find me at the lake, in every life, through every door
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A click. A latch slip. A gust of hot, summer wind spilling into Ramona’s room. Ramona jackknifed; her book fell into her lap, joint limp between her teeth.
“Oh my God,” she said, “you know it’s, like, three in the morning?”
Oona fingered the windowpane and grinned, half-wedged between the glass and the frame. Her silhouette was striking in the moonlight, all dark.
“Aw, baby. Not happy to see me?”
Oona visits Ramona in the night.
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“Does that include, like…”
“Like what?”
“Like,” Ramona lowered her voice. “Like…”
Outside, the downpour drizzled on. Oona stared, patiently, and the crook in her brow told Ramona she was devoted to understanding her. The weed made everything dreamlike, her syllables gummy in her mouth and the yellow-cyans of Oona’s profile glowing against the television.
“Like sex?” A grin split Oona a mile wide. “Ramona, baby, are you asking me to fuck you right now?”
While high, Oona learns Ramona is really good with her mouth.
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“Let me make it up to you.”
Ramona laughed. “How?”
“I know what you like,” Oona tried, desperate. “I can—”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are you actually begging to have sex with me right now? That’s how you want to apologize?”
After leaving for Manhattan, Ramona returns to handle Gordon's will. Oona deals the way she knows best—by singling her out to fuck her at a party.
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