Chapter Text
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“It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight.”
- Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita, Part Two, Ch. 29
- - -
Helena looks and then looks away.
But once the bell chimes through the room, causing a succession of leather soles to slide across the floor in barely restrained haste – for this is the end of another week, for this is the beginning of the weekend – a small sigh of relief is allowed to move past Helena’s lips.
And only a few students take their time in leaving, exchanging comments with one another or trading phone numbers or playfully shoving each other as they gravitate towards the door.
And only one student nears the desk, leaning against it like it is an accident and murmuring something along the lines of ‘See you on Monday, Miss Wells’ and Helena keeps her eyes on the papers below – a series of A’s, B’s and a couple of D’s – instead of glancing up into that green gaze; instead of trailing an inviting stare up the length of those slightly tan arms or across the surface of a white-cotton chest or pausing quite inappropriately over full, red lips.
“See you then, Myka.” Helena replies into half-assed book reports and holds her breath until the girl finally goes away.
And Helena sighs – again – and presses her palm hard against her forehead; presses her palm hard against thoughts that just will not cease.
- - -
The first dream was shocking but, perhaps, not totally unexpected.
- - -
Helena isn’t the kind of person to feel comfortable with just anyone. She isn’t rushing to chaperone dances or to monitor field-trips; she isn’t here to force students to appreciate the knowledge so readily available to them…
Enthusiasm and ambition are up to the individual, after all.
But there in Myka Bering’s words – blue pen on paper – was a single flare sent up in a forest and Helena was the only one to look up at such a sparkling glare against the gray sky. And so she encouraged the girl to write, to create, to self-edit and question and think and feel… and so they talked and so they laughed and so they formed a connection that should have stayed at teacher and student…
But, truly, they should have never formed anything with one another.
- - -
And that first dream…
…sidles up to Helena’s subconscious in a manner most devious, all cool and calm like a normal day, and the sunlight is too bright and the sound of her heels on the floor are too loud and Myka is smiling at her – holding something that Helena wants and it is just out of reach…
…behind the girl’s back and Helena reaches around the girl’s waist to get to it and there is the ghostly brush of skin against skin – beyond cloth, beyond rules – and Myka is talking so softly that Helena cannot hear her at all; sentences tattooed to her neck and Helena feels this delicious gasp fall from her tongue before she hears it echo off the walls…
- - -
She is the one with the power. She is the one with the responsibility. She is the one who must think, must rationalize, must be professional and untouchable and indifferent.
She is the one with the cross to bear. She is the one with the desires to crush. She is the one who must refrain, must create distance, must be strong in the face of such temptation.
And Myka leans too close – over her shoulder, breath fluttering upon the ear – and Helena has to stop herself from shoving the girl away… or from pulling her closer still.
Helena has to stop this.
Helena has to stop.
- - -
And then those dreams – those completely wrong and completely irresistible dreams - became far too frequent.
- - -
“You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to, you know.”
Helena looks up sharply from a stack of textbooks and from battered copies of Wuthering Heights to see Myka Bering standing in an otherwise empty classroom – with arms crossed and with a wounded stare very much present.
But Helena did what had to be done.
She placed those walls back up and she shifted her focus – her acceptable focus – onto other students and, in essence, gave Myka the cold shoulder. It is for the best, that’s what Helena knows to be true; it is the best for her and for Myka and so that is what must be done.
But Helena is hard pressed to enjoy the look of pain that settles upon Myka’s face.
“We cannot discuss this here, all-right? In fact, we cannot discuss this at all.”
“That’s not very ‘adult’ of you…”
A roll of the eyes and the hips cock out to one side and that saddened expression becomes one of anger instead and Helena forces her attention back to the books, back to the work, back to ignorance. But Myka isn’t going to let that happen, not just yet, and suddenly the girl is right in front of her and she is taking hold of Helena’s hand like she owns it, like this is okay, like this classroom isn’t the whole damn world on display.
“Just talk to me.”
And the taut line that is pulled throughout Helena’s body begins to loosen; and the bones of her body begin to bend towards this touch.
“I can’t. I can’t talk to you.”
“Why not?”
And she closes her eyes as Myka’s voice descends into a whisper, as that hold slowly evolves into a gentle caress, as all sense of propriety flies out the window and Helena is left with only the horrible, beautiful truth.
“Because talking is the very last thing I want to do with you.”
- - -
And those frequent dreams…
…are set in classrooms, are set in bathrooms, are up against locker doors, are in Helena’s king-size bed…
…are rarely slow and are often rushed, are breathless and wicked and terrifying and blissful…
…are so very good, so very real, that Helena has awakened more than once to her hips rolling or to her hand sliding over her own slick want and the sickening twist of ecstasy is difficult to resist in the middle of the night and so Helena sets to finishing what has been started and groans out orgasm after orgasm into the shadows of her empty house…
- - -
Just once.
Just once and she saw it coming but she didn’t stop it.
And Helena really needs to learn how to stop these things from happening.
But it was a moment of thinking that she could handle this non-involvement and Myka’s incessant looks of longing were getting too hard to lose track of and so they got to talking about something safe – literature and writing and the future. And Helena said something and Myka laughed and they looked at one another and then…
It was just once.
It was just the one time – Myka’s lips firm against her own – and Helena should have stopped it.
But it was a moment of not-thinking and she didn’t want to handle anything other than the wonderful reality of Myka’s lips gradually parting underneath the instinctual tilting of Helena’s head and the kiss deepened and Helena slipped long fingers through the satin curls of Myka’s hair.
Just once.
Just once and someone slammed a door from the opposite side of the hallway and Helena broke away from Myka’s mouth as though she had been doused with ice-cold water.
- - -
And so the ramifications of these actions continue to fall down upon Helena’s head like her own personal guillotine.
- - -
“You know… you’ve got a quite a bit of talent, I think…
“Really? You really think so?”
“I do. Have you ever thought of submitting some of these stories to some kind of publication?”
“Oh, I don’t know… I mean, not really… Not seriously, I mean…”
“Well, I think you should, Myka.”
A shy glance and a half smile and Helena grins at the girl, handing back a notebook full of promise.
“…Would you be willing to help me? You know, like an editor…?”
And Helena, who doesn’t like to get close to anyone – not teachers and definitely not students – reaches out to deliver a supportive squeeze to Myka’s forearm.
“I’d be happy to.”
- - -
All things break, in one way or another; all things fall apart eventually.
And it could have been Helena leaving and it could have been Myka telling someone what happened and it could have been someone suspecting something and it could have dwindled down to nothing at all – infatuation that went both ways for a while and then died.
In the end, though, they were worlds always meant to collide.
- - -
And it’s funny because Helena notices the girl – randomly and then not so randomly – and the girl sort of grins over at her on occasion and it’s like they are sharing an unspoken conversation; gazes lit up from within as they catch one another looking and whole paragraphs transferred without the use of language.
And it’s funny because Helena hasn’t felt this way in a very, very long time – and the one time she did feel this way it was about a lover, about someone she used to spend hours aching for, about someone who could have had her heart…
…and Myka Bering cannot have Helena’s heart – or anything else of Helena’s - because Myka Bering is only seventeen.
- - -
There is no one else around.
But there is solitary tear cascading down Myka’s cheek and Helena’s defenses just crumble. And her thumb glides over this show of silent sorrow and the air leaves Myka’s mouth as a shudder and Helena’s resolve just disappears.
And she surges forward and she captures Myka’s lips and she brings their bodies together until Myka is pinned between Helena and the cool brick wall; and her hands work their way down the sides of Myka’s body and over the hips and then to the edge of this pleated navy blue school skirt, pushing it up until she can place her palms over heated skin at the top of thighs.
And Myka gasps and involuntarily bucks – just the tiniest bit – into Helena and so Helena applies more pressure to the ever-widening juncture between Myka’s legs; pressing and then barely thrusting, listening to the movement of clothing and the sound of Myka breathing so heavily and she pulls back only to dip her fingers past one last barrier and Myka’s eyes fly open… before slowly rolling back and then closing…
And Helena latches teeth to Myka’s neck as she pumps her fingers in and out, as she slides in deeper and deeper, as Myka shakes and bites down on that bottom lip in order to not scream, to pant, to moan during this wonderfully wrong moment in time.
And they tumble and topple into one another as release follows release, as pleasure burns off like a blue flame.
And they crash and they crack and they break into a million pieces.
- - -
And it’s funny because Myka Bering doesn’t consider herself to be gay or anything…
…but there’s just something she can’t get over when it comes to Helena Wells. And all the guys think she is hot, too, and Myka knows that the woman is attractive.
You’d have to be blind not to notice that. But it is something else, something more than that that Myka wants to know, wants to understand, wants to get close to… and it really is kind of funny because Myka is pretty sure she isn’t gay or anything…
…but those kind things don’t really matter because Myka has such a huge fucking crush on Helena Wells and it doesn’t feel like this crush is going to go away any time soon…
- - -
“What happens now?”
A question from a doorway. Fingers quietly letting go. Eyes everywhere but where they want to be.
“…I haven’t a clue.”
- - -
And it’s funny because it’s true.
- - -