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You’d watched her from afar for some time now; the beautiful woman who sat at the bar almost every night, always drinking the same drink and not moving from her chair until she left at 11pm. You’d watch her, taking in the way she positioned herself on the seat, the way her lips touched the glass and how she’d simultaneously appear to be aware of everyone and yet oblivious to them too.
She had her fair share of suitors; men and women alike came and flirted, bought her drinks and asked her to dance. She would send them on their way, never really caring about the way their faces fell or how they walked away with bowed heads, obviously put off buy her nonchalant dismissal.
It seemed rather harsh, but you didn’t judge. You had turned quite a few enthusiastic suitors down yourself, and to be honest you didn’t really like the idea of picking up people at the bar. So you watched with amusement as yet another girl was turned down, and you followed the blonde head as it disappeared into the crowed before getting up and walking out of the bar.
One of these days, you tell yourself, you would get the nerve to talk to her.
One of these days, but not today.
It takes two more weeks before you get the courage to sit at the bar.
Maybe it’s because the dark-haired woman isn’t there yet, and the seat that she normally occupies is vacant and you think that this might be your chance. So you sit in it, and you order a drink and you wait, making small-talk with the barkeeper and telling your friends to piss off because you “just want to have a drink right now come back later, okay?”
When the dark haired woman does arrive, you see her hesitate before sliding into the seat next to you. She doesn’t talk, but you see her watching you from the corner of her eyes and it’s obvious she is trying to be discreet about it which you find rather adorable.
So you study her too, noting the curve of her eyebrows and the way her jawline tenses as the barkeep pushes her drink towards her. She’s beautiful and you suddenly find yourself unable to form words.
The next time your friends come and ask you to dance, you let them.
You’re about to leave when you realise you’ve left your sunglasses at the bar, and you briefly debate leaving them there because you’re not entirely sure if you’re in a place to go speaking to pretty women at the moment. But you remember that they were really expensive and you’ve only had them a few weeks so you really couldn’t forgive yourself for leaving them there. So you sigh and tell your friends to leave without you and you walk back towards the bar and the attractive woman who was sitting there.
The hesitation before you speak is rather embarrassing, and you find yourself remembering your college escapades at the campus bar, trying and failing to pick up girls with your cheesy pick up lines and all too awkward persona.
You scold yourself because you’re not trying to pick up the woman, you just want your sunglasses.
(you know it’s not true, but you’re drunk so whatever)
"Hi, sorry, I left my sunglasses here before. Have you seen them?”
The woman looks up from her drink and swings around to look at you. You look back expectantly but the woman is just staring at you wide-eyed. When she shakes her head, you feel your smile falter and you realise you had been looking forward to hearing her voice.
"I'm sorry."
You shake your own head and wave a had dismissively before taking a seat next to the woman. She stiffens and you wonder briefly is that is your cue to go, but then you notice her haggard breaths and all the first-aid training your dad had insisted you go through comes rushing back and you ask her if she’s okay.
The woman nods quickly but you don’t believe her, and when she starts gasping for air you stand up.
“Do you want to go outside?”
She nods and you relax slightly, taking her hand and, leading her through the sea of people to the front door where the bouncer raises an eyebrow and lets you outside.
You hold the woman’s hand as she begins breathing slowly, occasionally rubbing your thumb over the back of it like your mum used to do when you had to go get your vaccinations. You don’t actually know if it does anything to help, but eventually the woman’s breathing evens out some and you find it an acceptable time to see how she’s going.
"Are you feeling any better?”
She nods in response, not looking at you but you don’t really take any offence to this considering the circumstance.
"Good. It gets a little hot in there with all those people."
"Yes." She replies, nodding. "The combined body heat of so many people in a small room increases the regular temperature of the room. Especially with all the jumping people seem to believe is dancing."
You laughs because the woman had just had a panic attack and she was reciting some scientific crap but for some reason you find it absolutely adorable.
The way she looks at you, though, left you breathless.
Her name is Carmilla and she treats you like you’re the most important person in the world.
It’s kind of ridiculous, the amount of time and energy she invests in you, but you don’t really complain because why would you? When she looks at you like she does it makes your heart jump in your chest and feel like you’re flying.
And she wants to know you. All of you. Even the parts of you that you don’t want yourself.
She asks about your family and your childhood. She asks about your first kiss and what you did when you got your heart broken the first time. When you’re curled up together on her bed and she asks you to tell her why you are like you are, you don’t know how to answer because no one has ever asked you that before.
You like it, though. You like that she wants to get to know the parts of you that no one has ever tried to see before. And when you’re laying in bed one day, Carmilla wrapped up in your arms while you draw light patterns on her back you tell her as much.
"It makes me feel special," you murmur into the silence, "like you really care."
"Of course I care," Carmilla replies, pushing herself up to look at you directly, "I will always care.”
You believe she means every word.
Carmilla never explicitly told you about her autism, but you picked up enough to put the pieces together yourself. The amount of googling you did in the early days of your relationship was ridiculous, and you may have called a few friends from college to ask questions about it.
The information they gave you wasn’t new, but you felt better knowing for certain how to make sure this relationship worked in the best way possible. Of course, it was going well anyway, you just liked the feeling of assurance that came with the possession of a concrete understanding of the issue at hand.
Not that it was an issue, it was just something you had never dealt with personally.
A friend from college put you in touch with one of his old professors, and the two of you went out for lunch. It was an education experience, to say the least, and you’re really glad you did it because he gave you a lot of things to think about.
“You have to be careful,” he said, “you’re going to have to learn a lot of things, and unlearn a lot of things too. From what you’ve said in your emails, your girlfriend hasn’t had very many positive experiences, and I’m guessing you want to change that.”
You not your head because, duh.
He nods his head too.
“Well then just make sure that she knows that you’re there, and that you aren’t going anywhere. Because the worst thing in the world is thinking that loving someone who feels that loving them and learning them is too hard. That eventually, they will leave.”
“Why would anyone do that, though?”
“You’d be surprised.”
You love your girlfriend, you really do.
Carmilla though, it turns out, doesn’t realise she’s your girlfriend and the damn kid-in-a-candy-shop eyes that you got when you confirmed that you are, in fact, girlfriends, made you fall in love with her even more.
When you tell your dad you’re in a serious relationship he insists on having the two of you over immediately.
You’re a little uncertain, because Carmilla isn’t the best at meeting new people. She insists it will be fine though, and you stress yourself out making sure that everything is in order and your dad knows absolutely everything that could possibly happen.
Carmilla laughs at you, but you ignore it because you really want this to go well.
The day that you’re supposed to go over, you fill Carmilla in on as much information about your dad and your childhood home as you possibly can. You want her to feel at ease there, and despite her telling you she’s fine, you know that she’s grateful for the information.
"He's super protective," you explain, "but he's really nice and I've told him so much about you already anyway."
Carmilla nods and you lead her into the house.
When your dad put the plate in front of her, the grip she has on your fingers tightens. You look at her, but only for a second because before you can open your mouth and ask if she’s alright, she’s up and out of the room.
You frown before her plate catches your eye and you scold yourself. Of all the planning that you had done in preparation, you forgot to tell your dad about the food.
You swallow, looking up at your dad who is looking incredibly confused and you explain, apologising because it’s your fault. Not his. He nods, running a hand through what’s left of his receding hair.
“I did read that when I looked it up. No matter, I’ll dish up a new plate. You go make sure she’s alright. And take your time.”
You rally do love your dad.
You figure out that she’s in the bathroom by the simple fact that she’s not in any other room of the house. When you knock on the door there’s no answer though, but after a moment of careful listening you hear the small sounds of Carmilla’s breathing and so you knock again.
"Carm... Can I come in?"
This time she opens the door, and you slide down next to her, wrapping her up in your arms and apologising over and over again.
”God, Carm I'm so sorry I'm so, so sorry."
Carmilla lets out a few strangled cries that does nothing to curb your guilt. You pull her closer and realise that you’re crying. You shouldn’t be crying, you think, you need to be the strong one. You need to be the one to make everything better. You shouldn’t be crying. Why are you crying.
Then Carmilla’s arms are around you and both of you are crying and when did your heart start hurting like this? It’s almost a relief when your dad comes in and asks you to go check the food, because one more second in that guilt-ridden room and you might just explode.
When Carmilla holds your hand under the table, you resist the urge to push it away.
You don’t tell anyone about the guilt, because you feel like you’re just being selfish.
And maybe you are, but maybe…maybe you aren’t
When Carmilla asks you to move in, she does it so awkwardly and with missed eye-contact you feel the happiness in you bubble up.
When you wrap your arms around her, repeatings “yes yes yes” in her ear you think that maybe the guilt was a passing thing. That maybe you were wrong because you really think you are happy. You really do.
When Danny starts working in your office, the two of you bond rather quickly.
She’s bright and funny and when you’re with her, you feel normal.
Carmilla’s brother is a dick.
There’s no other way to put it.
You glare him from across the table every time he makes a smart remark.
"Your beans are touching the potato, Kitty." He says through a mouthful of roast beef you feel like you should have poisoned, "better fix that before they contaminate each other."
You grip your cutlery harder, watching Carmilla fight back tears. The rage is building inside of you and the next time he opens his mouth you don’t hold it back.
"Get out of my house."
William has the nerve to appear confused and he opens his mouth to protest but you repeat the words, articulating each a flick of your tongue and the narrowing of your eyes.
"Get. Out. Of. My. House."
"But -"
"No!"
Carmilla jumps a little as you raised your voice, and you briefly look over to make sure she’s alright before you continue.
"How dare you come into my house and insult my girlfriend. Your sister. You purposely ridicule her, picking on everything she does and think that it's funny? Well newsflash, bro, it's not. It's not funny. It's rude and selfish and I won't have it happening under my roof. So either shut up or get out."
You stand, bent over the table glaring at William who swallows and stands, eyes flicking from you to Carmilla and back again.
He turns and leaves,.
You sit down and resume your meal.
You tell Danny about Carmilla’s brother.
She rubs your back when you cry about it. She tell's you it's not your fault.
You just wish you could do more.
"Do you ever think about getting married?"
You’re laying in bed on a Sunday morning and the question causes Carmilla to roll over and look at you. Her hair falls over her bare shoulder and find yourself smiling and the way her nose furrows as she replies.
"I'm not really a marriage kind of person."
"Good." You smile and kisses her softly, "neither am I.”
You don’t let yourself wonder if that’s true or not.
When Danny came over, you really didn't intend for it to happen.
But it did, and you hate yourself for it.
Your dad calls you, and you let him yell. You deserve it after all.
When you go to sleep that night, you dream of a life that you didn’t fuck everything up in.
Danny comes over a few days after. You yell and cry and throw things at her.
“Maybe this is for the best.” She says, reaching out to grab your arm.
“How can this be for the best?” You spit the words at her and she flinches as they hit. She slams the door shut when she leaves and you can’t help but think of the last time a woman slammed that door.
Your dad calls you, and says he’s coming over. You hurry and tidy the house, not wanting him to see the mess you’ve made.
He hugs you when you answer the door, but it doesn’t feel the same and you pull back quickly, tucking your hair behind your ear before asking if he wants anything to drink.
“No thanks, Laura,” he says, smiling sadly, “I’m just here to pick up Carmilla’s things.”
“Oh.” You say, and swallow the lump that appears in your throat. Your dad smiles sadly at you and pulls you in for another hug.
“You can fix this, pumpkin.” He says, stoking your hair, “you can fix this.”
You really wish it were true.
Two months after your dad picks up her things, you see Carmilla at the supermarket.
She tries to avoid you, and you debate letting her, but your voice betrays you and hear yourself calling her name.
"Carm..."
"Don't call me that."
The bite behind the words hurt, but you know it’s not really your place to be hurt so you just swallow and nod. You breathe in before you speak again, trying desperately to keep your voice steady.
"Carmilla. I'm so sorry. I never meant for that to happen."
Carmilla frowns. "How can you not intend for that to happen? You let someone else touch you. In our bed. In our house."
"I know. I know and I'm so sorry. I just - it's so hard, you know? With everything. And Danny was there and it was easy and I shouldn't have but I did and... Carmilla it wont happen again. I love you. I love you so much please forgive me."
You’re crying now, and you reach for Carmilla's hand, but she pulls it back sharply.
"No." she says, the venom behind the word causing you to step back. "No. You lost the right to touch me when you let someone else touch you."
She turns and walks away, and you watch her.
When you’d watched her in the club, you never thought that she would be the one walking away from you.