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After the island, it really had been Leah’s plan to spend her days in her room, lying in bed and enjoying the feeling of not having adrenaline pump through her veins every second, the stress of always being on the lookout for danger.
These plans, however, had been hindered from the start.
Fatin had made it her task to drag her to parties every weekend.
So, it had been like this for the past few weeks: Fatin’s red Lamborghini turns onto the driveway every Friday at six and then she spends the next hour trying to convince Leah to come with her. Then, Leah begrudgingly agrees to go, and Fatin forces Leah to wear something a little more presentable than an old sweater. They enter the far too expensive house where the party is held fashionably late, they knock back a few drinks and then dance together, not letting any guys get close enough. After the parties, they end up sleeping in the same bed, both tipsy and talking about everything and nothing until they eventually fall asleep, usually waking up with limbs entangled.
Despite what she might have had Fatin believe, she didn’t actually mind the parties. Surprisingly, she actually quite enjoyed them, especially with the promise of having Fatin’s company the entire time.
Something had changed between them on the island after she ran into the ocean, and they both still were tiptoeing around the obvious tension. Neither of them ready to address what it is, and what it means. The kiss they had shared upon reuniting after the bunker never spoken of, never mentioned to the others.
But at least they had each other’s company, with an unspoken promise that this was something that would stay.
But tonight it’s all different.
Tonight she’s forced to confront that it was naive to think that going to parties with Fatin Jadmani wouldn’t include her occasional hook up with a random frat guy and that it was absolutely stupid to think that Fatin would actually like her enough to stop doing it.
And maybe she was even stupider to think that the change in their bond was something that they both felt, that the kiss was anything more than a spur of the moment thing, caused by the relief of seeing each other again.
So, this time she falls asleep at 2 am instead of 5 am and she’s hugging her pillow instead of Fatin. Her brain just won’t shut off, replaying possible scenarios instead. Whether Fatin is looking for her, full of worry, or if she's laying next to the frat bro she went upstairs with, laughing about how fucking naive her friend is.
The worst part is that she constantly sees that one moment flashing before her eyes while she fights off sleep, the moment Fatin walked upstairs and looked back at her. She doesn’t know if the smile was out of pity, or if it was out of friendliness. Either way, it felt like a punch to the gut.
So, following these events, the next week the routine is broken.
Fatin’s red Lamborghini turns onto the driveway that Friday at six and then she spends the next hour trying to convince Leah to come with her, but Leah doesn’t budge. She just keeps saying that she’s tired, and that “you should go have fun on your own”, hoping that Fatin will take the fucking hint and leave her alone to wallow in her painfully obvious misery and jealousy.
The hurt on Fatin’s face when she finally gives up and leaves causes an ache in Leah’s chest, but she refuses to go a party just to be left alone while knowing that the girl she has feelings for is fucking some guy upstairs.
Fatin doesn’t know what she did wrong.
Okay, maybe she does have an idea, but she can’t fathom that hooking up with a guy could possibly be the reason that Leah suddenly has no interest in going with her.
Not without some alcohol in her system at least.
So, she walks to the drinks table and ignores all the attention from the college guys, trying to figure out what the hell it all means.
Three shots and an unknown amount of punch later she has come to two conclusions: she’s completely fucked up her chance with Leah, and hooking up with a random guy is probably the reason Leah is acting weird.
Yeah, she had noticed that something had changed between them, a tension pulling them towards each other while they both struggled against the restraints. Not because they didn’t want to try, but because the time never felt right, because the friendship felt safe and love felt foreign.
She had kissed Leah that day they got out, right after they had stopped clinging onto each other like they were each other’s lifeline.
(Well, they are each other’s lifeline. Without Leah, she falls back down on the ground and digs herself into a hole she can’t climb out of, and without Fatin, Leah becomes untethered and spins out of control into the air.)
Maybe the reason she had avoided talking about this for so long was also that she didn’t trust herself to love Leah, to be the one for her, to be good enough . Maybe that was why she took the mediocre-looking guy upstairs, and maybe that’s why she couldn’t help but glance back at Leah before walking up, giving her the fakest smile she’s ever had on her face while Leah just looked back with pain.
And yet she didn’t stop walking.
Because she really believes that Leah can’t love her, especially not after this.
She can’t change it now, she has fucked it all up. She popped the bubble they had been floating in ever since that day she held Leah on the beach.
She knocks back another shot, trying to wash the taste of saltwater out of her mouth, hoping that the memories go down with the drink, to the fucking pit of her being to rot there next to her liver.
The taste does leave, but the burning in her throat can’t distract her from the memories replaying in her head.
Maybe she just has this thing with texts that come at midnight, leaving her to make pivotal decisions while she is sleep-deprived, but Leah’s phone buzzes right when she thought her mind would stop replaying their kiss and would finally go over into slumber.
A few texts are on her home screen, but her vision is still blurry while she tries to wipe the tears away, only to be met with the sound of her ringtone.
Upon checking the caller ID she sees that Dot it’s calling her in the middle of the night, and that can’t be fucking good, so she immediately picks up.
“Hello?” she says, her voice croaky from either a lack of water or from crying, maybe a bit of both.
“Leah! Thank fuck! I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve gotten multiple completely incomprehensible texts from Fatin, so do you know if she’s okay? It seems like she’s fucking wasted.”
Fatin never got wasted, she did always take some shots, and she definitely was tipsy by the end of the night, but never blackout drunk. At least, not since the island. Leah has no idea what she was like before, aside from the scandalous rumours and the stories Fatin had told her with pride (and way too many details).
“Oh, that doesn’t sound good. I’m pretty sure I know where she is. I’ll check on her.”
She says it before her brain registers what this promise entails. This means she’ll have to get up, put on a semi-decent outfit, sneak out, then find Fatin and convince her to come with her after the absolute shit show from about ten hours ago, where she acted like she was tired and not completely drunk on jealousy and pain.
“Great! Text me when she’s okay.”
“I will,” she says, and hangs up, the silence surrounding her again.
Fuck, how the hell will she do this.
She goes to check her messages, and that’s how she finds out that Dot wasn’t the only one receiving the drunk texts.
Most of them are incomprehensible, but the one that stands out is the imm sdorrty, and Leah is ninety-nine percent sure that it was meant to say “I’m sorry.”
That, however, means that Fatin is currently blaming herself for the breaking of their Friday night routine. That also means that Leah is partially the reason Fatin is well on her way to getting blackout drunk.
So, Leah throws off the covers and within record time she’s already walking towards the party, decently clothed and without her parents knowing a thing.
It isn’t even that far away, only six minutes by foot, maybe even five if she speed-walks.
Her entire brain is filled with Fatin, and why this all has upset her enough to exceed her normal drinking limit for a Friday night.
Leah can think of a few reasons, but she doesn’t want to be hopeful and naive, it didn’t pay off too well last week. Chances are that she’ll walk in on Fatin flirting with (or worse, fucking) a guy and that this will all be for nothing.
But the fire of hope ignited in her chest by the apologetic (albeit drunk) text won’t go out so easily, despite her brain's protests.
She’s met by booming bass and the stench of sweat the moment she enters the party, and she needs a moment to adjust to this completely new atmosphere. Going to a party with Fatin is extremely different from going alone because then she had someone with her who knows what to do and how to do it.
Now she has to find someone all by herself, and she doesn’t even know if Fatin wants to be found.
After pushing through the crowd to find her, and not once seeing the blue dress Fatin had been wearing earlier, Leah is already close to giving up.
But, she keeps going, ignoring the unease at her own willingness to find her, and also the memories that bubble up to the surface at having to find Fatin just like on the island.
Having continued her search upstairs, trying to not give in to the panic itching under her skin, she finally opens the right door and sees Fatin.
She’s lying on a bed, passed out, drool on her cheek, and she still looks beautiful. It’s a little unnerving, honestly, the way that Fatin always looks so good.
When she finally remembers that she’s here for a reason (after maybe staring for too long to be considered non-creepy), she walks up to the bed and tries to get her brain to work and make up a plan to get Fatin out of here.
She taps Fatin’s face, trying to get her to wake up, and when she gets some mumbles as a response, she tries to hoist her up.
“Wow, wha-” is all Fatin says before falling silent, staring at her face with unfocused eyes.
“Hey.”
“Why are you here?” Fatin slurs, “Shouldn’t you like, hate me or something.”
The tone of hurt in the last sentence causes tiny fractions in Leah’s heart.
“I don’t hate you, Fatin,” she says, trying to get her to stand up but Fatin isn’t helping by basically acting as dead weight, “and I wouldn’t leave you here to drink yourself into a coma.”
“You don’t?”
Leah stops the attempt and stares into the brown eyes she so easily drowns in, “I don’t,” and then she mumbles the last part, hoping Fatin won’t remember it, “quite the contrary.”
Then she feels hands on her neck and lips on hers. The kiss is sloppy and Leah’s brain basically short-circuited the moment that Fatin had surged forward.
After recovering from the mix of shock and butterflies, she softly pushes Fatin away.
She sees the hurt on her face, so she says, “You’re drunk.”
Fatin pouts and wraps her arms around herself, and Leah smiles at how adorable she can be.
“If you really want to kiss me, do it tomorrow when you’re sober.”
She wakes up with the worst headache she’s ever had, and in a room that isn’t hers.
After a few minutes, she realizes that it’s Leah’s room and that can’t be good .
Fear simmers in her chest, and the fact that she has no recollection of last night doesn’t help. The last thing she remembers is the burning of her throat from a shot and the thought of having hurt Leah.
She gets out of the bed, and that’s when her eyes fall on what she’s wearing .
Some grey sweatpants and Leah’s favourite sweater, a blue paint splattered one, and it smells like Leah. The combination of the smell of old books and Leah’s regular perfume (which smells like peaches) fills her senses, clouding her brain like a fucking drug.
Aside from basically intoxicating her, it somehow also activates her memories a bit, and she can faintly remember Leah finding her at the party.
She can’t resist the urge to bring the sweater up to her face to just smell it, but the door goes open slowly and she immediately drops it and tries to act normal.
“Goodmorning,” Leah says, peeking her head through the crack, “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she says as casually as she can manage, still trying to remember if she did anything embarrassing (like telling Leah she loves her or something).
“Did you sleep well?” Leah asks as she walks to the bed and sits down on it, a shy smile on her face.
“I mean, I woke up with a headache, but the sleeping part went well I think.”
Leah laughs and hands her some painkillers and a glass of water, “This should help.”
While she drinks the rest of the water, she sees Leah toy with her sweater sleeve, “So, um-”
Leah immediately looks up, big blue eyes full of anticipation and maybe hope?
“What happened last night?”
She can see the way the excitement disappears from her eyes, only leaving something Fatin can’t pinpoint.
“You sent some drunk texts, Dot got worried and called me. I went to find you, you were really drunk, and I brought you here,” Leah says, and bites her lip, “You don’t have to worry about my parents, by the way, they went to the park or something.”
“ Drunk texts ” definitely doesn’t help her nerves, and the unreadable expression on Leah’s face is even worse.
“Wait, so you don’t like,” she pauses, trying to find the words, “you aren’t mad?”
“No, I’m not mad,” Leah bites her lip again, and Fatin is cursing herself for drinking because she needs to know what got her so upset, “You really don’t remember anything, do you?”
“Obviously, why else would I ask?”
Leah stays quiet, avoiding her eyes.
“Leah, what happened last night?”
“You,” she pauses, inhaling softly, still not meeting her eyes, her cheeks a light pink, “You kissed me.”
Her jaw drops and her mind starts running wild.
“Wait what?”
She did it. She kissed her. She kissed Leah Rilke and she can’t even remember it. She can’t remember the taste and the way her lips felt.
Fatin doesn’t remember how it felt to kiss her, and that’s just a fucking shame.
Leah starts rambling, “Listen, you were drunk so I pushed you away. You were probably just drunk and confused, I know you would never-”
“Did you only stop it because I was drunk?”
It was meant to be teasing, but it comes out way more vulnerable and scared than intended.
Leah just stares at her for a moment while her face slowly turns redder.
“Yeah, but you were drunk and you probably only kissed me because you were drunk so it doesn’t matter and I really like you but I-”
Leah would have kissed her back if she had been sober .
So, she surges forward to cut off the rambling and close the gap between them, their lips meeting (for the second time, but for Fatin it feels like it’s the first), her hands tangled in Leah’s hair.
Leah freezes at first but then kisses back almost feverishly, and her hands are on Fatin’s face, her thumb softly trailing over her cheek.
Fatin doesn’t think she’s ever felt so happy, it’s like someone injected liquid endorphins into her bloodstream. This time, she engrains it all in her memory, her lips, the taste, the feeling. The way they break apart for air and just smile at each other. The way they lie next to each other and laugh about how stupid it was of her to go upstairs with that fucking frat boy.
This time, she’ll remember it all.