Chapter Text
“Watch your step,” Carol cautioned as she led Zosia over the threshold.
“I’ve got it. Thank you, Carol.”
She still helped Zosia, despite her insistence that she could walk just fine. The concussion had left her with brain fog, and a constant migraine. A few days of bedrest, and the doctor said she should feel just about normal. But in the meantime, someone needed to keep an eye on her. Carol was more than willing to accept the role. In fact, she insisted.
But the happy homecoming to Zosia’s apartment quickly took on a different emotion as they walked into the aftermath of yesterday's accident. It looked like a crime scene. Bloody handprints littered the couch, and crimson shoeprints tracked across the hardwood from the living room to the door. Nothing had moved, except for Rudy, perched up high on his cat tower. He leapt down, scampered around the mess with deft paws, and rubbed against Zosia, greeting her with a chirp. She leaned down to pet her faithful companion, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the mess. It only occurred to Carol right then that Zosia had no recollection of the mayhem.
“Wow,” Zosia uttered, unblinking. “That was a lot of blood.”
“Yeah,” Carol tried to laugh it off. “It was like the prom scene in Carrie.”
Those big doe eyes turned to her, full of worry. “Are you ok? That had to have been terrifying.”
“Me? I’m fine. Totally fine,” she assured, neglecting to mention her breakdown in the bathroom. “I was just worried about you.”
Zosia looked down at their clothes, and Carol followed her gaze. Despite her best efforts to clean them in the hospital, her tank top had a dried smear of blood down the front, and her dusty colored slacks were spattered in red spots. The cardigan she had sacrificed yesterday still laid among the wreckage, surely beyond saving. Zosia at least got to shower and wash off all the blood before they discharged her. She was granted a set of single-use scrubs to leave the hospital in, but her pajamas she had been wearing during the incident were ruined.
“Sorry about your clothes,” Zosia murmured.
“It’s fine, I hated these pants anyway. Let’s get you changed and laid down,” Carol said. “I’ll clean up.”
Zosia started to decline Carol’s offer, but she was quick to shut it down.
“Please let me do this for you, Zosia. It’s the least I can do.”
She reluctantly accepted, as her head was still pounding, and laying down sounded far better than scrubbing at the floors. Carol led her back to her bedroom, and insisted she sit. She opened Zosia’s closet, and glanced around. She had plenty of work outfits, nearly every color of the rainbow. A baby blue blouse, a caramel colored chemise, a turquoise turtleneck. Unlike Carol, who would wear sweatpants to work if she could, Zosia’s loungewear was nowhere to be found.
“What do you normally wear to bed?” Carol asked as she poked around.
“Nothing.”
Carol swallowed thickly as she glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, there was a faint smirk on Zosia’s lips, despite herself. It was good to know she wasn’t too sick to tease her colleague. And it was working, as Carol’s cheeks started to turn red. Zosia let the moment linger before pointing to a small dresser of drawers in the corner.
“Second to the bottom. There should be something in there.”
Carol hopped right to it, and found her a pair of dark green sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. She handed it over, and started to leave, but Zosia caught her.
“Can you help me with my top?”
She was struggling with the unforgiving fabric the hospital had provided. Carol paused, surprised by the request but nodded. She helped Zosia ease out of her top with careful hands, making sure not to jostle her sore shoulders or rub against her stitches. The quiet between them was comforting, punctuated only by the soft rustle of fabric and Zosia's tired sigh. There was no tension in that moment, despite Zosia’s bare chest. Only compassion, and Carol’s politely averted gaze. The sleep shirt went on far easier.
“Do you need help with the pants?” Carol asked earnestly.
Zosia stood to give it a shot all by herself, but she became woozy and started to lose her balance. Carol caught her around her waist, chest aflutter at the quiet swear under Zosia’s breath.
“It’s alright, I got you.”
With permission, Carol helped peel off her pants. It wasn’t like the last time. There wasn’t drunken banter or an underlying tension strung tight between them. It was a moment of tenderness and vulnerability. There was a bit of shame marring Zosia’s face. Surely the embarrassment from the events of the past 24-hours just kept compounding. Carol did her best to make her feel comfortable, but it couldn’t quite cure Zosia of her humiliation.
Once she was dressed, Carol quickly fetched a towel to lay on her lightly colored pillowcase. Her stitches oozed when she rolled around in her sleep, and from what Carol had observed last night in the hospital, she moved around quite a bit. Carol helped her lay back and get comfortable, and Zosia was incredibly appreciative.
“You get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when it’s time for your pills,” Carol said, hesitant to leave her side.
Coming home and getting changed had already exhausted her, so Zosia settled right in, her eyelids too heavy to keep open. “Thank you, Carol. You’re a good friend.”
Carol wanted to believe it, but the compliment hadn’t felt earned. She wanted to earn it, though. More than anything, she wanted to feel worthy of all of Zosia’s praise. Today was a turning point. Today she’d make herself worthy.
----------------------
The blood came up off the floors a lot easier than she expected. The upholstery on the other hand was a completely different story, and her cardigan and the throw pillow were far from salvageable. Carol’s fingers were sore by the end of it, and the stains in the buckskin colored couch had only lightened a little. She flipped cushions where she could, and draped a knitted throw blanket over the parts she couldn’t conceal. She stood back and admired her work. Everything looked normal. Even Rudy the cat seemed impressed, as he trekked across the couch, sniffing the cleaner Carol had used. He hopped down, then plopped on the floor before her, exposing his fluffy tummy and letting out a loud meow.
Carol tentatively reached down and stroked his soft fur. She didn’t consider herself an animal person, but he seemed okay enough. And besides, Zosia was in love with the furball, so Carol didn’t mind getting on his good side. He hopped up, tail twitching, and swiftly padded over to the pantry. He paced outside of it, meowing even louder than before. Carol followed his lead and opened the door, unveiling a big bag of cat food.
He must have been starving, considering Zosia wasn’t home to feed him last night. Carol scooped out a hefty portion, and Rudy showed her exactly where to put it. She stroked down his back as he gobbled up his kibble with fervor.
Zosia was probably hungry too. She had declined breakfast, and she slept through lunch. Carol recalled her occasionally eating takeout from the Thai restaurant downtown during their lunch breaks. She hoped Zosia would be in the mood for it, as she dialed the restaurant and ordered delivery. Anyone would appreciate waking up to takeout.
She glanced at the clock, mentally calculating when Zosia's next dose was due. She was determined not to let anything slip through the cracks. She wouldn’t have another seizure; not if Carol had anything to do with it. Maybe, in caring for Zosia and even Rudy, she could start to forgive herself for the things she couldn't fix before. Maybe even Zosia could forgive her, as despicable and miserable as she was.
The food arrived right in time for Zosia’s next dose of medication. Carol set up the living room for a peaceful evening in. Candles were burning away the scent of bleach, the cheesy soap opera Zosia always prattled on about was playing in the background, and Thai food steamed on the coffee table. The crime scene had been completely transformed into cozy serenity.
“Carol…” Zosia appeared around the corner. She had awoken on her own volition, or perhaps from all the shuffling. There was a sleepy softness in her voice, and a twinkle in her eye as she took in the scene. “You didn’t have to do all this for me.”
Carol didn’t say what first came to mind. That she’d do anything for Zosia. Instead, she stepped back, and welcomed her in with the wave of a hand. “Come eat. I’ll get your meds.”
Zosia smiled from ear to ear as she took her place on the couch, and took a big whiff of her stir fry. Thankfully, her appetite had returned, and Carol could breathe a sigh of relief. She delivered the pills, then nervously paced as she went over everything she had done.
“I got your place cleaned up. Did the dishes too. Um, Rudy is fed, his litter box is scooped, and the pothos on your windowsill was looking a little sad, so I watered it.”
Zosia looked up at her with those sleepy, appreciative eyes. “Thank you, Carol. Now sit and relax. I can’t eat all of this by myself.”
She clicked her tongue. “I don’t want to ruin the furniture, I’m pretty gross. Besides, I figured you’re probably still upset with me. Which is totally justified, by the way. I just want to make sure you’re all set up until I can come check on you tomorrow.”
Zosia gave her a look. “I have a shower, Carol. Hurry up and use it before your food gets cold.”
The hot water was a relief on her aching joints, and Zosia’s extensive collection of soaps and scrubs was a pleasant surprise. No wonder she always smelled so good. Carol hopped out of the shower, smelling like a Bath and Body Works. At some point, in the middle of Carol’s lathering, Zosia had slipped in and dropped off a fresh set of clothes. The pants were long on her, albeit a little tight around the butt, and the sweatshirt was one size too big. She didn’t mind, though. She was just thrilled Zosia wanted her to stay.
Zosia had reserved Carol a spot right beside her on the couch, and nobly defended her portion of takeout from the cat circling like a shark. Carol took her place, mindful of the space between them. Zosia was fixated on her show, while Carol slurped her noodles and occasionally asked stupid questions. It felt oddly normal.
All that time spend cleaning had given Carol plenty of time to think about where things were going between them. Carol was sure she heard it at Thanksgiving, despite her drunken stupor. Zosia said she wasn’t interested in men.
She was trying to not get hung up on the semantics of what exactly was said, and instead thought of all the different things she had noticed. The most glaring evidence being her interest in Carol’s books. Bitter Chrysalis was for all intents and purposes, a retelling of Carol’s experience with lesbianism. Sure, it was censored for the sake of marketability, but the message would hit home for anyone who had gone through a similar experience.
Carol knew better than anyone about the loneliness that came with queerness. She had spent most of her life feeling the need to blend in rather than be proud of the person she was. Wycaro was a monument to that. She didn’t refer to Helen as her wife in public until after she had passed, and it ate Carol up inside. When Zosia heard that Carol once had a wife, she must have been elated. Perhaps she was drawn to Carol for that aspect, as well as her writing. A more experienced and established lesbian she could look up to. She wondered if Zosia felt the same kind of isolation, or if she’d managed to find comfort in her own company.
Then, of course, there was the other thing Zosia had mentioned in the hospital. Something she was ashamed of admitting to Carol, but was too drowsy to get the words out. There were still so many things this mysterious woman kept close to her chest, and Carol wanted to unravel every last bit of her. But the last thing she wanted was to stress Zosia out more than she already had. So, Carol let it be for now. They could have their heart to heart at a later date.
“Why didn’t he just kiss her right there?” Carol asked as the leading man once again ran away from his feelings.
“Because he thinks the feeling isn’t mutual,” Zosia explained, eyes glued to the screen. “But everyone knows she’s crazy about him. They spend at least four episodes going on dates without actually calling them dates. They don’t even get together until the fourth season,” she griped.
“Wow, thanks for the spoilers,” Carol teased.
Zosia scoffed, playfully nudging Carol with her foot. “You said you didn’t even like my show.”
“Yeah, well, it’s growing on me. Although, the writing does leave quite a bit to be desired.” Carol settled back into the couch, arms crossed.
Before Zosia could come to the defense of the sappy plot lines, her phone started buzzing on the coffee table. She glanced at the ID, and became solemn. It was Stefan. Carol held her breath, and analyzed Zosia’s face. Her hesitation alone spoke volumes.
“Are you going to answer?” Carol asked.
Zosia looked between Carol and her phone. “I don’t want to, but…”
“If you don’t want to talk to him, then just let it ring. What’s he gonna do about it? Fly to Albuquerque?”
“He might,” Zosia said gravely.
Carol couldn’t tell if it was a joke or a warning. Either way, Stefan was sure to make her stress levels skyrocket, so Carol was adamant.
“Don’t answer.”
Zosia’s hand hovered above the screen, the persistent buzzing filling the silence between them. Each ring only amplified the tension in the room, until it finally went to voicemail. Carol let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. Even Zosia released a shaky exhale.
“See? Easy,” Carol said, relaxing once more. “Now you just need to practice telling people to fuck off. Trust me, it feels great. Very cathartic.”
“I think I’ll leave that to you.” Zosia yawned and tucked her feet up onto the couch. There was a blanket draped over her shoulders, and she pulled it closer. “This new medicine makes me so sleepy.”
Carol gave her a once over. The sun was just starting to set, and they were only on the second episode. “Are you ready to go to bed? I can head out.”
“No, not yet.” She inched a little closer. “Did you think…” There was trepidation in her voice. “Could you stay the night? I know it’s short notice, but – “
“I can stay,” Carol blurted out, just a little too fast. “I’ll just crash on the couch. If you need anything in the middle of the night, I’ll be here at your beck and call.” She gave a genuine smile, one Zosia couldn’t help but return.
They settled back in for the show, warmth nestling between them. By the time the next episode was starting, fatigue caused Zosia to slump until she was starting to nod off. She caught herself just before tipping over, a sharp inhale of surprise following suit. The poor woman was just so exhausted. Carol was about to shut the TV off and help her to bed, but Zosia had other plans. She grabbed one of the throw pillows that had been spared the bloodshed, and sat it on Carol’s thighs. Without a word, Zosia laid across her lap, and snuggled in.
Carol held her breath, as if the slightest movement might scare her off. Within a matter of moments, Zosia’s eyes fluttered shut, and a faint snore drifted up from her parted lips. Without much thought, Carol gently brushed Zosia’s hair out of her face. She found herself stroking her head, delicate and measured, hoping the tender touch would transcend her languid state.
Carol swept some of the velvety strands to the side, and got a better look at the gash on the back of her head. The stitches were holding everything together just fine, and it seemed that the oozing had stopped. But there would be a scar for sure, just as there was a scar across her cheek from Carol’s ring. A layer of foundation, and tresses of hair could conceal the damage Carol had done, but she knew those scars were there. They would always be there.
It was a permanent reminder of the temper that festered within her. Something she spent most of her adult life learning to contain and control. Helen had grown accustomed to it. But Zosia, as sweet and considerate as she was, couldn’t even let her phone go to voicemail over fear of upsetting someone. Nothing could have prepared her for someone like Carol.
She couldn’t do it again – lose her temper like that. Every time she did, Zosia only got hurt, physically and emotionally. Carol made a silent promise to herself as she sat there, caressing the vulnerable woman laid up on her lap. Zosia would never see that side of her again.