On the Simplicity of Words

I swallowed, cleared my throat. I stared across the table at her, tried to find strength to talk in anything but short phrases.

"I work in Biotech. Back near home. Since just after Uni. Stats and Biochemistry. I'm doing ok. Ok career, some friends."

"But no lover? Nobody to keep you warm at night?"

"No."

"Oh, Rosie. Your heart is too big to be empty."

"It's not empty."

"You can't spend your life never letting anyone else in."

"You don't get to make that choice for me," I breathed, low and fierce, and she flushed pink and looked away.

"Tell me more," she whispered. She sipped her wine.

"I've got a small flat. It looks out onto the... common where we used to hunt butterflies. But they've put a football field... there where the pond used to be. So that... sucks."

"Oh. That's a shame. I loved that pond. I had a lot of good memories from it. We did lots there."

"I still collect blackberries from the woods behind it. The bluebells still grow under the old oak. There's an owl in the tree again."

Her knuckles had whitened on the wineglass. "That's nice. The owl."

"Nowadays I spend most evenings at the hockey club. I can't stand being... alone with my thoughts, so I stalk my team members for practice. Or even just to be around people. It helps. Oh, I forgot, I broke some ribs. You can still see the dent in the bones."

"How," she breathed.

"Hockey stick," I said, with a quiet laugh, and she winced in sympathy. "Don't worry, They had to carry her off the pitch on a stretcher."

She snorted her wine, and gave me a pale shade of a grin. "You always were a terror. I always felt so sorry for the girls on the opposing team."

"I carry a lot of... rage these days," I said, softly. "It's the only place I can let it out. When I'm running so hard that I feel like my heart is going to burst. That's all that makes all... all of this... bearable."

"My music," she sighed. "My music is where I go when I can't hide from it any more. I never forgave my parents for taking me away. I'd rather have stayed - even if I was back a year, just being able to see you between classes or after school. They made the worst decision they could have with the best of intentions."

"They were drained. You'd been sick for so long. Your mum... I've never seen anything as horrible as the way she was crying when she came to say... goodbye."

"It was all for nothing, anyway. They lasted six months before dad cheated on her with some fucking slag at work."

"I'm... I'm so sorry."

"It's life, Rose. The sunlight that shone so brightly into yours cast black shadows in mine. I'm just glad something good came of it in the end."

"What good has come from it?"

"This."

She squeezed my hand.

"Seeing you," she continued. "Knowing that you're ok. Knowing that... that despite all the time that's passed, you still love me the way you used to."

"I never stopped," I whispered. "That was the problem. I have never been able to let go. I could never get you out of my head. No matter what I did. No matter what happened. You were always... always there."

Her eyes were dark and sad.

"Oh God," I said, as I breathed deep and slow. "This has been a hell of a day. I'd forgotten what it was to feel like this."

She reached out to gently brush my cheek. "You always did do things to extremes, Rose."

Her phone rang, and I sat up and scrubbed my eyes, grateful for the brief interruption. She glared at it, then turned it over so she couldn't see the screen.

"Yeah, I'm in trouble," she breathed. "That's the last one. He always phones three times when he's furious. Then he goes to sulk and hate-fuck one of his manwhores. And then he'll stew for a bit and let me have it with both barrels first thing on Monday."

"I'm sorry."

"Why? None of this is your fault."

"If I hadn't come..."

"Then by now I'd be publicly known as the future Mrs Saunders. And the snide remarks would increase tenfold."

"I prefer Lea Fergusson," I said softly.

And she smiled her old just-for-me smile at that.

"So do I," she said.

.:.

I dried myself with the threadbare towel and stared at my face in the mirror. My cheeks and nose were still horribly red. I looked like a complete wreck. But the shower had at least washed the worst of the damage off of me. I was raw and bloodied, but still standing.

I slipped back into my tights and pulled on the hoodie Lea had found for me. I folded the rest of my clothes for the morning trip back to the hotel.

Lea was sitting on her old, stained couch, staring at nothing. She came back to herself as I appeared and gave me a smile. "Better?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Water fixes lots. I took to swimming. The Uni has a heated pool, it was the only exercise I could do that didn't hurt too much."

"I feel so guilty that you had to go through that alone."

"Don't. It's my own fault. I could have reached out at any time. Too proud, and far too bitter. But it's done. Come and sit here with me."

I eased myself down onto the couch; she waited until I was settled, then shifted and lay down beside me with her head on my lap. The feeling of her weight on me made me shiver and I took a shaky breath as I tried to calm myself. I studied the line of her jaw, the oh-so-familiar curves of her eye and ear. I hesitantly reached out to run my fingers through her hair like I'd done all those years ago.

The scar from her craniotomy was less prominent now, but still just as visceral and upsetting as it had always been. The idea of some person drilling and delving into my Lea's brain had never felt acceptable - no matter how necessary it has been to save her life. I traced the line of it, then shuddered, breathing a little quiet "no" of abjuration.

"It still bugs you, doesn't it," she said, softly. She lay still, composed and angelic, eyes closed, breathing gently in and out.

"Yes," I whispered. "It's still my Most Terrible Thing."

"I'm glad I couldn't see it."

"Yes. So am I. And I'm glad your hair stayed blonde and you didn't go grey around it."

"Ditto. My eyebrows went darker when they grew back, though."

"It suits you. More shadow, more definition. They frame your eyes so wonderfully now."

"I used to love this. Even when I was in agony, this calmed and soothed me. Your fingers, just touching me like this. You were always the person that could make me feel better."

"You centred me."

She pulled her legs up tighter against her, and sighed again. "I wish you were here for longer."

"So do I."

"Thank you for being brave. Thank you for finding me."

I stroked her cheek; she made a little noise and caught my hand to hold it in place.

"What will you do now?" I said.

"Grovel."

"I hate that."

"So do I. But... I have no choice."

I stared down at her as she clenched her jaw for a breath, for two.

"Pass me that blanket, please,"she whispered. "I'm freezing. There's no meat left on my bones any more."

I helped her cover herself, and she relaxed back against me. I felt the tenseness slowly leave her as I started playing with her hair again; she reached up and curled her hand possessively over my knee.

"Why haven't you put any pictures up, Lea?"

"It just never seemed important," she said. "I only come here to hide and to sleep. All the rest of my time I'm in the department or... doing the things he needs me to. No rest for the wicked."

"I'm the wicked one."

"True," she whispered, smiling. "I'm pure as fresh snow."

"Now that's a fib."

"I'm not talking about my mind," she said.

"Uh huh."

I shifted my calves up under my bum, and rearranged her slightly so she was more comfortable.

She reached for and caught my hand again, then rolled slightly onto her back so she could look up at me. "So serious, so intense," she whispered, as she played with my fingers in another throwback habit. "What are you thinking that's got you frowning like that?"

"It's my resting bitch face."

She snorted. "As if. Oh well, tell that lie to anyone who will believe you. I know better."

"What happened? Where was it, this time?"

"My breast."

"Oh for fuck sakes. You have the worst luck."

"Luckily I was paranoid. I saw my Oncologist the moment I suspected something. And the plastic surgeon really was good; there's hardly a scar. It was just a small mass, so not much damage done. I didn't need anything drastic this time. I'd show you but that would be weird."

"Um. Yeah. It would be."

"I'm teasing, Rosie."

"Sorry."

She laughed softly. "Your buttons always were fun to push. God, I've missed you. Move to Bristol, you whore."

I snorted, knowing she was only half joking. "Ask me nicely and I might just."

"Don't be silly. It sounds like you're happily settled back there. Maybe... maybe I'll come visit sometime."

"I'd... I'd like that."

She stared up at me. "Keep the candle burning for me, then," she whispered. She yawned. "God. I'm shattered."

"Yeah."

"Rose? We've got a slight issue. The spare bed isn't made. And I don't really have much in the way of bedding, I'm sorry. Um. You could always just share with me? It's a double, so not enormous, but we'll be warm at least."

"Do you still snore?"

"'fraid so."

"Oh well. Okay, but I can't promise I won't elbow you if it gets too bad."

She shifted off me and I stood. I took her hand and helped her up, and she led me through the tiny apartment to the master bedroom in the back.

Here, finally, was a splash of her personality - the typical indigos and burgundies she'd loved as a girl written large with more mature fabrics, a music stand and scores, and a window that looked out onto a bit of greenery in the gardens below.

She stripped nude without a hint of self-consciousness, then pulled a plain cream cotton nightie over her head for a veneer of modesty. The lines of her ribs were painfully obvious under her skin; she was much too thin and I did not approve at all. But I held my silence as she clambered onto her bed.

She glanced up at me once she'd settled. "I promise that I won't bite, Rose," she said.

She watched as I shrugged out of the hoodie. "Don't you want a vest or something to hide those under?" she asked, with a strange little smile.

"No. This is how I sleep. But I'll spare you and keep the tights on. Sorry, I'm a slut."

"Don't be. Sorry, I mean," she added, with a soft laugh.

She lay down and rolled away, waiting. I crawled in behind her, pulled the sheet and cheap blankets up over us, and then shifted in against her to share my warmth with her, trying very hard to ignore the fact that only a thin layer of cotton separated her body from mine.

It was not at all easy.

"You filled out very nicely," was all she said, with a shiver in her voice.

I sighed, pushed any thoughts of responding away. "Good night, Lea," I whispered. I tucked my face in against her shoulder, feeling strangely confused.

She reached over herself, found my hand, and pulled it around her, placing it in between her breasts and holding it there, over her heart.

"Sweet dreams, my shadow," she whispered back.

.:.

I woke; puzzled for a moment by the strange noises, the unfamiliar bedding, the utterly foreign sound of somebody's quiet, slow breathing. Then I remembered where I was.

I cracked open a bleary eye and tried to focus.

She lay silent, watching me. As I shifted, she sighed; she lifted her hand and gently stroked it down along my cheek. "Sorry," she breathed. "I think I might have woken you."

"What time is it," I groaned.

"Still early. Seven or so."

"Mm. I need to be at the hotel by ten to check out."

She shifted. I closed my eyes again as she touched her forehead to mine.

"Sorry," I whispered.

"It's ok. It's life. We all have places we have to be."

I slipped my hand around the back of her head, holding hers to mine. She made a small noise, turned her head slightly, trying to get closer. "I wish you could stay."

"So do I. How long have you been awake?"

"An hour or so." She pulled back, rolled slightly away from me.

"You should have woken me, Lea."

"No. I was content just watching you. It brought me peace. Right. Busses are infrequent on Sundays, so we'll need to make sure we're ready to leave by nine. There's a stop just down the road, the bus should be there by about ten past."

"I should have booked an extra night. But work..."

She smiled gently. "This was enough. I could survive another eight years off this alone, Rose."

Then she rolled in and hugged me again; I took a slow, deep breath of her scent and held it as long as I could.

"So. Breakfast? I have muesli and a bit of fruit."

"Ok." I didn't move.

She laughed softly. "You look enthusiastic."

"I'm tired," I grumped. "Hung over. Emotionally drained. And warm. But mostly tired."

"Probably adrenaline more than the wine."

"Mm. Probably."

I groaned and rolled onto my back. pulling my knees up to me to ease my hamstrings as I always did first thing. The blankets fell away from me, and Lea made a small noise. I glanced at her; she flushed.

"Sorry," she breathed. "Didn't mean to go strange on you. You just have lovely breasts."

"What? Oh," I said. "Yeah, I forgot they were poking out."

"Do you want a vest or a shirt?"

"Seems a little pointless at this stage," I said.

"Well. The boys must love them."

"I'm sure they do, but none have ever dared to admit it to my face. And anyway, it's not like any of them have ever got to see my breasts. Not like this."

"Um... what?"

"Oh. Um. I..."

"You're... gay?"

"Yes," I said softly, watching her, curious how she'd respond. "I'm... strictly girls-only when I... need anything," I added, flushing as I stared at her widening eyes. "Always have been, I think. I certainly don't feel even the vaguest interest in... being with a man. There's no complications with a woman, no risks. Nothing that can go wrong or hurt me. And, anyway... it's ephemeral. Come once, maybe twice, move on..."

She flushed a deeper crimson. "I... just assumed..."

"To be fair, many do. They soon learn their mistake, though."

"Well," she said. "The girls must love you, then. Lucky girls," she added, softly.

"Those few that get to, yes. I'm... picky."

"I'd never have guessed," she said. She sighed, then winced as she swung her legs off the bed. "Ow. Joints are sore. So. Muesli?"

"Yes, please."

"I'll start getting it ready while you make yourself decent."

She gave me a long, inscrutable look as she left me, and I lay still for a moment, wishing beyond wishing that I did not need to leave.

Or that I could take her with me.

.:.

She clenched my hand tightly in hers as we loitered in front of the gates to the platform. My train was due to leave in a few minutes, but neither of us could bear to sacrifice a moment that we didn't need to. I could see she was close to tears, and my own heart felt like it had turned to lead in my breast.

"When will I see you again?" she whispered.

I brushed her hair back from her eyes and tried to smile for her. "As soon as I can."

"Don't let it be eight years again," she said, with a funny little shudder.

"Now that I know where you are, you are going to get absolutely sick of me."

"Never," she whispered. "Never, ever, ever."

The public address system crackled to life, its strange stilted cadence breaking in on us.

"Your attention please. The train on platform... seven... is the eleven... forty three... Great Western Service to... London Paddington. This train is formed of... eight coaches..."

"You've got to go," she said, gulping. She clasped me to her, and made a small noise as I wrapped my arms around her.

"Lea..." I gasped, a hair's width from breaking.

She pulled free and stepped back, shaking her head.

"No. Stop. Whatever you were going to say, don't. You came. Come sooner next time," she added, blinking back her tears.

She stared at me, then suddenly lunged forward once more, bracketing my cheeks in her slender hands so that she could pull me to her and kiss me - no peck, no Continental double-mwa of affection - this was a lover's farewell, full of raw passion and longing and hurt and loss that left me shaking, breathless, and so horribly unsettled by the immediate way my body responded to her.

I moaned in regret when she released me and I stared up at her, panting slightly, not fully able to process what she'd done. What... we'd done.

"Go. You need to leave. Now," she added, raw and broken. "I've got to go. I can't say goodbye like this. Not here, not like this. Not to you. Be safe. I love you."

She turned and stumbled away.

And, fool that I was, I let her go.

But the taste of her, the feel of her against me. The raw, bitter sense of being cheated when she'd pulled away...

Those I wrapped in tissue paper and silk and spiderwebs and moonbeams and clung to like a holy relic as I spent the rest of the day in my bleak, grey Shadowlands.

I doubt I'd have been able to give a coherent account of how I got home.

The only thing I could remember was the message I sent to let her know I was safe, the small single x she responded with.

The only emotion that I could even process was that I was most emphatically not okay.

.:.

It was Tuesday evening. I hunched at the battered bar in the hockey club, slowly pickling myself with my third glass of truly awful pinot noir. Around me lapped the raucous conversation of club members; but I had only the companionship of my bubble of solitude.

Shane braved it. The club's gregarious fixer, schmoozer, organiser, matchmaker and social linchpin - and one of my few close friends - he alone could see and interpret my posture as the excruciation it was.

"Rosie," he greeted me as he slipped in beside me.

"Hey."

"You ok, love?"

"No."

"Want to talk?"

"No."

"Go on."

"No."

"You'll feel better."

"Won't."

"Girl trouble?"

"Mm," I whispered, hunching down.

"Oh dear. Don't tell me you met one you want to hold on to?"

Shane knew me better than most, but even he flinched back from the haunted look I gave him before I turned away.

"Oh," he said, softly. "Oh shit. That face tells a story if ever one did. Dave?"

"Yeah, mate," said our barkeep.

"Beer please. And keep them coming."

"Sure thing, Shane."

He leaned in towards me. "I've known you five years. Talk to me."

"No." I shuddered, bit back a sob.

"Rosie, what's going on? I've never seen you like this."

And the last of my willpower burned away in the gentleness of his compassion.

"My best friend. My best friend from school. The one I lost. The one... that... that I haven't seen for years."

"This was... Lea, right?"

"I finally found her. I... tracked her down this weekend. It's... she's... it's hell, Shane. She's living in hell. And... and..."

"Hey. Hey there. Come here."

He put his arm around me and I fell in against him, hiding my face against his shoulder.

Silence blossomed outwards like ripples on a millpond, stilling conversations, leaving people staring in disbelief.

The natural order of the Universe had just been undone.

Rose was crying.

Rose was crying.

"Everyone, fuck off. Rose needs space," Shane said, calmly and levelly over my muffled sobs.

I heard chairs scrape back as people moved away.

"Sorry," I whispered. I scrubbed at my face, furious with myself for my weakness. "Sorry. Shouldn't have come here. Now I'm fucking up everyone else's evening too."

"You don't have anywhere else, Rose. We know that. We're your family here. We'll always be here for you."

I made some stupid little noise, and he pulled me in against him and kissed my forehead with his rough stubbly lips. "We've got you, love," he said. "Ok?"

"Ok," I whispered. "Sorry."

"So what are you going to do? About your friend? About Lea?"