Chapter 5 #2
“Fuck,” she mutters in frustration. Martin takes it as a horny groan, so he pulls her in even closer. Her nails scratch his neck and she’s really, really trying to convince herself that it’s a gesture born from passion, but the whole thing is just so damn unsatisfying.
“Charlotte.”
She pulls away from him like he’s an electric fence. When she looks up, Gabi is standing there, wearing a facial expression she’s never seen before. It’s stoic, but there’s something dangerous underneath. It’s terrifying.
“Can I borrow her?” Gabi asks Martin, nodding at his hands still on her waist.
“Hey Gabs! Nice to see you,” he snickers. “But, actually, we’re kind of in the middle of—”
“It wasn’t a question,” she states, grabbing Charlotte by the wrist and dragging her away. Ignoring her weak protests, she pushes her towards the exit.
“Outside.”
“Gabi, my stuff is still—”
“Outside.”
Not wanting to mess with her friend while in this state, she steps into the cold. She tucks her hands inside her sleeves and meekly follows Gabi, who takes a couple of steps away from the door.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” her friend asks her, dangerously calm.
“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. Since when am I not allowed to—”
“Do not fuck with me right now, Charlotte Norwich.”
“What? What is it? You’re really stressing me out, damn!”
“We’ve already established you’re a dick today, but I had no idea you were capable of being actually fucking stupid.” Charlotte spreads her palms open, compelling her to elaborate.
“First, you send Riley the most offensive, and let’s not forget, weirdly political text I’ve ever seen from you. And then you go and rub it in her face? You’re my best friend, Charlotte, but I can’t allow you to treat people like that.”
“What am I rubbing in her face? Not everything is about her.”
“Alright, let’s put our victim caps to the side and put our thinking caps on for a second. What message do you think your behavior is conveying?”
“What message? I… ugh.” Charlotte leans back against the brick wall. “I told her I am not interested in women, so how and why is it offensive to kiss a man?”
Gabi, who had been standing across from Charlotte, now turns around to lean against the wall next to her. “What exactly are you trying to prove?” she asks, her voice softer now.
“Prove? I have nothing to prove.”
“Oh, is that right? Because in my opinion, there are two scenarios here. One—,” she lifts a finger, “...you are in deep, deep denial. Or two—,” she lifts a second finger, “...you’re an asshole who toys with people’s feelings for fun.
And I outright refuse to believe it’s the second one, so I think you’ve got some work to do. ”
Charlotte shakes her head in disbelief, leaning her head back. “I already told you, that kiss was a one time—”
“Don’t give me the one time thing bullshit, I am not buying that anymore.
Look, your sexuality is your business and no one else’s, until it starts affecting other people.
And it does. I mean, look at what you’re doing to Riley.
Fuck, look at what Riley does to you. I know it’s not my place—,” she throws up her hands, “...but there are definitely some… unresolved feelings there. I know you.”
“Oh, do you?” Charlotte spits, feeling her eyes start to glaze over. “Because it fucking feels like you’re pushing me in a direction I’m not interested in at all. It’s almost pathetic. How desperately do you need all of your friends to be gay? Is being an ally not enough?”
“If only you would behave like an ally. That text was outright homophobic.”
“Oh, come on—”
“Do you want me to read it back to you?”
“I’m good.”
“That’s what I thought.”
They stay in silence for a while, Charlotte’s mind going hundreds of miles per hour. She isn’t comfortable at all with the way Gabi is interfering; it feels like everyone is teaming up on her. Can’t they see that they’re all wrong?
Gabi takes a deep breath and turns her head to Charlotte. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me you’re not aware of the fact that Riley likes you?”
Charlotte looks back at her—challenge accepted—but as soon as she sees the sincerity in Gabi’s eyes, she’s lost. No, she knows it’s true. And she doesn’t have to say it; Gabi sees it.
“So then why did you kiss her?” she asks, her voice a caring whisper.
“Because I… I thought it was fun in the heat of the moment, and…” Charlotte scrambles for words, but she hears what it sounds like and it feels wrong.
“No, because we… because it felt right at the time?”
Gabi cocks an eyebrow, spurring her on as to say she’s almost there.
“Because I… fuck,” Charlotte groans, covering her eyes with one hand. She knows the answer.
It’s because she really, really fucking wanted to.
And that must be why it happened. Because if Riley actually liked her, she wouldn’t have given in to the kiss unless she thought Charlotte liked her back.
So if Riley had given in, and then Charlotte had told her things like 'getting it out of her system' and 'not thinking any less of her', then…
yes. She had been patronizing, and more importantly: a hypocrite.
“Imagine making out with someone, only for them to tell you they don’t think any less of you for doing it. It takes two people to kiss, you know.”
“But that still doesn’t make me gay, Gabi. I just… for one drunken second I might've been into Riley, who just happens to be a woman.”
Gabi looks away and seems to need all of her willpower to press her lips together at that—almost like she’s making a mental note for later—and then looks back again with a piercing glare.
“Yeah, so…” Gabi threads carefully, as if approaching a wounded animal. “You were into her, which is what made Riley agree to make out. Then you told her she was beneath you and proceeded to make out with your ex-boyfriend in front of her.”
Oh.
“God, I’m such a dick.”
From that night on, Charlotte’s dreams don’t consist of Riley pursuing her anymore.
Instead, they make Charlotte herself the villain now; she keeps running into Riley, who looks terrified to see her.
In the dream, Charlotte wants to talk to her, so she chases her and chases her, but Riley always gets away before she wakes up.
With Riley’s horrified expression still fresh in mind, she remembers the premonition that had washed over her when Riley told her about her job. That helpless, melancholic feeling she’d gotten when she imagined Riley alone in the dark, like she’d wanted to protect her.
She knows these dreams are telling her something. She knows she should reach out, say something, apologize even. It takes her weeks however—much to Gabi’s dismay—to figure out how and why, and what she’s going to say. Tomorrow, she keeps telling herself. Tomorrow, I’ll text her.
It’s Friday morning and for the first time since she’d been sick, she’ll have the afternoon off. It’s taken her a while to catch up with her clients, but putting in extra hours has paid off and now she’s right back on schedule.
She double checks her calendar to confirm her last client for the day: Ms. Amezcua. She doesn’t recognize the name—must be someone new, booked in through the website.
At 11:00 AM sharp, there’s a knock on the door of her office.
Charlotte leaves her desk as she slides her reading glasses all the way up into her hair.
She opens the door with a smile, but when her eyes land on no one other than Riley, the wind is knocked right out of her.
Out of sheer terror and confusion, she just blows a three second raspberry.
“Uhm, hi,” Riley says, dramatically wiping fake droplets off her cheeks.
Her playful smirk turns into a shy, lopsided smile, and she places a hand on the strap of her shoulder bag.
The leather jacket she wears is very much in contrast with her awkward demeanor and it does things to Charlotte’s brain.
I should’ve texted her, she scolds herself.
Riley just showing up like this is setting her entire system on fire. She doesn’t like it.
“Ms. Amezcua, I presume,” Charlotte sighs, trying her best to sound unimpressed. “What’s Death doing on Life’s doorstep?”
Riley shifts her weight from one leg to the other, trying to peek over Charlotte’s shoulder.
“Do you start all of your sessions in the doorway? Or do you have like, chairs in there?”
Charlotte crosses her arms defensively. “I have chairs, Riley. Pillows, yoga mats, a sofa even. But I don’t take acquaintances as clients. You of all people should find that ethically debatable.”
“Hmm. They just say you’re the best in town.”
“Who says that?”
“...you, probably.”
And damn Riley for worming her way into Charlotte’s weak spot again. Stepping aside to let her in, her mind goes over the millions and millions of things she’s wanted to say to Riley these past few weeks.
Riley leaves her bag by the door and takes in the spacious office.
Charlotte watches her admire the impressionist art on the walls, the protruding bookcases, the Bird of Paradise by the window that almost touches the ceiling, and finally the many colorful pillows and blankets on the sofa and floor.
As she sits down on the sofa, her hand glides over one of the velvet pillows and a faint smile appears around her lips.
“This is probably 700% cozier than my office,” Riley says. “I like it.”
Charlotte tries to hide the sense of pride that the compliment gives her.
This office—her converted garage, attached to the house—has been her life’s work.
She’d invested most of her time, creativity, money and knowledge into creating a space that would be able to accommodate a wide range of people and make them feel at ease.
She knows how important it is to feel safe when talking to a stranger about one’s deepest passions and desires, and so she has made sure to provide a large variety of furniture, textures and items to make the room multifunctional.