Here’s the next two chapters of Falling For Raine. Chapter 4 is short one, so I added Chapter 5!
I hope you enjoy them. As always, thank you so super-much for your support! (And comments!)
Chapter 4. Savannah
Tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
Tap, tap, tap, tappity-tap… TAP.
That’s the sound of my index finger against the steering wheel of my jeep. Yeah, I tap my finger like a mad woman when I’m anxious, worried, or angry and right now I’m all three. Worried about what Erin’s gonna walk into. Anxious if I’m doing the right thing. Angry that anyone should be in this situation in the first place. I wanted to go with Erin—I really did. Watching her get out and walk toward her apartment… fuck. She looked like she was going to face a firing squad.
Okay, okay, that’s my super drama-queen side showing. But I hate it. I hate people facing these things alone. And, worse, I feel responsible—like I’m sending her into the lion’s den all by herself.
I know I’m not. Erin’s a big girl. No, she’s a grown woman with a whole decade on me. She knows what to do in this fucked-up situation. Better than I do.
Still, I itch and my finger taps. I can’t help it.
It’s not your fight, Vanna. My mom’s voice.
Thanks, Mom. And thank god you stopped calling me Vanna. Man, I hate that.
I don’t really like that she’s right, either, even though I know she is.
You can’t right all the world’s wrongs by yourself.
Yeah, right again, Mom. But how about a couple? Just, y’know, now and then?
I grip the steering wheel hard to stop the tapping and whistle out a long, slow breath. I said something like that to her the one time I got into big trouble in the 6th Grade. It was my first time in a regular school and I… let’s just say I didn’t fit in. One day at lunch, this bully—his name was Steve Caponio; weird how I still remember that—and two of his friends were picking on the other new kid at the school. I don’t remember his name, but he was skinny and wore glasses and had “science nerd” written all over him.
They’d cornered him at the back of the school’s athletics field and were pushing him and spitting on him. He wasn’t doing a thing to stop them, just standing there with his head down. Okay, maybe that was smart? He was outnumbered three to one and he couldn’t have taken on any one of them. They weren’t actually punching him or anything, so I guess he was just hoping they’d get bored and leave him alone?
I don’t know. All I know is that I wasn’t smart. I saw red. So I punched Steve. If you must know, I sucker punched him. From behind. In the head.
He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, and when he hit the ground, maybe I started kicking him and screaming all the bad words I knew at him and his friends. And maybe his friends and the other kid just stood there, totally freaked—actually, I think they all backed away—while I screamed and kicked the ever-loving crap out of Steve Caponio, the biggest bully in our school.
Of course, teachers came running and broke us up and I was sent home and suspended until they could find another school for me to go to. That was mostly for my own good, they said, and they were probably right. Steve was a lot bigger than me and he had a lot of friends, and I’m sure they didn’t appreciate him getting beaten up by a girl. I doubt I did much damage because I wasn’t a strong kid, just a really angry one who caught him off guard. He probably just fell down from the shock and was too weirded out to get up. I never heard, obviously—they swept the whole thing under the rug to keep from looking bad. Mom sat me down and lectured me about how violence never solves anything and Dad didn’t say much because he didn’t like to get involved in that sort of thing and I got grounded for like… ever.
So I guess violence didn’t solve anything but it did get me into a new school that, even though it was a boarding school two hours away in another state, was a lot better and—better yet—had an awesome gymnastics program. My parents enrolled me to “positively redirect my energies” and I loved it. I also met my best friend, Amie—the first best friend I’d ever had—who was in gymnastics with me. None of which would’ve happened if I’d held my freak back when I saw three bullies abusing a kid who couldn’t defend himself.
Mixed messages, much?
My finger twitches on the steering wheel and I stiffen my whole body to keep from tapping again. Checking the time on the dash, I see it’s only been ten minutes. That’s hardly any time at all. It feels like so much longer, though. Like hours.
Is Erin okay? She’d leave and come back down if things got really bad, wouldn’t she? They’re probably talking. They could talk for hours. It seems like they have a lot to talk about.
Of course, if it was me, there wouldn’t be any talking. Not beyond “pack your shit.”
But it’s not me. It’s Erin and if Erin is anything, she’s sweet. She’s a peacemaker where I used to be more of a troublemaker. And they’re engaged. You don’t just throw that away over a fight.
Do you?
This is why I don’t do relationships—one of several reasons, actually. Because I would—throw it away, that is. I don’t have the kind of patience you need—not the patience I can tell Erin does. She’s a good person. She tries. She’s good and patient and thoughtful and totally hot…
I should’ve stopped at thoughtful. Being totally hot is not what this is about. This is about not leaving a woman, who might be vulnerable, stranded here with a raging psycho bitch.
You’re not Joan of Arc, Mother Teresa and Florence Nightingale rolled into one.
That’s true, I’m not.
Erin is capable. She can take care of herself.
I’m sure she can, but can’t we all use a little help at times?
That’s not the point. Walking into the middle of this won’t help. You don’t understand the situation.
Yeah… But I have to admit, a cell phone would be really handy right now.
Maybe so. But that’s not an option.
True. I’ll just have to wait.
Wait for how long?
I sigh and let go of the steering wheel, forcing myself to relax against the back of the seat.
For as long as it takes…
Chapter 5. Erin
Six flights of stairs are a lot. Growing up in Colorado, snowboarding was my winter workout and I mountain biked in summer but since I moved here, it’s had to be the gym and with my job lately, it hasn’t even been that. So I’m not in the shape I’d like to be. After five flights, my thighs are burning and I’m regretting my aversion to the elevator. Just another questionable choice, but what else is new?
I push myself up the last flight, wincing at every step. Shouldering open the heavy steel door at the top, I limp down the long hall to our corner apartment. We’d been lucky to get it but I’m in no mood to appreciate that tonight. I’m wondering what will happen when I see Maggie. I’d spend the night in the guest room, but then what? Would we try to work through this?
If not, who’d move out? Would Maggie fight me on that, if it came to it? Probably. But I love this apartment and I’m not going to give it up that easily. While I can’t afford it on my current salary, I do have enough savings to tide me over until the IPO happens. If it happens.
You little hypocrite.
Shut it, I warn myself. So I’m a hypocrite. I’m hardly alone in that. That’s an issue for future-Erin.
Because there’s no way we’ll work this out. I need to let that thought go. Maggie isn’t about to change and I’m not going to give in to her bullshit anymore. No way.
Stick to that…
Reaching our door, I unlock the doorknob and the deadbolt, and push. And push harder. The door won’t budge.
What the fuck? Had Maggie thrown the internal security bolt out of habit? Or did she think I wasn’t coming home? I hadn’t been able to call. I knock, hoping she hasn’t passed out.
Nothing.
I knock harder and wait a minute.
Nothing.
I pound on the door with my fist and wait another minute.
Still nothing.
Fuck. She must be passed out. I’ll have to call and hope she’ll wake up. It has to be after 11:00 by now, but the Silver Cloud hotel is only a five-minute walk away and if the front desk is still manned, hopefully they’ll let me use a phone. Otherwise, I’m in for a long night in the hallway.
I startle at the sound of a door opening behind me. Twisting around, I see Mrs. Jenkins poking her head out. Mrs. Jenkins is the building’s anomaly. People her age live in the ’burbs, in quaint houses near their middle-aged children in their own homes while their grandkids live near downtown in apartments, condos or townhouses. But she was here when we moved in and why that was, or how she managed it, no one knew. I suspect she’s related to the owners but that’s only speculation. She keeps tabs on the building’s goings-on, hands out oatmeal-raisin cookies at random intervals, and has any number of (undoubtedly illegal) cats.
She blinks at me through her trifocals, shakes her gray curls, and I feel awful for waking her up.
“Oh, it’s you, dear,” she says in her half-deaf voice.
“Yes.” I pronounce it distinctly, hoping she has her earpiece in. I must’ve made a horrible racket if she’d heard me without it. “I’m really sorry to disturb you. Somehow I got locked out.”
“Yes.” She nods. “It’s so strange. Magdalene came home hours ago. I thought she was with you.”
My brows shoot up. “With me?”
“Yes.” A frown deepens her wrinkles. “I was speaking with my Jeffrey when I heard her in the hall. She was being rather… loud. And didn’t sound… quite herself. As if perhaps she’d had a few, if you must know.” The frown intensifies. “I never like to interfere, as you well know, but it was… concerning, so I opened my door to see if all was well. I saw her going into your apartment with another woman. I thought it must be you, and—you know, if she was… in a way—you had control of it. Neither of them noticed me, so I went back inside and thought no more of it.”
“Oh…” I shoot a look at my door with Maggie and some other woman behind it. No wonder she isn’t answering. I don’t feel much, though. The shock hasn’t quite hit me yet.
“I’m terribly sorry, dear.” Mrs. Jenkins looks dejected at being the bearer of such awful news. “Should you like to come in? I know it’s not much but I have tea. Othello! Inside, you little scamp!” This last to the grey tabby that’s nosing at the partly open door. She nudges him back with a slippered foot.
“Ah…” I try to work some moisture into my sticky dry mouth. Yeah, there’s the shock setting in. I swipe my tongue across my lips. “Um… Thank you. But I’ll… I’ll have to pass. I’m going to… I need to go.”
Go where is the question but I’ll figure that out later. Right now, I just need to go away. What’s left of my rational mind also knows if I so much as set foot in Mrs. Jenkins’ apartment, my head will probably explode from all the cat hair. In fact, my sinuses are rebelling from just seeing Othello and I feel a migraine barreling down on me like a freight train.
Her head bobs. “I understand, dearie. Again, I’m so terribly sorry.”
“Thank… th—thank…” I can’t get the rest of the words out as my vision blurs and I bolt for the bank of elevators at the far end of the hall.
♦ ♦ ♦
As the elevator takes me down to the garage level, my world abruptly splinters and I slide to the floor. My head falls back against the wall as tears pour down my cheeks and drip onto my blouse. Hiccups tear through my body as the walls close in, cutting me off from all existence. I’m crying snot rivers and wipe my nose mechanically on a sleeve.
Eewww… That was so gross.
The elevator stops and dings. The doors swish open and I stare into the harsh, fluorescent-lit garage.
Just stare.
The doors close. Tears run. My sinuses run. Sobs hack like knives at my chest and throat. My ribs scream. I scrub at my face, sniff and cough so hard I gag. I want to curl up—curl up on this gross elevator floor and die. Just fucking die.
I have no idea why I’m reacting like this—crying like I’m utterly broken, smashed, destroyed. I don’t love Maggie. I used to but now it’s obvious that died… I dunno when. It was dead when I proposed and even before that. So she’s cheating on me. Six months of chilly evenings and no sex makes perfect sense now. Accusing me of cheating makes perfect sense now. In her delusional mind, seeing me hug Morgan absolves her. And who knew? Maybe she’s been cheating all along? Maybe it’s been going on ever since she became so insanely jealous? Or even before?
Who knows and who gives a fuck?
Seriously. Who gives a flying fuck! She’s toxic, manipulative, a taker. She’s never loved me as a person, or even as a pet. She loved me like a glutton loves his lunch.
So why am I crying? Why am I so broken, so gutted?
I’m not even jealous. I’ve lost nothing because that’s all it was—nothing. There was nothing. We had nothing. And I was…
Nothing. Maggie had made me…
No.
No. No. No.
I’m not nothing.
I’m … I don’t know what I am. But I’m not nothing.
I stagger to my feet and push the button to reopen the elevator doors. They hiss aside. I wipe my cheeks on my snot-covered sleeve again.
So disgusting…
I step out into the garage. My legs feel like jelly. My knees wobble. I have to call someone—call Casey. I can’t come back here. I just need to make it to Silver Cloud. My feet are killing me in the heels but I don’t have a choice. It’s not like I can go barefoot. I just need to get there. If the front desk isn’t manned, I’ll sit in the lobby until somebody comes by.
A janitor. Anyone.
If I can get into the lobby. Maybe it would be locked? I’ve never been there.
Fuck it. It doesn’t matter. I’ll wait outside by the entrance if I have to. Luckily, Ruston is safe. Safe enough, anyway. I can wait until I see somebody. Then call Casey. She’ll come. She lives close to an hour away but she’ll come.
Shit. I hope she’s alone tonight. If she has company… and she usually has company…
God, I hope she doesn’t have company. I’d feel like such a shit…
On autopilot, I hit the button to activate the garage gate.
What the actual fuck? I was so focused on getting ahold of Casey, I wasn’t even aware I’d walked through the entire garage. If I don’t get a grip, I could do something incredibly stupid like blundering into the street—
Headlights flash, blinding me. My heart crashes into my ribs as I throw an arm in front of my face.
Oh god—I’d done it… I’ve stepped right in front of—
I scream. I feel it rip from my throat but hear nothing. Lurching to the side, it’s like I’m moving through molasses. My heel catches, I trip and fall and… something catches me. No, arms catch me. They wrap around me and I fall against something warm and strong and solid and soft…
Soft, soft, so soft…
I breathe in the scent of fresh-baked bread and spices and everything good and safe and wonderful and…
“Erin. Erin! Erin!” a voice whisper-chants in my ear. A scared voice. A beautiful voice. “What happened? What’s wrong? Erin…”
“Savannah?” I choke out her name.
“Yes, it’s me.” The arms tighten, hugging me deeper into the warmth, the solidity, the softness. The wonderfulness. “What happened? What happened to you?”
“I’m okay,” I gurgle and push weakly against her chest. The world comes back together in bits and pieces. “I’m okay. I’m really sorry. It’s okay.”
Her arms hold me firm. “No, you’re not. You’re not okay. You’re coming with me.”
I look up into her face, her eyes—her wide frightened eyes. She should never have frightened eyes. “No. Really. I’ll call my friend—”
Her look hardens. “Yes, really. You’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you. No way. You can call your friend later.”
“You don’t have to.”
She gives me a sharp little shake. “I do have to. Honestly, you’re a mess.”
I have to laugh. It bubbles up out of my chest and I can do absolutely nothing to stop it. “Okay. Alright. You win. I’m a mess.”
“That’s exactly right. You’re totally a mess.” She unwraps her arms, takes my hand in a firm grip and starts towing me toward her jeep. “Now, let’s go.”
“Okay. Yes.” I need to take a little skip to keep up with her. “Let’s go.”
When we get to her jeep, Savannah opens the passenger’s door and helps me in. She doesn’t seem to want to let go of my hand and I’m entirely with her on that. Her grip is tethering me, almost literally keeping me in one piece. She’d come out of nowhere like a guardian angel appearing in a burst of light at the exact moment I needed her most—which the rational observer in the peanut gallery of my mind yells is the most ridiculous thought I’ve ever had. But ridiculous or not, she’s here.
So get stuffed, rational observer.
But how—and especially why—she’s here; that’s a different question.
Savannah dashes around the front of the jeep, hops in and our hands are reaching across the center console even before her ass hits the cracked vinyl of the driver’s seat. Our fingers intertwine on contact and I give her a fierce squeeze. She returns it.
“Th-thank you. I can’t believe you waited.”
Her mouth rounds in disbelief. “You thought I’d just leave? Your phone is dead. How could I leave until I knew things were… at least sorta okay?”
She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in there is. She even sounds a teeny bit insulted I’d question it.
I get shy. “I mean… we just met. You hardly know me.”
“Huh?” Her brow puckers and she puts her other hand over mine, clasping it in both of hers. “I know tons of stuff about you.”
“Uhhh… like what?” I immediately feel I shouldn’t have asked—it’s sounds too much like fishing. But I can’t get my head around this whole situation. Like the very best and worst of human nature are clashing with me in the middle. So disorienting.
Savannah doesn’t look like she minds though. From her answer, she took my question seriously. “Lessee, I know you leave great tips. I know you’re willing to try new things. I know you like to share and not keep good stuff to yourself. I know you don’t shy away from hard situations, even when they’re really awful and not at all your fault. I know you’d spend the night doing something really dumb rather than impose on somebody else. And I know you try to see the good in people, even when they’re serious assholes who don’t deserve it.”
“Oh…” That’s not me she’s talking about. She has it all wrong. I do those things because I’m too afraid not to do them. It’s not courage or generosity—not like her courage and generosity. It’s just—
“And I know you’re thinking I’m full of shit right now. And that you don’t deserve any of that but you do. Trust me, it’s true. Stop being so hard on yourself. You should be nice to you.”
I don’t know what to say and probably gape like a goldfish. Mindreading’s just not fair!
Then her expression softens and her eyes get that twinkle back. “I also know you’re a super-smart tech girl and totally hot.”
Huh? Whoa! What? Go back! Did she say I was hot? Is she high?
That smile with the dimple I’m coming to love spreads slowly across her face like a sunrise. “Oh, c’mon. You know you’re hot. You know that woman”—she sneers the word—“treated you like arm candy. You know she got off on being with the smartest, hottest girl in the room and making sure everyone knew you were going home with her. She used you to make her look good.”
Maggie used me to make her look good? Uh… no! I don’t know any such thing. I know the opposite: Maggie is the tall, statuesque, golden-haired goddess and I’m the ugly duckling who trailed along in her shadow, lucky to be there.
I choke up, my eyes brimming with wetness again. “That’s… none of that’s true.”
Savannah’s eyes hold mine, her expression turning serious. She lifts a hand to cup my cheek just as these new tears fall. “Fuck… She really did a number on you, didn’t she?”
I swallow hard and put my hand over hers, trapping the warmth of her palm against my cheek. I have no words and my shoulders shift in a restless kind of shrug that’s as close as I can get to admitting she’s right.
“Okay.” She slips her hand away and I almost whimper. “Let’s get you home.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The drive to Savannah’s place took only a few minutes, but by the time we got there and parked, I no longer felt like a total wreck. A wreck, yes, but one that can move under her own power and isn’t in danger of falling apart at the slightest pressure. The turmoil inside has subsided to a level that feels more manageable, the walls are no longer closing in, and most of all, I’m not alone.
I don’t know what it is about Savannah but she radiates a calmness that leaches the stress out of me, like just her presence sucks up emotional toxins. How a person could do that, I have no idea, but if you could distill and distribute it, it would change the world.
Boy, am I being melodramatic, but I don’t know how else to think about it. If I’m being crazy over-the-top, I figure I have an excuse, though. In college, I went to a lecture on trauma by a clinical psychologist who explained that when a male lobster suffers a catastrophic defeat, its brain actually dissolves and regrows into a new brain that’s rewired to adapt to its changed circumstances. I guess lobsters can do without a brain during this process (I recall having some snarky thoughts about a few of my classmates in that regard), but that aside, she said a similar sort of thing happens to us as a result of severe trauma and we shouldn’t get so down on ourselves because of it.
I think she also talked about not making important life choices for six months after suffering a bad breakup or serious loss, but I’m hazy on that part. Whatever it is, maybe that’s what my meltdown in the elevator was all about? Maybe Savannah has a point about me being nicer to me? That’s easy to say. How’d you go about it though?
My brain can’t deal with that just now. It’s got its hands full reminding my legs how to do what they’re supposed to be doing. Savannah guides me to her building, one of those that give this neighborhood its quirky “urban village” feel. The top floor has been refurbished into loft apartments and, like my building, there are shops on the ground floor; businesses that have often been in the same family for generations.
It suits what I know about Savannah—her taste in clothes, no phone and a car old enough to have manual door locks and crank-up windows—and I instantly like it. I do hope it has an elevator though. My aching thighs will not tolerate another two flights of stairs.
Yes, it has an elevator, thank the lord. An old rattly elevator with a bulb that flickers ominously, adding to the slightly ramshackle industrial-chic atmosphere, but it gets us to the top floor well enough. Savannah leads me to her apartment, the last one on the street side of the building, and as she unlocks the door, she suddenly turns and looks at me.
“I guess I shoulda told you before. I have a roommate.” She sounds sheepish. “I don’t think she’ll be home tonight, but if she is, don’t worry. She’s cool.”
“That’s fine.” I mean it. Not only has she done so incredibly much for me it isn’t funny, I cannot even imagine a worse roommate than Maggie anymore. Anyone Savannah lived with has to be a vast improvement.
“Good.” She blows out a relieved breath and lets us in. “Thanks.”
After she flips on the lights, I look around. There’s a smallish living room with bookshelves down one wall and sliding-glass doors at the end, leading to a rooftop patio. A mismatched retro-looking couch and chair (or maybe they really are that old?) take up the space under the window opposite the bookshelves. A few photographs decorate the walls with more on the shelves; all still-lifes and black and white architectural shots. Asian-style vases full of dried flower arrangements fill some of the shelves’ niches, and one large vase with a tall spray of pussy willows sits in a corner. I don’t see a TV.
On the right, there’s a small but neat kitchen with a smaller eating area occupied by a white 70’s style round tulip-base table and four of those metal-framed retro dinette chairs with light-blue padded vinyl seats. To the left is a hall that must lead to the bedrooms. Overall, it’s very compact, eclectic, homey, lived in, comfortable. Even cozy. No sign of the roommate either.
I focus on the couch. It’ll do. My energy levels started to crash as soon as we got here and I’m honestly in no shape to call Casey, especially with her being an hour away. It’s far too late to find a hotel. I know once I lie down, I’d be out in a minute. Except I do have to pee. Pretty badly at this point.
“Bathroom’s at the end of the hall,” Savannah says helpfully. We girls have a sense about these things.
I trot down the hall, utterly grateful. After I pee, my bladder thanking me, I wash my hands and face, and see how I look in the mirror. Death warmed over would be better and my snot-covered sleeve is so disgusting. But there’s not much I can do about that, so after rubbing it a minute with a wad of toilet paper that does next to nothing, I go back out and find Savannah at the fridge. A sheet of lilac paper, stuck to the door by a koala-shaped magnet, has a note scrawled on it in big loopy handwriting:
Heya Bestie!
Gone clubbing!
C’ya!—Me
With a big heart after the “Me”.
I have to smile, thinking of my college days. Savannah notices and smiles back.
“Yeah, she’s enthusiastic.”
“You seem like really good friends?”
“We are.” She peers back into the fridge. “Can I get you anything?”
“No, I’m fine. Kinda pooped to tell the truth.” I’m certain my smile has gone a bit wan.
“Let’s get you set up then.” Savannah’s acting like there was never any doubt I was stating. To her, there probably wasn’t. She closes the fridge without grabbing anything. “I’ll find you something to sleep in. Is that alright? We’re about the same size.”
“That’s totally fine. Thanks.” Walking over to the couch, I sit down. Yeah, it feels comfy enough.
Savannah heads for the bedrooms and I stretch out, feeling around for the best position. Soon she’s back with some clothes over her arm.
“I hope these will work? If you’d like a shower, go ahead. I put out a spare toothbrush for you and there’s fresh towels…” She stops, a quizzical frown on her face.
I look up from where I’m reclining. “What?”
“You’re not sleeping here. You take my bed. I’ll take the couch.”
I blink, rapid fire. “I can’t take your bed.”
She holds out the clothes: a large, slouchy T-shirt with Celtic designs on it, cotton sleep shorts and white french-cut underwear decorated with little pandas. Too cute. “You absolutely can.”
Sitting up, I take them and frown back at her. “I certainly can’t.”
She sets her fists on her hips. “Well, you’re not sleeping on a couch after the day you had. So there.”
Now, it’s my turn. “Well, I’m not swiping your bed after everything you’ve done for me. So there.”
She bursts into giggles. “It appears we’re at an impasse.”
I can no longer keep a straight face. “Yes, so it seems.”
“Fine. There’s only one solution, then. We’ll share the bed.”
Gulp! I walked right into this one. Okay. It’s fine. We’re adults. We can stay in our lanes.
“What’sa matter?” she snickers. “Afraid I’ll snore?”
She has me. I pinch my lips together and mock-glare. “Guess I’ll have to risk it.”
“Awesome.” She has the good grace not to do a little victory dance, but I can tell she wants to.
“I’ll take that shower now.” Frankly, I’m not sure I can make it through a shower, but I will not sleep next to her in my current state. Completely out of the question…
“Great! I’ll join you.”
WHAT?! My organs all do wildcat backflips. Each and every one, in perfect unison even.
My reaction doubles her over, laughing. “Figuratively. There’s two bathrooms.”
Squinting at her, I shake my head. “Oh, you’re mean.”
“So I’ve been told. See you in bed. Mine’s the first bedroom.” She flounces off.
Pressing a hand to my palpitating heart, I walk to the safe bathroom where I get undressed, fold my clothes neatly and start the taps. Brushing my teeth while the water heats up, I can hear the other shower going and fight to not imagine a naked Savannah in it with warm sudsy water sluicing down her slick skin.
No, not seeing it flow over all those amazing curves and into those sweet clefts and creases.
Certainly not wondering how it would feel to explore all those tender, secret places.
Not at all. Not even a little. Not one tiny…
Alright. Total fail.
This is so not good. I’m so tired my legs are wobbly again. Rinsing my mouth, I tie my hair up and step under the spray. My muscles relax almost instantly and I have to brace myself against a wall to stay upright. Grabbing a wash cloth, I scrub until dizziness threatens to overtake me.
Just shutting off the taps is an effort. Toweling myself dry and getting into the clothes Savannah lent me is a greater one and by the time I leave the bathroom, I’m stumbling. I make it to Savannah’s room, just barely. It’s dim, lit only by a pink Himalayan salt lamp on her dresser, but I can see she’s already in bed and has my side turned down. I slide in and pull up the covers, my eyelids weighing about a zillion tons each. Letting them close, I roll on my side and marvel that I’m in bed with a woman I just met and it doesn’t feel weird at all.
Which is totally weird.
“G’night, Savannah.” A whisper so soft, I wonder if she’ll hear it.
“Sleep sweet, Erin.” Apparently, she did.
Strange feelings tickle all around my heart. So weird, not weird…
I don’t understand any of this. But maybe I shouldn’t try too hard just yet…