woman’s face properly as she made you come, you were pulling on her sheets so harshly that the whole set almost came undone, but did not care, not when her eyes widened as she felt you tighten around her fingers, wanting to take in all your reactions as she made sure not to let her pace falter. Nodding your head wildly as your legs shook some more, it did not take long for you to let out a prolonged, impassioned moan, something Charlotte seemed to approve of immensely. Licking her lips in response, she did not even let you ride out your high before she withdrew her fingers from you, making you let out a pathetic mewl, of all things, in response. You would soon forgive her though, because the woman’s fingers were quickly replaced by her hungry mouth and hot tongue, which was when you fell back against the mattress, the sheets sticking to your damp skin as Charlotte made it a point to take you entirely into her mouth. Part of you felt the need to push her away because of how sensitive you felt, but when your hands landed on the woman’s head and your fingers made a mess of her raven hair, it was to pull her in. Feeling emboldened by your response, she sucked your swollen nub into her mouth. The thought of Charlotte Matthews pleasuring you like this made a fresh burst of wetness coat the woman’s tongue — it felt so good that you moaned through a laugh. Charlotte raked her nails down your thighs, circling her arms around you and holding you close to her mouth as she buried her face in between your legs, and when she ran the flat of her tongue up your slit, tongue curling when she reached your clit, you jerked violently, biting your bicep to keep yourself from moaning louder than you already had, “Charlotte, I—fuck! Charlotte,” you whispered, finding yourself chanting her name as though your life depended on it, allowing yourself to utter it for the first time as you vocalised your approval. There was something special about the way in which you had voiced it. Part of you wished it would have remained unsaid, forever trapped in your throat, but if the way the woman hummed against you was of any indication, she seemed to appreciate the choice you had made. At this, Charlotte’s hold on you tightened briefly, steadying you before she eventually dipped lower to plunge her tongue into your arousal, making you clench as you welcomed it inside. 

You tossed your head to the side, moaning shamelessly as the woman’s ministrations bordered on overstimulation at that point, but, still, you let her have her fill. The tension was building up again, somehow, and any thought of speaking was lost as Charlotte’s talented mouth sought to drive you mad — all you could muster up were a few broken, yet frantic, yeses and couple of don’t stop’s accompanied by your digging your nails into her scalp in encouragement. You moved your hips against her mouth, at one point, using one hand to prop yourself up as your other one made a fist in her beautiful hair. You watched as she stuck out her tongue, letting you rub yourself along it as you saw fit, biting your bottom lip in concentration as your frenzied, unfocused pace nearly drove you over the edge as you choked on your cry, a single, high-pitched sound erupting out of your mouth as you began to shake once more.

You did not dare look away from her as you tipped over the edge. Locking eyes with the woman and riding out your high, you watched her take one last opportunity to take your nub into her mouth, sucking firmly enough to make your orgasm last longer, but softly enough for it to feel good still, even after you had found your way back down to earth once more.

You shut your eyes then, not because you were having second thoughts, but because you had nearly pulled several muscles when climaxing. You felt the woman reposition herself as you panted in exertion. Not wanting her to think you did not wish to look her in the eyes, you forced yourself to meet her gaze, humming in pleasure the second you noticed the look on the woman’s face — her chin and mouth were wet; her hair messy and her lips red from kissing you. Reaching toward her to grab her wrist, you pulled her left hand up to your lips and kissed her palm, languidly, and when you silently urged her to lie on top of you, you grabbed a hold of her hair, throwing it over to the side to bite her neck, near her jugular. 

You felt her groan reverberating against your lips and tongue, but nothing could compare to the way she tipped her head to the side to offer you more access, “Thank you,” you uttered against her throat, moving to place a few chaste kisses along her jawline, “Thank you,” you repeated, feeling the woman smile against you as you pressed a kiss to her cheek. You mumbled the words again and again — enough for it to be perceived as a mantra and softly enough that it resembled a prayed, because that was how important it had felt to you. You kissed the woman’s lips, tasting yourself on her tongue, and when you pulled back to look into her eyes, her hair cascaded toward you, framing her face and shielding you both from the outside world. You knew you were staring, but there was very little you could do to avoid it. 

You brushed your thumb over the woman’s bottom lip, letting out a trembling breath when she turned her head to kiss your wounded hand, and simply gazed up at her. Her gaze was tender in the same way a bruise was. What you felt for her at that moment was so vast you could get lost in it, and if the way her eyes scanned your face was of any indication, she seemed to understand, “Thank you,” you said it again before pulling her toward you and claiming her lips in a heated kiss. You felt her exhale against you, her hands gripping you in the way a starving dog gnawed at a bone. You heart squeezed in your chest, then. What was it that you were feeling? Was it holy, or was it you? You didn’t know. All you knew was that you could die for it.

You finally knew what it meant to be touched by a God, and She was kissing you most tenderly.