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“Do you want to try it?” Jodi asks Bette.
Bette looks at her, eyes teary and sad, the tiniest hopeful tight-lipped smile on her face. Jodi grabs her hand and her touch feels so gentle—she brings it to her lips, the kiss she places on it even gentler. Bette can feel the tears threatening to break the dam. She lowers her eyesight away from Jodi’s because somehow it feels like she would be able to read Bette’s thoughts and Bette can’t help what her eyes will show her.
Any longing stare, even the lightest of touches tricks Bette’s mind into memories of Tina. How she would touch Bette’s body with kind hands, pull back from kissing her chest to look at her, just look at her, her hazel eyes the prettiest Bette has ever seen, so warm and true as she whispered loving words to Bette.
“I’m so lucky to have you,” she had said once. Still, Tina left.
Jodi comes closer, Bette rubs her nose with the back of her hand to try and dry the tears—it doesn’t help because they’re flowing like a river. Jodi pulls her hand away, getting into Bette’s personal space, she tilts her head up to find her lips in a gentle kiss. Bette never opens her eyes, but she parts her lips in a conscious attempt to try this.
With her eyes closed, it’s Tina’s blonde hair she sees cascading around her face. There’s so much metal around and somehow Bette’s brain can fake Tina’s scent, her floral cologne, her lilies shampoo, the smell of her skin. Every memory of her is still so vivid in her head. Bette closes her eyes harder like she can push those thoughts away, to the back of her mind where she can lock them into a tiny box and throw away the key.
Jodi’s tongue searches hers, softly making its way in, stroking Bette’s. The touch to the roof of her mouth is enough to take Bette right back into another memory of Tina, hands on her hair, tongue flicking against hers before it licks its way inside, caressing every bit of Bette’s mouth—she can clearly remember the taste of her, so sweet and warm, like heated up honey.
Yes, Tina left, but Bette is still right where she left her.
Bette opens her eyes to find Jodi’s face right there, their lips still glued together, Jodi’s spit pooling on Bette’s tongue—she tastes so different. Tannat red wine versus Bette’s favorite tropical Chardonnay. Bette pulls away, fighting the coughing fit threatening to overtake her.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do it.”