But Caroline said nothing. Her mouth was closed now, her lips down-turned, her brows low, her forehead furrowed.
Summoning the last of her bravery, Sydney reached out and curled her hand around the curve of Caroline’s waist.
“Please,” Sydney whispered, every inch of her being aching.
Then she stepped forward, and she brushed her mouth against Caroline’s.
It wasn’t a kiss, not really. It was the sort of grazing of lips that you might give a dying woman.
And that was fitting, because Sydney felt as if she were dying.
She stepped back, searched Caroline’s face.
Still, Caroline didn't speak.
“I’m sorry,” Sydney breathed.
And then she stumbled out of the bedroom, down the hallway, through the living room full of chattering people. Thankfully, her eyes were full of tears, so she couldn’t see their cruel stares as she raced out of Caroline’s apartment, into the hall.
Sydney didn’t stop running until she was in her apartment. Until she’d searched every cupboard, every drawer, searching for someone she knew wasn’t there, searching for someone who might hurt her.
In the end, Sydney curled up tightly on the couch, her dog nosing at her worriedly.
She was shattered.
And she didn't know how to begin to fix something so broken.
Chapter 18
Where do you go when you’re broken? When you’re defeated, beaten down, when there’s no hope within you?
What happens when there’s nothing left?
When you disappear?
Sydney had been here before, of course. She remembered—too well—the night that Samuel had killed himself. She remembered in excruciating detail the night that her parents dropped her off at the Redeemer House, as if they’d taken their garbage to a landfill.
She remembered the night she kissed Laurie. And how that one sweet kiss had unraveled her life.
It had destroyed everything.
And now she was here again. On a different night. After a different kiss.
And it felt as if her whole universe had ceased to exist.
Sydney didn’t have a big universe. It consisted of her apartment; the courtyard where she took Max for walks; the department store where she worked; the grocery store.
It was a small, small amount of square footage. But she had fought for every inch of it, tooth and nail. She’d fought, valiantly, every day since she left the Redeemer House.
Fighting for the will to keep living.
After the Redeemer House was shut down, the doctors had monitored her those first few weeks. They knew she was at risk for suicide. She’d been taught, for a long time, that the fact of her very existence was disgusting, unredeemable. Sydney, as a gay girl, deserved to burn in hell forever.
The brainwashing had made it hard not to loathe herself.
In fact, it was impossible not to. It had been drilled into her head that she was inherently broken, inherently sinful, inherently repugnant. Nothing could wipe away her sin unless she truly repented. Unless she stopped being gay.
And she couldn't stop being gay. It was who she was, as much a part of her as her hands, her heart. Her gayness couldn’t be plucked out like a gray hair. It was innate. It was intrinsic. She couldn't transform into another creature entirely.
Sydney sat on her garbage-picked couch now, curled into a ball, and felt hopeless.
She had tried so hard tonight. She had allowed herself to be uncomfortable, to be vulnerable—and for what?
For why?
It didn’t matter.
Nothing she’d done had mattered.
She’d only succeeded in alienating the person who she had been trying to get closer to.
The one person who mattered more than everything.
Her father had once written a sermon about something called the dark night of the soul. He’d said these dark nights were moments in which you, in distress, question everything you think you know. And he'd claimed that dark nights often brought people to God.
But God had never heard her prayers when she’d begged him to help her. On many of the nights she'd spent at the Redeemer House, when she was desperate, when she didn’t have any other recourse, she had prayed.
And every single one of those prayers had gone unanswered.
Sydney thought she must be experiencing a dark night of the soul now, because there was no other way to describe the depth of her pain. A darkness cloaked her, as black and bottomless as the void. There was a perilous nothingness there, as there had been in the Redeemer House, when she'd often wondered why she was still alive. When she'd often wondered whether she should continue to fight.
As Sydney felt the darkness consuming her, Max touched his cold, wet nose to the back of her hand.
And somehow, though she was lost in an abyss of agony, Sydney felt him.
And she lifted her head.
She stared at her dog.
He thumped his tail once, hopefully, against the couch cushions.
“Oh, buddy,” she whispered. She put her legs straight on the couch, gathering the enormous dog onto her lap. He obliged happily. “Oh, buddy,” she repeated, whispering into his velvet soft ear as her tears began to fall to the top of his head. “What if I messed everything up?”
Max didn't answer, because he couldn't answer—at least, not with words. But he thumped his tail against the back of the couch and licked Sydney’s chin.
Dogs are often poor judges of character. Sydney had read an article once about the fact that serial killers’ dogs love their owners just as much as non-murderers’ dogs love their owners.
To a dog, you’re not just a person: you’re their person. And, therefore, you can do no wrong.
They love you unconditionally.
Which makes dogs magic.
Max's loving her didn’t mean that Sydney was good, or that she made good decisions.
He continued to lick her chin—slowly at first, and then with growing enthusiasm, as if he were on a mission—and Sydney simply let him.
Sydney had received Max from one of the foster caregivers she stayed with briefly after she left the Redeemer House. It was against the rules for a foster kid to have an animal, but Sydney was about to become emancipated, and the caregiver—a short, stern woman named Irene—said she wanted to give her a companion, someone to love, someone who would love her back.
Sydney had never had a dog before Max, and the learning curve was steep as she dealt with a dog who was already full grown, already set in his habits.
But he’d loved her from the start.
And he’d never stopped loving her.
Not even when she had no love for herself.
“Thanks, buddy,” she whispered, hugging him tightly. She closed her eyes and tried to forget the expression Caroline had worn when Sydney told her she loved her. She tried to forget…
But she couldn't forget.
Deep in misery, Sydney sighed, her dog licking her, wagging his tail, sprawled on top of her like a comforting, weighted blanket.
She began to calm down, just a little.
And then someone knocked at the door.
Sydney stiffened. For a horrible moment, she thought Mrs. Williams might have wandered over to shove another Bible into her arms, and to tell her how she was going to burn in hell if she didn’t repent.
Honestly, that wasn’t something Sydney could deal with at the moment. She was strong—survival in the Redeemer House had required immense inner fortitude—but tonight, she was bruised, beaten, and her old wounds were bleeding.
So Sydney decided not to answer the door. She was just going to sit on the couch until that person went away.
But the knock came again, soft but insistent.
And from the other side of the door, she heard a voice: “Sydney?”
It was Caroline.
Automatically, Sydney stood. One moment, she was cradling her dog in her lap, and the next, she was standing beside the
couch with no memory of making the decision to rise.
Caroline...
There was no mistaking that angelic voice, the voice that, honestly, Sydney had believed she might never hear again.
But she was here.
Close.
With only a door between Sydney and her.
There was no debate, no hesitation.
Sydney walked to her door and opened it.
Caroline was awash in shadows. She still wore the dress from the party, though her hair had been drawn up into a messy bun, as if she’d already taken it down for the night and put it back up again. There were soft curls framing her makeup-less face.
Sydney and Caroline stared at one another across the threshold.
“Can I…come in?”
Caroline’s words were weighty.
“Yes.” Sydney’s voice was low, rough. She opened the door wide enough for Caroline to enter. Sydney hadn’t noticed until now, but Caroline wasn’t wearing her usual high heels. Instead, her pretty feet were encased in velvet slippers.
Sydney closed the door, wrapped her arms around herself, as if to hold together her broken pieces.
She wasn’t prepared for this.
But her body was. Because when Caroline moved past her, her perfume beckoning, like a finger, a sleeping part of Sydney seemed to wake up, and take over.
There are ancient instincts inside of us, as old as time itself. Every part of the universe is always reaching for something else. Galaxies grow; stars explode; asteroids crash to earth.
Caroline gazed at Sydney, her pink lips parted. “Did you mean what you said?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
A pause.
“Every word?”
“Yes.”
“Are you…” Caroline drew in a deep, shaky breath. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Sydney.” Caroline whispered the syllables as if they were music notes, part of a song that she wanted, very much, to sing. Her eyes darkened, and the empty space was heavy with a gravity that only heavenly bodies possess.
Stars hold planets in their orbits, and Caroline was like a star as she took a tentative step closer, and Sydney took a step closer to her. Gravity bound them, tightening, pulling, the space between them vanishing as Sydney reached out to place a hand, again, on Caroline’s waist.
“Are you sure?” Caroline repeated.
Sydney nodded, her heart racing against itself. “Are you?”
The next moment felt drawn out, endless.
Caroline's blue eyes roved Sydney’s face, their expression a complicated mixture of softness, curiosity, and concern. Caroline pressed a hand to Sydney’s cheek, and then her breath hitched in her throat as Sydney took her hand and touched her lips to her palm, kissing it, breathing in the scent of her skin.
Just breathing.
“Yes,” Caroline whispered.
Yes.
Chapter 19
It was a procession, a dance, as they made their way to the bedroom. They walked softly, their attention only on the places where their bodies touched. For Sydney, the only parts of her that existed were the few square inches of skin upon her hand that brushed against Caroline.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t have to.
Their bodies spoke for them.
Sydney’s bedroom was dark, the only window heavily shrouded so she could get sleep when she needed it. The light from her little bedside lamp was low, soft, and Sydney turned it on, her hands shaking.
Max had followed them, and he was pat on the head gently, the door shut in his face (with affection).
It was only Sydney and Caroline in the small room.
Sydney’s hands were shaking, yes, her mouth dry, her whole being fraught with tension. What were they doing? Were they really doing this? It had been Sydney who’d cocked her head toward the bedroom, Sydney who took Caroline’s hand, who walked her down the hallway. Sydney, who had begun this.
Caroline stood in the center of the room, her head to the side, her lips wet and glittering in the soft light. Her eyes contained the universe—they were full of light and dark at the same time, and her expression…
If Sydney died tomorrow or lived until the end of time, she would never forget it.
That, too, contained the universe. Caroline’s face seemed to be the center of it, or—at least—this was true for Sydney.
Sydney stood for a long moment, simply taking Caroline in. Caroline, too, surveyed the girl. They watched one another, but there was no uncertainty in their gazes. It had begun, this…
And it would be finished.
Sydney stepped forward, leaving her fear at the threshold behind her. Caroline was too beautiful, and this moment was too fleeting to waste.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t nervous, of course. Her anxiety beat waves through her body as she reached out, as she curled her hands gently, but with conviction, at Caroline’s hips. But when Caroline put her arms about Sydney’s neck, when she drew the girl to her gently, gently…Sydney melted against her.
Sydney leaned forward at the hips, feeling her hips connect with Caroline’s. Their stomachs touched, their breasts. Sydney was aware, highly aware, of every single millimeter of skin that connected her to Caroline, that touched Caroline.
In her arms, Caroline felt nothing like Laurie. They’d embraced once, years ago, Laurie and her, but those moments were carved into the bedrock of Sydney’s mind for all of time. So she took those memories out carefully, held them up to the present moment, compared the two.
No, Caroline was nothing like Laurie. Laurie had had a lankish figure, with small curves, her body still uncertain what it would become. Her body was still growing, changing…evolving. It hadn’t known yet what it wanted to be.
Caroline was not like this.
Caroline’s body had been lived in, had been loved. There was the pattern of years painted upon it, the careful curves that had been sculpted from a life well lived. The lines at the corners of Caroline’s mouth spoke for her, told of laughter and smiles so bright, they could illuminate the world. The lines along the sides of Caroline’s eyes told stories, so many stories. But, then there were stories in every line and curve of Caroline, and Sydney found that she wanted to trace every inch of her with her fingertips, if only to learn them.
So Caroline stood in the circle of Sydney’s arms and she searched the girl’s face.
“Why?” she whispered.
Sydney watched her carefully.
“Why…me?” asked Caroline. “Why do you love me?”
Sydney took a deep breath, let it out. Her shoulders rose and fell in the softest of shrugs.
How could she explain it?
Now that they were here, together, wrapped up in one another, how could Sydney possibly tell her the story of that truth?
She searched for and discarded any number of things she could say. Finally, in frustration at herself, she led Caroline to the bedside. She gestured down to the neatly made comforter, and Caroline sat on the edge of the bed, gazing up at Sydney’s face as Sydney stood still.
Until Sydney knelt, knelt before the beautiful woman, perched on the edge of her bed.
Sydney reached out, placed her hands wonderingly upon Caroline’s thighs. Her hands pressed down, down upon the softness of Caroline’s skirts. Caroline’s warmth rose through the fabric into Sydney’s palms, and Sydney’s breathing quickened, her blood roaring through her like a lioness rampant.
“Because…” Sydney’s voice was thick, low, and it shook a little as she spoke the only thing she could think of: “you’re an angel.”
Caroline’s eyes glittered in the half-light.
“I know it doesn’t make sense. I…I don’t know if I believe things happen for a reason anymore,” whispered Sydney. “But I heard you sing, and I felt peace. I met you, and I felt something good. I saw you and I…I knew. There is something in you so beautiful that I just…I can’t even understand it.” Sydney raised her gaze to
Caroline’s. “But I want to.”
Caroline reached up, and with warm, soft palms, she cupped Sydney’s face in her hands. “I felt something, too, when I first saw you. But I didn’t allow myself to feel it. I was terrified. You’re not supposed to want something like…” She shook her head, her eyes wet. “Something like you.”
Sydney watched her, silent, in wonder.
“And then, we just kept running into each other, interacting, and—every time—it was harder and harder to ignore what I was feeling.”
Sydney couldn’t believe her ears. “You…you wanted me too?”
“You’re not supposed to—”
“Screw supposed to. You wanted me too?”
“How could I not?” Caroline shrugged helplessly. “I saw you, and I knew you were lovely. I just felt it…right here.” Caroline reached up, and she tapped her breastbone, over her heart. “I’ve…I’ve never felt anything like that. But, Sydney, why would you want me? I’m…I’m so much ol—”
“You are so much. Everything you are is so much,” Sydney whispered, voice fast now, passion burning her words at the edges. “Too much. Too beautiful. Too lovely. But you’re here, now, somehow, an angel fallen from heaven.”
Caroline’s mouth turned up at the corners, and she shook her head a little. “Angel? Hardly.”
“I know one when I see one,” said Sydney, voice solemn.
Caroline searched her face. “What if you’re wrong?” she asked. Her voice broke a little at the end. “What if this…” She waved her hand between them, “what if it’s just a simple infatuation that you’re feeling? A crush? I have feelings for you, but you just…maybe you don’t know what you want.” The last part was so gentle, but it still hurt.
Sydney took a deep breath.
“And I think I do know,” she answered.
“What is it that you want, Sydney?” Caroline asked, voice low, eyes searching.
Sydney’s heart pounded through every vessel Sydney possessed. But she glanced down at Caroline’s lap, at the skirt spread over her legs so prettily. Sydney swallowed and slowly, so slowly, she traced her fingers to the edge of that skirt and slowly, so slowly, pushed it up until the edge of Caroline’s thigh appeared, cream-colored skin so soft and warm, so perfumed and smelling of the sweetness of Caroline, all at once.
The Longing Page 18