Love is a Place Ch. 02: The Solution

Dearest Reader

This is Part 2. So you really should read Part 1 (Love is a place: The Puzzle) first. Honestly, trust me on this. Oh, there's also spoilers for The Third Date in here. So, maybe read that first too.

Err, there's also no sex in this one. Sorry. I know it's filed under Lesbian Sex and I stand by that. I can quote precedent (Bi-Cathy's excellent "I'd go gay for you" series). But, yes, if you're after a bit of wham-bam-thankyou-ma'ams maybe go elsewhere. I'd recommend Christa_p or Yesok1.

Still with me? Ok, great, thanks! It's appreciated. All characters are over 18. Shout out to KES for her feedback and guidance.

Happy reading!

Love T

Love is a place (Part 2): The Solution

"Oh wow, Samantha! You look amazing!" I gulp and bite my tongue before I say any more.

"Thank you Sarah! You look lovely too." Samantha says. She is really trying to return the small talk, bless her!

"No, I feel underdressed now. I didn't realise we were dressing up. Let me at least change my jacket," I reply. Shit, it's hard to tear my eyes away from her cleavage.

I switch my jacket for a coat. I'm feeling flushed. What the fuck was Amanda playing at? Dressing Samantha up like that? She isn't a fucking doll! I'm going to have to have words with her later, but not tonight.

I mean, I think to myself as I put on some lipstick to buy time while I get a grip on myself, I'm pleased that Amanda and the others are making more of an effort with Samantha. I was thrilled to hear how they had stuck up for her with that shit-head Tristan. But they need to remember that Samantha is... well... Samantha. She won't grasp what she looks like or the signals she's sending out with her hair up like that or make up on. Fuck she looks good. And we're just about to go to a concert that will be half full of lesbians. It'll be hell if Samantha gets hit on: she won't cope.

"Ok, babes," I call, "let's go."

Samantha clings to me the whole way down Park St, her eyes wide, barely saying a thing. The poor girl must be terrified. This is so far out of her comfort zone. I'm so proud she's trying, and for me nonetheless, but she doesn't need to do this. She doesn't need to do things for me. She never needs to do anything for me. I'll never be able to undo what I did. It doesn't matter that she doesn't remember. I do.

I can never hurt her or take advantage of her again.

We get to the Lantern and it's rammed. Full of women. Not surprising; Ms Nadine's song "Morning" is the theme tune for that hit Lesbian romance "A Ghost of a Chance" on Netflix. Plus she was a hit at Bristol Pride last summer. Keith finds our seats and I get Samantha sitting opposite the door so she's got an easy exit if it all gets too much. She's staring at me, eyes glazed, and won't let go of my hand. With this many people here, she must be bricking it. I know she struggles with some of the larger lectures and they've nothing on this noisy crowd.

Still, as soon as the music starts, I'm taken away by it. I love Ms Nadine's voice; it's gorgeous, smooth, soulful and yet can reach achingly high. The band is amazing, as usual, and she's added a cellist slash backing vocalist who looks familiar, but I can't place her. With her playing, "Morning" sounds just like the recording, hypnotic and yearning, and we're all lost. Samantha is still holding my hand during songs, but she is breaking off to applaud after each one, so I guess she's into it too.

"Here's a new one for you all. It's for somebody very special," Ms Nadine announces, before a haunting duet between the trumpeter and cellist begins.

At first they are at odds, spiralling around each other's melodies, then they synchronise as Ms Nadine begins to sing.

I thought we would stop at fond

Never dare to go beyond

Couldn't better our friendship

Until you danced across my lips

Then you filled me with heat

As you slipped under the sheet.

The rest of the band burst in, driving up the tempo. Friends to lovers is the theme. I sneak a glance at the gorgeous green eyed brunette clutching my hand. Her lips are parted, her eyes are shining, she's staring at me. It makes me flush. God, she's so gorgeous.

Argh! Fuck! I need to get those ideas out of my head. It can never happen. Stop it Sarah, get a grip.

You light a desire in me

That nothing can put out

I tremble at the knee

I need to scream it out

Shit, this is a good song. But it's like she's reading me and my darkest secrets. Fucking killing me softly here.

It doesn't get any easier. Ms Nadine always includes a cover in her set.

"Hey, anyone else got tickets for Jaime Wyatt next month? If not, get them, trust. This is one of her songs, "Love is a place" and it's so good I almost want to break my never-play-the-same-cover-twice rule, for real. Enjoy."

It's one of my favourites too.

She's freed me from a lifetime of pain

And I've been down and out but never fallen

Love is a place I've never known

I'd like to go and would you take me there?

As good as it is, I'm pleased when it's over. I couldn't help but sneak glances at Samantha during it and imagine taking her there.

Thankfully, Ms. Nadine launches straight into "We can't stand for this", which gets an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd, but is basically the least romantic song ever. I shove those wrong feelings down, down into my pit of shame and try to lose myself again in the music.

But Samantha is holding my hand.

Fuck.

Finally, after an encore, it's over. It was bloody brilliant. I just wish Samantha wasn't looking as good as she does. These last few weeks, with her coming to meet me from work and walking me home, I've been stupid. I've been allowing myself to daydream about what it would be like for us to actually be a couple. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It can't happen. She can barely hug somebody. She's never kissed anyone. The last time, in fact, the only time anyone touched her sexually she went apeshit and didn't talk for three days. And I'm meant to look out for her, not letch over her.

I need to get laid. It's been way too long.

"Hi there!" somebody says to me, "did you enjoy it?" Oh, it's Kate from work.

"Kate! Hi! Yes, it was great! You?" I reply.

"Yeah, fantastic! Did you recognise Priya up there?"

"No! Priya? Your girlfriend?" Oh, so that's where I knew the cellist from.

"Yeah! The cellist? First full performance with the band! So proud of her!"

"She was brilliant. They all were. Please tell her."

"I will! I'm going to head backstage and see her now, but lovely to see you. You're a beautiful couple, by the way!"

"Wait, what do you mean?" but she's gone. Fuck, did she think Samantha and I are a couple? Is that what we look like? Shit, this is bad. Was that what Amanda was up to dolling Samantha up like this? Trying to play Cupid? Crap. At least it will have all gone over Samantha's head.

Nonetheless, I try to put a bit of distance between us as we walk back home. I don't want the others getting the wrong idea. Not that it works - Amanda has the cheek to wink at me and say "have fun" as she and Louise head into Yia Mass.

Fuck. As if I could.

Samantha seems to be in a dream world. I think the whole evening was just too much for her. She's over stimulated. Silent and turned in on herself.

We are nearly home, wandering through the Regency terraces of lower Clifton, when she finally speaks for practically the first time since we left the Lantern.

"Sarah, I really enjoyed tonight." Well, could have fooled me! Fooling herself too if you ask me; she was so scared she couldn't let go of me.

"Great! I'm pleased. I enjoyed it too." I keep my voice soft, the voice I've trained myself to use with her.

"Do you want to know why?" Her voice sounds like the way I imagine a fairy speaks. Ethereal, with odd intonations. I love it. I can't help myself.

"Why?"

"Because I was with you," she croons. If I didn't know better I'd think she was drunk.

"Oh Samantha, that's so sweet." I can't help but add affection to my reply. Not that she really gets emotional subtext. "I enjoyed being with you too. Love you beautiful." Shit, stupid mouth. I shouldn't have said that.

"I love you too." Yeah, well I walked into that piece of heart ache. She knows the words but she doesn't know the meaning. Twenty years old and the strongest positive emotion she can actually feel is satisfaction. I can't bring myself to reply.

Thankfully, we're soon home. I usher her up the two flights of stairs, into our poky flat and help her take off her makeup. She giggles like a small child. She's leaning so close to me and she's so beautiful and yet so innocent. It would be so easy and so wrong to kiss her. I bite my cheek and stay in the bathroom when she goes next door into our room. No way I want to risk catching her getting changed.

I sit on the toilet for a while, trying to get my emotions under control. If it was anyone else, I'd assume they were flirting with me. But she isn't. She's just being Samantha. She's overstimulated. Emotionally, she's a child, a pre-teen, in an adult's body. Sex is a word she doesn't understand. I can remember her aged 15, rocking back and forth with her hands over her ears during Biology class as the reproductive system was explained. And that was straight sex. The idea of girl-on-girl sex would leave her catatonic. I mean, she knows the rest of us went to Gay Pride last summer, but I don't think she understood what it was. I've certainly never shared with her that I'm bi or that I had a girlfriend briefly last year. She reacted badly enough to me staying the night with James while I was seeing him.

I take a deep breath and get changed into my pjs.

She's sitting up on the bed when I come in. I hang up my clothes.

As I turn around she blindsides me: "Sarah?" her voice is pained, nervous, quizzical, "Do you want to have sex with me?" She's practically grimacing.

Fuck! Shit! She knows! Oh crap, no, this is a disaster. I need to cover this... but it's too late, I can see that, somehow, she's seen the truth of my desire in my face and she's folding, crashing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need to cover up, row this back, deny, deny, deny.

"Samantha, no, I don't. Oh God! Did I make you think that I fancied you? Oh Samantha, sorry, I was just admiring your clothes. And ignore Kate, she's just somebody I work with, I don't know why she thought we were a couple. I'd never do that to you, I know you'd never want sex..." I'm babbling, but I can see it's no use. She's folded, she's crashed, she's gone. Her hands are over her ears and she's in the foetal position, groaning. Fuck, this is Michael Bloody Burns all over again. Shit, shit, shit. Is it too late to get a valium into her? No, she'd never swallow it now.

I mindlessly repeat to her that she's safe, she's safe, she's safe, that nobody is going to touch her, nobody would touch her. Fuck! We were doing so well, sharing hugs, holding hands. I can't bear it. I'm crying. This is going to set her back so far.

I'm suddenly so tired.

I'm so disgusted with myself. How could I dare to desire this vulnerable, precious creature? How dare I want to stain her innocence? What kind of fucking false friend, fucking snake in the grass am I? I ease the covers over her. I nearly climb in next to her, but stop myself. That's the last fucking thing she needs: the woman she is worried wants to sexually abuse her getting into her bed.

Well, Lydia's out for the night. I'll sleep in her room. And then.... Fuck! And then? Who fucking knows? We've got another 6 months on the lease here. Shit. I should never have agreed to this, I should have insisted we keep looking for another flat. I shouldn't have been so weak and given into my desires to share her space.

I whisper to her that'll all be ok. Then turn out the light.

Sobbing, I make my way to Lydia's room on the other side of the flat. Hers is a single - no wonder she and Keith are hardly ever here. I text her to tell her. Her reply is almost immediate:

Why? What happened? Is Samantha ok? Are you ok?

Yeah we're fine. I'll tell you tomorrow.

Like hell I will. Like I'm going to confess that I'm some predatory dyke lusting over my best friend and that she's finally worked it out and flipped. As if I'll admit to that. I mean, it was my idea we share the double - it'll seem like this was my goal all along. And I'm not sure it wasn't.

I want to sleep but can't. I feel dead. Like a carcass. My heart is breaking and I don't deserve to feel bad for myself. I feel bad for Samantha instead. This is going to knock her so far back. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I text Amanda, asking her to look in on Samantha when she gets back. If, as I suspect, she's been meddling, well she can reap what she's sown. I ignore her reply. And the three following texts. I reply without looking:

I'll tell you tomorrow.

My phone keeps beeping. I put it on silent.

My mind races. What am I going to do?

I need to find somewhere else to live. Thank God the term ends tomorrow. Samantha is due to go home on Saturday. Maybe if I stay here and work as many extra shifts as I can find, get some temp work for the day times, I can save some money. I've managed not to go overdrawn, but that isn't going to last. Worst case scenario, I drop down to part time and take an extra year to finish so I can work more. My parents can't contribute shit and my loans only just cover tuition; it's Samantha's parents who pay the rent here. Not that she realises that little arrangement. Another little stab to my conscience. They've been amazing to me, surrogate parents almost, and this is how I repay them? Lusting over and then breaking their precious daughter. Some fucking friend I am.

I wipe my face. I don't deserve to feel sorry for myself, to cry for myself.

Yeah, I'll stay here over Christmas and look for somewhere else to live. I won't go home. It'll be shit anyway, and being here will give me an easy way to avoid Samantha and the exquisite combination of guilt and heartache.

Maybe I should take a valium?

I run and grab one from the locked cabinet in the kitchen, then make it back just before Amanda and Louise come in. I turn off Lydia's light, but bless them, they go straight to Samantha's room. I shouldn't be too hard on them. They've only known her for 18 months. They've never seen her bad. They just don't know.

I'll need to clear out early. I set my phone alarm for 6am. I pop the pill.

Oblivion eventually takes me.

* * *

Despite being as groggy as a dog on dope, I manage to make it out of the flat at 6:30. I've "borrowed" some of Lydia's clothes, and drag myself to the 24 hour computer room. Amazingly, some people are actually here: some look like they've been up all night working on last minute essays. Deadline day today I guess. Mine are all in. That's a small mercy I suppose.

I fire off a couple of emails to some temp agencies, giving my availability over Christmas. I also email the Uni accommodation office, on the off chance there's a spare room in Halls somewhere. Unlikely, but people do drop out. I Google au pair jobs - maybe I can get free room and board in return for lodgings - but there's nothing local enough. I run a few more searches, but I realise I've been putting off the inevitable.

I need to let Samantha's parents know. They were meant to come and pick her up on Sunday, but it might be better if they came and got her today.

I really don't want to speak to Glen and Rachael. The fact that I've let them down as much as I've betrayed Samantha just piles more crushing weights on my darkened heart.

I chicken out and send them both a message on the Whatsapp group:

Hi.

I'm so, so sorry. I've messed up really badly. Samantha was doing fine, but last night she crashed. You should probably come and get her. It's my fault and if I'm around her it will probably just make things worse. I'm so sorry. She's safe, and our other flatmates Amanda and Louise are looking after her. I'll send you their contacts.

Sorry for letting you down.

I forward Louise and Amanda's contacts.

Then, I message Amanda and Louise to let them know.

I watch to check the blue ticks on the message to Samantha's parents. It's nearly 8. They should be up.

Yep, two blue ticks.

I put my phone on silent and shove it in my bag. I don't want to punish myself further by reading their replies.

I wipe my nose and realise I'm crying.

As much to distract myself from the epic fuck-up that is my life as having any real hope, I start job hunting.

* * *

Two nearly sleepless days later, after crashing on Mike's sofa for the last two nights, I sneak home. Nobody is here. They're gone for Christmas. She's gone. I'm both gutted and relieved. I fling myself on our bed... her bed, I correct myself, and inhale the smell of her, citrus and musk. I miss her so badly. Her funny intonation. The way she greets me when I come in. Her big puppy dog eyes. The way she makes me food. Her innocent trust. Her single-mindedness. Her smell. The feel of her skin. The press of her body against me when she gives me those big hugs.

Arghh! Get a grip Sarah!

God, I'm so stupid. I want to slap myself.

I've ignored phone calls and messages from everyone. Amanda. Lydia. Louise. Samantha's parents. Stuart. Even Dr Alison. God! I can't deal with their scolding, their shock, their disgust. I've got enough for myself thanks.

I messaged my mum, letting her know I wouldn't be able to make it back for Christmas. I doubt she'll care, but I wanted to let her know I was alive. If Rachael and Glen have called her, she'll pass that on at least.

Kate's away, so I've been able to pick up her shift and a couple more at the Lounge. Sainsbury's have offered me some shelf-stacking. I've got a lead on a potential room in St Paul's. It sounds well dodgy, but it's cheap.

This Christmas is going to suck. Next year is going to suck.

I cry in the shower. Then I cry into the pillow. Sleep doesn't come for hours and, when it does, it brings no peace at all.

* * *

Christmas Eve, I'm coming back from grabbing a pint of milk when I see them up ahead. Samantha and her parents. They are letting themselves into the flat.

She must have forgotten something. I retreat and hide behind a parked van, where I can see their car.

40 minutes later it's still parked there. I'm frozen.

I'm due on shift in 2 hours anyway. Might as well go in early.

Mike lets me make myself some late breakfast in the kitchen. He's a good guy. It's busy, so he lets me start work an hour early.

It's during a lull when the phone rings. A new girl I don't know well, Molly I think, answers, then she's looking around, the handset held to her shoulder.

"Errr... you're Sarah, right?"

I start waving my hands and making the cut getsure. She looks at me quizzically.

"Tell them I'm not here. Take a number," I hiss.

"Oh, okay," she lifts the receiver. "Hi? Sorry, she's not here. Can I take a number and have her call you? Uh huh. Ok. Got it. Your name was...?"

"Thanks," I mouth as she passes me the paper. I ignore her raised eyebrow inquiry.

Ugh, it was Rachael, Samantha's mum. Phew, glad I avoided that. I really didn't want to be yelled at while at work. Even worse, she might have turned up here. Like I want all my colleagues to know what a disgusting cow I am.

The rest of the day predictably sucks. Surrounded by groups of friends celebrating Christmas Eve. Nobody here for me. Nobody at home. I go through the motions like a reanimated corpse.

I feel like getting blind drunk. I don't. Can't afford to lose the job. Every time somebody buys me a drink I charge them for a vodka tonic, pour myself a soda water and pocket the difference. I'm going to need the cash.