Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Her index finger stroked the edge of her phone whilst she contemplated how, or even if, she should respond.
She imagined Morgan being unable to sleep, tossing and turning in her hotel bed whilst she herself had been tossing and turning in her own—the bed that used to be theirs.
When they had been together, her girlfriend had never had trouble sleeping, and it was something Lee had always been envious of.
If parts of Morgan had rubbed off on Lee, now, like her love for all things criminal, then perhaps parts of Lee had also rubbed off on Morgan.
Her insomnia wasn’t her finest trait, and yet, it appeared that it was a trait of hers that had become newly shared regardless.
Sinking further into her pillow, as if the comfort could protect her, she sighed, and began typing.
When her phone vibrated just seconds after hitting send, she found herself surprised to find another text from Morgan. She wondered at that moment if her ex-girlfriend had managed to get any sleep at all.
M 6:11am: perfect. i have to drive my mom to work this morning because her car is at the shop, but i’ll come by afterwards?
Lee H 6:12am: I’ll be here.
She had once compared waiting for Morgan Finch to be not unlike waiting for a bus in the pouring rain.
Today it felt like waiting for a doctor's appointment.
She was in a waiting room of her own making, lounging into the couch cushions as she tried and failed to read the book she had been trying and failing to read for a little over a month now.
Her eyes hovered over the text, if it even was text at that point, seeming more and more like hieroglyphics the longer her eyes focused.
She admitted defeat approximately twenty minutes after attempting the task, placing the book down upon the coffee table as she leaned back against the arm of the couch, propping her legs up as her left arm fell slack against the side of it.
The waiting room inside her mind suddenly became a therapist's office as she lay across the couch pondering all of her life choices up until that very moment.
Lee Holmes didn’t have a time machine, and yet it certainly felt like she had stepped into one, given the fact that she had just arranged an in-person discussion with Morgan Finch over text message.
She still felt the butterflies inside her stomach from five years prior like a phantom limb, and she could feel them more than ever that very morning; their wings like dozens of tiny heartbeats inside of her.
When the familiar sound of knuckles tapping against the door came into play, the tiny heartbeats became all of her, her entire body pulsing with anxiety.
As she went to stand, her legs almost gave out from underneath her as her vision began to blur.
All of the blood inside of her rushed to her face all at once, to her ears where it tapped against them like a speaker, like knuckles tapping against a door.
Propping a hand on top of the armrest, she took a few deep breaths and reminded herself that the woman at the door was the same woman she had known and loved for five years.
The same woman she had made pancakes for, the same woman that had shared her bed, her heart, and her body.
Facing Morgan Finch was like facing herself in the mirror—it was only scary if she let it be.
And so, as she made her way into the hallway on her less-than-steady legs, taking less-than-certain steps, she breathed out a few more times, and pulled back the front door.
The face that greeted her was the same face that stepped into this apartment every day after work.
The same face that had given her flowers on bad days, and kisses on good ones.
And yet, despite it being the same face, the features seemed more toned down, not sunken, but lowered, like a lightbulb that needed changing.
“Come in,” Lee offered, feeling incredibly peculiar about the entire ordeal. Inviting Morgan into an apartment they had shared together only a few days ago felt like offering someone a birthday card and saying thank you instead of waiting to hear it said by the recipient.
Her now ex-girlfriend stepped over the threshold with caution, slowly moving into the apartment with gentle precision.
It made Lee’s heart sink, and her extremities feel heavy.
The world saw Morgan Finch as nothing more than a predator, and yet predators didn’t walk with such hesitancy into their own space, especially when it was currently being guarded by a lesser prey like Lee Holmes.
A silence lingered for a few moments. Morgan looked over towards the shoe rack, and despite no words being shared between them Lee could tell that she was pondering as to whether or not to take off her boots, debating how long she would be there, and whether it was even necessary.
“You got rid of them?” Morgan asked, her eyes diverting away from the shoe rack, instead hovering to the left hand-side of the hallway wall where the hyacinths had once resided.
Lee nodded. “I did,” she said, tapping her fingers against the side of her trousers, awkwardly, unsure as to how to position her body, as if it was the most important thing in the world, as if every last minute detail had to be perfect.
She had to be perfect. “I didn’t have very long, so I had to improvise, but I got rid of them before the detective showed up at the door.
He didn’t stay long, so you don’t need to worry.
Our—my—” she corrected, ”drain is clogged, but it should be fixed by tomorrow. ”
In true Morgan Finch fashion, she flattened her hair and gazed at the carpet, terrified of looking up. “I don’t know what to say,” she said. “Thank you. But if you did this because you thought I would tell anybody that you helped me, I never would have done that. You know that, right?”
Lee Holmes wasn’t sure why she felt compelled to do so, perhaps it was the defeated look on her now ex-girlfriend’s face, but regardless as to why, she found herself edging closer towards her. “I know. That’s not why I did it.”
Those six words, combined with Lee’s steps forward were enough to make Morgan look up now, to stare at the woman she loved directly and show all of herself through eyes that had once been vacant.
Silently, she willed Lee to look inside of her, and see what lay underneath.
The gulp that made its way down her throat was visible, swallowing down the nerves and anxiety only for new insecurities to form in their place.
Morgan Finch didn’t need to ask ‘why’, because out of two possibilities, the one remaining option had been confirmed.
Despite it all, she did it anyway. “Why did you do it then?”
Lee pondered how to swallow at that moment, as if even the most remedial task had suddenly become the most complicated act imaginable.
She closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, as much as she could, at least, and pushed the anxiety and nerves down her throat as if she could dissolve them in the acid of her stomach.
At the forefront of her mind was Morgan, for it had always been Morgan, and yet to even entertain the idea of what she wanted to do now that Morgan was in front of her was not nonsensical, per se, because it made perfect sense what she wanted to do, but it was foolish nonetheless.
Foolish because she had told Morgan only days earlier that she could no longer entertain the absurdity of the situation that had unfolded and evolved their relationship as a result.
Her eyes, now open, diverted towards Morgan’s lips, and the way that they sat, slightly open, as if inviting her own lips towards them like a beacon.
It made sense, wanting to kiss her, at least, it did, in Lee’s mind.
This was the woman that she risked her safety for, her sanity for, her life for.
This was the woman she had gone to bat for, as Morgan had put it, time and time again.
The game had seemingly ended, but here she was, desperate to keep playing.
Morgan’s body jolted for the briefest of seconds as Lee closed the distance between them and placed a single hand upon her right arm.
Morgan decided at that moment that the pair of them were playing an unconventional game of chess whereby it was Lee Holmes’ turn and Lee Holmes’ turn only.
Morgan Finch would take this at any pace Lee deemed necessary; she would stand and wait for all of her pieces to be captured.
The confines of their apartment fell away when their lips met.
Then, and only then, did Morgan place a hand upon the back of Lee’s neck, urging her closer.
Like a rhythmic motion between two dancers, she shifted her head to the right just as Lee’s own head shifted in the opposing direction, deepening the kiss.
Morgan’s other hand snaked around Lee’s waist, pushing her body gently against the far wall in the hallway where the flowers had once resided, before positioning her fingers at the side of her face, stroking her cheek cautiously, as if she were made of glass.
The slightest touch had Lee Holmes begging for contact, wishing to mold both of their bodies together permanently.
Perhaps if they both were truly made of glass, she could.
At present time, she was conflicted between the idea that she wanted more than anything to feel Morgan’s bare skin pressed against her own, and at the same time, feeling terrified of scaring her away the moment that the intimacy shifted.