Fic: Autumn Nights - The fifth night
Title: The Fifth Night-In Which Quinn Fabray Tries To Resist The Urge-To Get Into Rachel Berry's Pants-And The Irony Of Rachel Wearing Skirts (And Other Forms Of Torture)
Author: freshtilapia
Rating: NC-17 (for the whole series)
Length: 4,752
Spoilers: Season 1 & 2
Summary: (see Title; or the sequel to Summer Mornings, with the usual fluff and the promise of sex)
A/N: This is the first night that I loved writing as much as Summer Mornings. I hope you will enjoy reading it. Thanks to my beta, mjacton , for proofreading and telling me that it's fine to post by itself. I promise it won't take a month again before I update/post the sixth night.
Previous Nights: The first night | The second night | The third night | The fourth night - Part 1 | The fourth night - Part 2 | The fourth night - Part 3
The fifth night
Two words…
Hot legs!
Two words were all it took for me to come rushing out of my room and into my car.
Hot legs!
Now, I’m driving to Rachel’s as fast as I can, breaking our habit of spending Sundays after breakfast exclusively with our parents for the very first time.
Hot legs!
It’s not my fault she uttered those words. But I guess it’s entirely my fault that I couldn’t resist them.
Hot legs!
No, no, not those words.
Hot legs!
Damn it, Rod Stewart, stop singing in my head!
I love you, honey!
Ugh! I’ve been suffering from this terrible case of Last Song Syndrome since this morning.
Hot legs!
Oh, give me a break!
My day already didn’t start the way I hoped it would-fantasized about, actually-and I wish it had gone down differently.
…It seems like it’s only been a minute ago that I finally dozed off.
But a persistent, irritating sound suddenly disrupts my sleep. Now I’m half awake, trying to ignore the thumping noise, and having Rachel in my arms just feels so good with her hair smelling so nice that I almost completely forget about it, until-
“Quinnie?”
Oh, shit.
I scramble to get to the door just as the doorknob turns and-
Thank God! It’s locked.
I totally forgot to tell Santana and Brittany to lock the door when they left. But it’s a good thing they thought of doing it anyway.
I don’t think my mom and I are prepared for her to see me spooning with Rachel-well, I don’t think either of us will be prepared for that, ever.
I open the door just enough to stick my head out.
“Yes Mom?”
“Good morning, sweetie,” she’s smiling all too sweetly; it seems fake. “I was… wondering what you girls would like… for breakfast?”
“Don’t bother, Mom. Brittany and Santana already left and I think Rachel will have breakfast with her dads when she gets home.”
“Oh.” She looks over my shoulder, “So… is that Rachel… on your… bed?”
“Uh, yes Mom.”
“Ah. I couldn’t tell… from the hair…” Rachel’s lying on her side, with her back turned away from the door.
My mom clears her throat, “Well, this is wonderful! Why don’t you get ready for church then we can have brunch!”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“But I… wanted to take Rachel home first.”
“We can drop her off on our way to church, dear, so it’s best that you wake her up right away then you can shower at the same time-separately-use my bathroom,” she smiles wider with a nod and raised eyebrows. “Yes?”
“Okay…”
“I’ll see you downstairs,” she pats my cheek and lingers by the door.
“You okay, mom?”
“Yes! Yes, I’m perfectly fine…”
“You seem… nervous.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she dismisses with a wave, “just… withdrawals, I’m sure…”
“Okay…”
She gives me another smile and leaves. I lock the door and sigh…
Of all the days my mom would bother to check on me or wake me up, why did she have to pick this morning?
“Baby…” Rachel purrs.
She has turned quietly to face the door with that soft smile on her face.
I smile back and quickly get back into bed.
She immediately wraps me in her arms and I press my body further into her, with my head nuzzled under her chin and my left arm around her waist, wanting to be as close as I possibly can…
“You’re awfully quiet,” she observes.
I just grumble, which makes her giggle.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, clearly amused.
“Nothing,” I mumble.
“I think I’ve known you long enough to recognize when something is bothering you, Quinn Fabray, and I demand to know what’s-”
“Fine! Thisisn’thowIpictureduswakingupthismorning.”
“What?” She shifts to take a good look at me. I hide my face.
“Baby, you’re adorable,” she says, “but I didn’t understand a word you said.”
I keep my eyes closed and I don’t move, “I said, ’this isn’t how I pictured us waking up this morning.’”
“How did you picture it then?”
“There’s no use telling you now. It didn’t happen.”
“But I want to know.”
I shake my head, “It’s embarrassing.”
She gasps, “Did you picture us naked?”
“What?” My eyes fly open. “No!”
“Oh.” She’s disappointed? “Then, how?”
“You’ll think it’s lame…”
“Baby, you know I would never,” she assures me.
I sigh again and bury my face under her neck, “I wanted… one of us to wake up the other… with… kisses.”
She doesn’t say anything and just turns away from me.
It’s extremely perplexing.
I take a peek over her shoulder. Her eyes are closed.
“…Baby?”
She doesn’t budge but I notice a smile that’s barely there and it suddenly dawns on me.
I’m such an idiot.
And I’m smiling like one when I move closer to Rachel, placing my right arm under her neck and my left over her waist and pressing my body against her back. I even drape my left leg on her thigh for good measure.
And I just… hold her…
I let out another sigh, this time, from contentment.
Why can’t we just stay like this the whole day?
I have half the mind not to move but Rachel exhales and I think that’s my cue. I bite back a chuckle.
Patience was never her strong point.
I lift my head and start leaving kisses on her shoulder…
She stirs.
I kiss the length of her neck…
She inhales audibly.
My mouth lingers below her ear…
She turns slowly and her eyes flutter open.
“Good morning,” she smiles.
“Good morning,” I smile back.
Then she brings her left hand up to touch my face and kisses me…
“Is this how you pictured it?” She asks in between kisses.
“No…”
“…No?”
“This is so much better…”
“…Really?”
“Uhuh…”
“Don’t you think… it would be so much better if… we were naked?”
I stop for a split-second before realizing that she’s taunting me and I’m not backing down, so in my huskiest voice, I tell her, “It would be so much better… if we were naked… in the shower…”
“Why, y-yes,” she falters a bit but recovers quickly. “Why don’t we head over there now?”
I pull her off the bed in an instant and we walk towards the bathroom wordlessly, with our eyes locked and our hands linked, waiting… for the other to cave…
We get inside and irritation briefly crosses her face, replaced by something more… evil…
It’s unsettling to say the least.
She lets go of my hand, steps into the shower, turns around, and strips off her top. I hit my arm on the door.
She’s wiggling out of her shorts when I manage to close it.
I lean against it and shout, “Is this your way of getting back at me for all the years that I’ve been mean to you?”
Suddenly, the door opens and I become painfully aware of two stiff nipples poking at my back, a hand brushing away the hair from my neck, and a pair of lips placing an open-mouth kiss on my nape.
“…Maybe…” Rachel whispers.
I try to suppress the shiver that’s running through my spine and I try to fight back.
“Listen up, Perky Breasts, I’m gonna say this as nicely as I possibly can… go… inside… or I swear to God, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
There. Bitchy.
But Rachel just wraps her arms around my waist and-
Oh, God! She’s completely naked!
“Rachel,” I warn her again. But she shows no intention of moving. I change tactic.
“Rach,” I say tenderly, “You know we’re not ready for this…”
“But,” she hesitates, “what if I no longer want to wait until I’m 25, Quinn?”
“If you stay right where you are, Rach, you won’t be waiting longer than a minute.”
Then, she giggles-damn it, she just giggles!-before releasing me from her hold and closing the door.
And I just want to cry…
We’re not ready. I’m not ready.
Really, I’m not ready… even if the dampness between my legs says otherwise.
How did I go from wanting to make out with her all the time to wanting all of her overnight?
…It’s all I can think about in the shower.
It feels like a dam is about to break between my thighs…
It didn’t feel this way at all that one time I was with Puck. All I can remember is that it hurt and I kept telling him to tell me one more time that I wasn’t fat. He didn’t even see the rest of my body, just whatever it was he found from the waist down.
But will… will Rachel want my body?
…I will surely worship hers…
She obviously isn’t as self-conscious about it as I am about mine.
…I know…
I’m smart and super pretty and most likely considered the hottest girl in school… but when I look in the mirror, like I do now… all I see are nipples that have grown twice in size because of my pregnancy… and stretch marks below my navel… and thighs that are too wide for my waist… a huge butt and, hmm… maybe I should wax again, just in case… it’s one of the many perks of being a Cheeri-oh, God… I just thought of grooming myself down there for Rachel, didn’t I?
Oh, God, this is not good. This is so not good.
I shouldn’t take Rachel’s words seriously. I didn’t when she said she planned on waiting until she’s 25-or when she mentioned it again (“I need to know that when I’m 25, and I’ve won a bunch of Tonys, and I’m ready to have intercourse,” started one of her speeches)-but I also can’t take her seriously now that she said she’s… considering… not waiting.
I mean, I know she won’t be able to resist me at some point. And I’m definitely not willing to wait that long…
Besides, I’m not exactly saving myself for marriage (well, obviously, I didn’t). I just wanted to wait for the right person…
…and Rachel’s here…
So I thought… I thought… maybe when we’re 18 or something (that’s, like, a year from now)… not three months into our relationship… or a few hours after we’ve made it official…
…right?
Ugh! I shouldn’t be thinking about this…
Will I be good at it, though?
Oh, God. Stop. Thinking!
Then again, I should be good at it. I just need to learn h-
Okay, I am not gonna think about that anymore…
But I am really good at everything that I do, so I must be-
Damn it! I am not doing Rachel!
…Yet.
Ugh! Why is the lotion not coming out no matter how hard I squeeze it?! God, is this even the right lotion?! And why isn’t there enough left?! You mean I have to put a different lotion on my legs?! I’m gonna smell funny! Coconut and lavender do not go well together! They are not even the same brand! Why can’t my mom just stick to one lotion and buy an enormous vat of it?!
And where the hell did she put her hair dryer?!
Damn it, I can’t find it!
I can’t even wrap my towel around my body tight enough! It keeps falling off…
Maybe I should just strut back into my room and let it fall off when Rachel comes out of the bathroom and then she’d feel the same way I do.
…Yeah, I should totally do that…
I’m pretty sure she likes my abs (I’m so glad I have them back)… and my hair…
Should I straighten or curl it?
Maybe I should just let it fall naturally…
…Less work.
God, what’s taking Rachel so long?
…Okay, I give up.
Why is everything not going right for me today?
I almost put on my dress backwards and a headband of a different color.
And I’ve been oblivious to the kind of expression I have on my face until Rachel comes out of the bathroom, fully clothed, in a short skirt and a tight blouse.
She takes one look at me and says, “You’re mad at me.”
I must look terrible.
“No, no… I’m not mad at you,” I answer kindly.
She just nods but still looks apologetic.
“What are you looking for?” she asks.
“Lip gloss…”
“Oh, okay…” She starts helping me look for it…
“Here,” she finds it and walks towards me but doesn’t hand it over.
She takes a step closer…
“…Open…”
I part my lips and she’s staring intently as she applies lip gloss on them… beginning with my lower lip… sweeping from the left corner… left to right, left to right… across the middle once, twice… all the way to the right…
She does the same to my upper lip…
And I notice that her breathing becomes as deep and as shaky as mine…
When she’s done, she simply puts the lip gloss on my dresser to her left without turning away from me…
And she presses her lips together with a soft pop…
I do the same… but I can’t help but wet my lips…
She reaches for the corner of my mouth with her thumb…
“…What are you doing to me?” I whisper.
“I’m just… wiping away… the excess…”
I place my hands on her waist, “That’s not… what I meant…”
I move closer until our bodies touch…
“Quinn…”
I slowly wrap my hands around her lower back…
“Yeah…?”
I lean forward.
“You’re… going to be late… for church…”
I rub our noses together…
“Give me… a minute… I just… wanted to… confirm… something…”
“What…?”
…Yeah…
Lip gloss tastes better on her lips…
It takes more than a minute before I find the will to pry myself away from her and head downstairs.
And I’m pouting as we go down because she doesn’t let me carry her bag. But she just ignores my pout, which makes me pout even more.
“Oh, there you are,” my mom says when she sees us.
“Good morning, Judy,” Rachel greets my mom with a shy smile.
“Good morning,” my mom replies politely.
Okay, what is going on with my mom?
Last night, she was so… effusive. And she seemed happy when I finally introduced her to Rachel. In fact, that’s exactly what she said (“I’m so happy to finally meet you, Rachel. I hope Quinnie isn’t outstaying her welcome at your house.”). And I bet it made Santana roll her eyes because she realized she could’ve just asked my mom where I was going after school instead of stalking me every night.
But this morning, my mom isn’t as… warm.
“Did you girls get a good… sleep?” she asks.
“We did,” Rachel chirps, “thank you for having us.”
“You’re welcome,” my mom nods, giving Rachel a tight-lipped smile, then she turns to me. “Ready, dear?”
No, not really…
But I have no choice but to walk towards the door and get into my car and wait until both Rachel and my mom are inside, with my mom sitting in front and Rachel in the back.
It’s so quiet while I’m driving that I thought music would help.
How wrong I was.
Waw, waw, waw, waww… waw-“I’ve been really tryin’ baby…”
Oh, God, this isn’t happening!
“Tryin’ to hold back this feelin’ for so long…”
I mean, seriously?!
“And if you feel… like I feel, baby… come on…”
Marvin-freaking-Gaye?!
“Ohh, come on… Let’s get it on…”
Where is the damn button?!
“Oww, baby… Let’s-”
My mom looks at me curiously and says, “I thought you love Motown, sweet-”
“-No, not right now.”
“Oh-ooh, Rod Stewart,” she exclaims.
“…right up to your neck…”
“Don’t change the station, sweetie.”
“…You’re making me a physical wreck. I’m… talking to you…”
“I love Rod Stewart,” she swoons.
“…Hot legs… in your satin shoes…”
Okay. The universe is out to get me.
“…Hot legs… are you still in school…”
I glance in the rearview mirror.
“…Hot legs you’re making me a fool…”
And Rachel is smirking.
“…I love you, honey!”
I want to groan. But I can’t…
I also can’t get that smirk or that song off my mind all the way to Rachel’s… then, to church… and worst of all… in church.
Imagine turning to God and thinking, Lord, hot legs…
I feel guilty enough as it is… realizing that I only pray harder when I need something… and constantly forgetting to say thanks…
My mom seems to be praying just as hard… and this is the longest I’ve seen her kneeling…
When we finally take a seat again, she just turns to me, holds my hand, and gives me a reassuring smile.
I wonder what it’s for…
But she doesn’t say anything.
She just greets her new friends quickly before we leave the church.
Then she asks me what I want while looking at the menu at Breadstix.
We’re halfway done with our food when she finally speaks to me again.
“Rachel seems like a very nice girl,” she says.
“She’s amazing…”
“I bet she is,” she smiles timidly.
We go back to eating…
“How long have you two been… friends?” she asks.
“Uh, since this summer…”
“Oh,” she takes a sip of water. “It feels like you’ve been friends… for years…”
“We… could’ve been… but I’ve… actually been torturing her since eighth grade… probably even longer,” I admit.
“And yet you still became… friends…?”
“Yes…”
“Well, that is amazing, Quinnie,” she comments before she quickly looks down at her food and goes back to eating.
Okay, my mom’s acting really weird.
I go back to my own food.
After some time, she starts asking again.
“How have Rachel’s… parents… been treating you?”
“Her dads… are great, Mom. They seem to like me a lot.”
“That’s… good.”
“They’re really good people…”
She nods… slowly.
“Are they… a part of… any organization?”
What?
“Uhm… I think they’re very active with the ACLU.”
“Ah, American Civil Liberties Union… That’s a very good organization.”
Wait.
“You’re not thinking of joining, are you?”
I swear my mom is now addicted to joining various organizations after she signed up for Alcoholics Anonymous.
“I simply want to expand my social circle, Quinnie. Is that so bad?”
I sigh, “I guess not.”
We focus on our food again.
I’m taking my last bite when she asks, “Will you be… eating dinner at Rachel’s… tomorrow?”
“Maybe…”
“Oh.”
“If it’s… alright with you, of course…”
“Oh, well, I… would prefer you have dinner at home…”
“Oh.”
I hope I don’t look too disappointed.
“Tell you what,” she says all of a sudden, “why don’t we… invite Rachel over for dinner instead… for tomorrow?”
“…Really?”
Okay, don’t smile so much.
“We’d be… giving back the… kindness… they have shown you,” she says. “And I can… get to know Rachel better. What do you think?”
“That’s a great idea, Mom,” now, I can smile. “I’ll text her…”
I quickly get my phone, type my message, and hit send.
The reply comes just as quickly:
I’ll ask my dads!!! <3
Oh, God, did I just giggle?!
“Uhm… She’s just… asking her dads,” I tell my mom.
“Alright…”
My mom gets the bill.
And it doesn’t take long before Rachel texts again:
They said yes!!! xo
I bite my lower lip to stop myself from giggling again.
“Well?” My mom asks.
“Her dads said yes.”
“Wonderful,” she says. “What does Rachel like to eat?”
“Veggie pizza-”
“-Pizza?”
“Without cheese-they’re fully committed to take-out,” I tell her. “But Rachel knows how to cook. She’s terrific, actually.”
“Ah… But she doesn’t eat cheese-is she lactose intolerant?”
“Oh, no… She’s vegan, mom.”
“Vegan…” My mom looks deep in thought. “I can cook vegan…”
She doesn’t sound convincing.
“It’s mostly tofu I think… and fake meat.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll look it up online,” she says.
“Okay…”
“Shall we?”
She gets to her feet and I follow her out the door.
And I don’t realize how sleepy I am when we get home until I open my eyes and I’m in my room and it’s already dark and my mom is waking me up for dinner.
I text Rachel right away, eat dinner very, very quickly, scamper back to my room, and grab my phone.
She answers after one ring.
(“Hi…”)
“I miss you.”
I can hear the smile in her voice.
(“I miss you…”)
I hope she hears the smile in mine.
“I miss you… God, I love saying that…”
(“I love hearing it… I’ve always believed that ‘I miss you’ is the most sincere thing people can say to one another.”)
Huh.
“More sincere than… I love you…?”
…One-Mississippi, Two-Mississippi-
(“Well… people will still say… I love you… even if they don’t mean it.”)
“True… I’ve said… I love you… before… and didn’t mean it… I didn’t like it one bit.”
(“I totally know what you mean… There was a time… a long time ago… when I almost said… I love you… but I knew I wouldn’t have meant it if I did.”)
“Yeah… That’s why I promised myself that the next time I say… I love you… I would… really mean it.”
(“M-me too…”)
…God…
“I really wish I were with you right now,” I confess.
Then she replies with two words that are now included in my list of most dangerous phrases.
(“Come over…”)
…
“Kbye.”
I really want to end my day right.
And I don’t think there’s a better ending for my day than for me to be sitting in my car, parked behind Michael’s SUV, with Rachel on top of me, still wearing her blouse and skirt from this morning, kissing me, like we’ve been apart for so long.
And I am kissing back with the same hunger and eagerness and haste. And my hands are stroking her calves, moving backward and forward, and backward and forward, then up the back of her thighs…
She gasps.
And my fingertips glide upwards… slowly… beneath the hem of her skirt…
She quivers.
And my mouth shifts to her neck, sucking and nibbling at the flesh below her jaw. And she’s panting in my ear as my hands go up and down, and up and down the back of her thighs, travelling higher and higher each time, until…
There’s a knock on my window.
“…Dad, Daddy!”
I immediately roll down the window and manage to get out the words, Evening, Michael, David, in between huffs.
“I hate to break this lovely demonstration of how to invade someone’s personal space, but Michael needs to get his car out, Quinn.”
“Oh… Okay… I was just… leaving… anyway…”
“Sure you were…”
“Could you give us a minute?” Rachel asks.
“You mean you’re not getting off Quinn’s lap anytime soon?”
“Daddy!”
“Fine, but do yourselves a favor, dears, and wear turtlenecks tomorrow.”
Rachel looks absolutely mortified.
“Oh, my God, Quinn, I’m so sorry! I’m sorry,” she says.
“I have a hickey on my neck?”
She nods, looking sheepish.
I, on the other hand, look smug, “You have one, too.”
She gasps, “I do?”
“Yup.”
“So that was… that was how…”
“Uhuh…”
It’s amazing how her expression changes from dread and awe to pure delight to…
…total seriousness.
“All the same,” she says, “and as amazing as that made me feel, maybe you should put it somewhere hidden next time.”
“What?”
“Somewhere hidden,” she says matter-of-factly. “Like my shoulder.”
“Oh… right.”
And from that stern look, her expression transforms into something completely heartrending.
“Are you really leaving?” she asks.
“I think I should…” But I don’t want to.
She gives me a hug, “I wish our nights were longer…”
“Me too…”
Oh, my goodness! Why didn’t I think of it earlier?!
“Wanna sleepover again, tomorrow night?”
“Yes!” she shouts. “I mean… yes… I’d love to… It’s a brilliant idea.”
I chuckle and kiss her again.
But she suddenly pulls away.
“You haven’t asked your mom yet.”
“I’m sure she’ll say yes. She’s never said no before.”
She beams and kisses me again.
Then, I suddenly pull away.
“I have to ask your dads.”
“Now?”
“While they’re both here…”
“Can we do that later?”
“Rach…”
“Fine,” she sighs in annoyance then opens the car, gets out, and yells, “Dad, Daddy! Quinn and I are heading over there! She’s going to ask you something!”
I follow her out, “Why’d you have to shout?”
“They might also be kissing,” she says.
“Ah…”
Thankfully, they aren’t kissing, just standing really close to each other with the door open.
“What is it, Quinn?” Michael asks.
“Uhm, can Rachel sleep over again tomorrow night… at my house?”
“Are you having a slumber party again, with Santana and Brittany?”
“Uh, no…”
“Well, who else will be there?”
“My… mom…?”
They share a quick look.
“Are you asking permission to sleep with our daughter, Quinn?”
“What? David, no! Not in the figurative sense. Just in the literal sense… of sleeping… side by side… on… my bed… with our clothes on…”
God, I’m blushing furiously!
“Baby, why don’t you ask permission anyway,” Rachel suggests. “My sixth sense is telling me that we will decide to be intimate sooner rather than later, so you might as well-”
“-Baby, you’re not helping.”
“Not helping what?”
I keep my voice down, “Your dads think we’re gonna have… sex… tomorrow.”
“Ah.” She clears her throat and turns to her dads. “Dad, Daddy, Quinn and I will not be having sex tomorrow,” she says with conviction, “but maybe in a week…”
Oh, God!
“…or two…”
The ground can swallow me up now.
“…almost certainly within the next month…”
I can only bow my head.
“Is this true, Quinn?”
“I have already expressed to her my interest regarding this matter, Dad,” Rachel answers.
“Obviously,” Michael scoffs. “But has Quinn?”
I feel grateful just a little.
“Good one, darling,” David comments. “So do you intend to sleep with our daughter, Quinn?”
Then, not so much…
I feel Rachel staring.
If I say no, she would surely be hurt… and I would surely be… lying…
C’mon, Fabray… Pull yourself together.
“I knew… coming into this relationship that I’d be in it for the long haul.”
“So am I,” Rachel says.
“And I’ve realized-recently… that as our relationship grows, we would eventually… want to… make that… complete… physical connection.”
“And we’ll have sex.”
“Baby, please…”
“What?”
“I’m dying here…”
“No, you’re not.”
“Try telling my mom you want to sleep with me.”
“Is that a prerequisite?”
Ugh…
David sniggers.
“You’re right, honey,” he says, looking at Rachel. “She does look cute when she’s embarrassed.”
Okay, what the hell?
Michael rolls his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” he tells me. “It seems that these two have made it a sport to make other people squirm.” He glares at David, who looks slightly ashamed, then says, “Rachel can sleep over.”
“So that’s a… yes?”
Michael sighs, “Yes.”
“Thank you.”
“Wash your hands,” David adds.
“Darling!”
“What?”
Okay, “I should go.”
“Quinn…”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Rach.”
“Baby…?”
I dash to my car and don’t look back but I see Rachel when I roll up my window, standing on the side, looking like a kicked puppy, with her arms wrapped around her waist.
Try ignoring that.
…I can’t.
So I open the door and she takes a few careful steps towards me until we’re standing face to face.
“I’m sorry, Quinn,” she says in earnest. “My… gag… went too far.”
I nod once without saying anything. I know she’s not done yet.
“It’s just that…”
See?
“…I’ve never been so comfortable with anyone before that I don’t really know what is appropriate… or not… But I’ve always felt that I can just be… myself… around you… And you don’t know… but… the way you look at me sometimes… is all it takes to make me feel… special… and chosen and I just… wanted to know what it would be like to feel… desired…”
I can’t stand it, so I hold her close and whisper in her ear.
“I want you.”
She squeezes me tighter.
“And I wanna be with you… when we’re both… ready.”
She nods.
“Okay?”
“Okay…”
“See you tomorrow.”
“I miss you already,” she smiles bashfully.
I smile back, give her a kiss, and get to my car.
So ends my day…
And I am more frustrated than when it started.
The sixth night