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Warmth. It was all she craved, really. She wanted to be wrapped up in someone else, someone to chase away the cold loneliness that she was accustomed to. Sana thrived off it, never alone in her free time, always finding a way to be out. The club was one of her favorites, the thrumming music loud to the point where she was unable to think and god did she love it.
She felt numb when she danced, only really focusing on the feeling of warm bodies pressed against her own. The grinding of hips and curious wandering hands. She tried not to think much about it, instead letting whatever girl she had strung along for the night messily mouth at her neck as she prayed she wouldn’t feel how cold she felt inside.
In the mornings she felt selfish. It wasn’t an adjective she felt synonymous with, or at least not one that she let people see. She never let the girls she met stay over at her place and she never let herself stay over at theirs. It was almost like a ritual: go out, drink, start talking, start flirting, get drunk, have sex, and then wake up alone.
If Sana thought about it, it was almost like a punishment. The habit kept her deprived of the one thing she craved. Familiarity and warmth. Every morning she’d wake up alone again, laying on her side, arms stretched out as if she was searching for something while she was asleep. Searching for someone.
She knew what she was looking for. She knew exactly who she was looking for. There was one person she was constantly looking for at the bottom of her Moscow mules. Part of her felt as if she was drinking to get the guts to call her, but it always ended up with her on her knees gripping porcelain while she puked it up.
It felt like automation, making herself fall into a pattern she knew was self-destructive to keep herself from thinking about it all. When she left it felt as if the other girl had taken a piece straight from her chest. The other woman had made a home in her heart, but once she left only splinters remained. Every beat of her heart shredded itself to pieces. It left her broken, a gaping wound in the middle of her chest dripping down and staining her feet. The wound felt old now, raw, empty, and cold.
It all felt robotic, her own body having the same cold as the metal frame of one. Sana didn’t cry anymore, she hadn’t for months. Or at least she at least wouldn’t let herself remember the last time. She started turning off the lights when she met with other girls, not wanting them to see how her eyes would well and burn as she took off their clothes.
-
When she let herself be alone, it crept up on her, dark tendrils wrapping around her ankles and pulling her under. The sensation was like having her head dunked into a bath of ice, shocking and chilling, leaving her shaking and desperately trying to wrap her arms around herself in a sorry attempt at comfort. The words that the woman had told her felt as if they were embedded in her skin like shards of glass.
I’d give you the world if it meant you would always be with me.
You’re the first and last thing I want to see every day.
I don’t know what I’d do without you.
Never, I could never leave you.
Moments like these, she found a smile creeping onto her face. Lifting up the corners of her lips in a way so forgotten that it felt foreign. Sana would find herself sitting at the foot of her bed, the cold of her floor seeping into her body.
As the tears slipped down her cheeks, she would always find herself smiling. It felt sick, the way that the pain always made her laugh. If she let anyone see herself like this they would probably think she had lost it, deranged to be laughing at her own misery. The pain was saccharine and sickly sweet, poison dripping harshly down her throat. The prettiest lies always cut her the deepest.
-
Familiarity. She didn’t feel known anymore. There was a routine that Sana had with her. The other woman knew exactly how she liked her coffee, her favorite brand and scent of laundry detergent. Her clothes seemed to fit her better than her own, feeling as if she was pulling on a layer of safety. The familiarity felt like armor. When she didn’t know herself, someone else did. She felt as if she was losing herself with everyone she met with, shedding her skin like a snake every night, her body giving itself to cold growing more and more familiar.
She deprived herself of it. Getting phone numbers was part of the act, but as she sobered up she deleted them. Her phone screen would light up, her heart soaring for a moment with a sliver of hope that it was the one contact she wanted to see, but every time it was a number she didn’t know.
When can I see you again?
Reading them felt worse than the hangover buzzing behind her eyes. Her head felt like a hornets nest, angry and thrumming, making her swim in her own thoughts. They tended to pull her under, drowning her in them. She had grown used to drowning herself first.
-
She was no stranger to it, the burn of alcohol down her throat. She had lost count, downing them as quickly as she was served. Sana needed it, the confidence to approach someone, fuel to fake a smile to get the warmth of someone mapping her skin with their hands, someone pretending to see her. It didn’t matter how fleeting the encounter was, all she wanted was some kind of solace.
The club was quieter than usual, leaving her alone at the bar. Hazily enough, she could remember some girl she had met earlier. She was pretty, but she wasn’t her. She was blonde, taller than her, and her laugh didn’t chime the same way. There was a face clear in her mind, becoming clearer as her eyes threatened to close. The tan of her skin, the slope of her nose, the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed.
“Sana, let’s go.”
She didn’t open her eyes at the sound of her name. It didn’t sound right, not if it wasn’t from her lips.
“Sana. You need to go.”
There was a hard warm on her shoulder, the touch rocketing her back to a state of semi-consciousness. She opened her eyes looking up, trying to decipher the worried gaze on her through the haze in her vision. It felt as if her eyes were seeing everything in slow motion, her brain lagging seconds behind her.
Momo, warm and familiar. Momo with worried eyes, care soft and evident in her gaze. It was everything Sana craved, everything she wanted. Sana looked up at her, eyes more pleading than she wanted to let on. She watched as Momo’s shoulder raised slightly as she took a deep breath, watched her jaw clench as she looked down at her.
The touch was welcome as Momo wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her out of the club and onto the street. She could feel herself swaying as she walked, burying her face in the softness of Momo’s shirt. Through the fabric, she could feel the warmth of her skin, solid and real.
The night was cold and she could hear Momo telling her to at least try to stand up straight. The breeze was chilling, and her dress was suddenly too short to be wearing out. She had wanted someone to see her, no matter how superficial. She wanted someone to take it off, wanted someone to make her feel needed and craved. If she tried she might have been able to act at least somewhat sober, but the closeness, the scent of her, the warmth of her body so close, it was what she wanted.
She let herself break her own rules telling herself that it was different. Momo was her friend, her closest one, and she loved her. Momo looked at her as if she had hung the stars above them with her own hands. She looked at her the same way that she had.
It was the closest she could get. It was what felt missing. It felt warm like her, it felt familiar. She didn’t save Sana as she fell, but Momo, Momo reached for her as she tumbled down. She let Momo guide her to her car, let her put the seatbelt on for her, and let her eyes close for a moment as Momo pulled out onto the street.
-
Sitting on the edge of Momo’s bed she felt seen. Momo was busy rifling through her drawers trying to find something Sana could change into and her eyes were steady on her back. It felt as if she was found, kicked to the curb, and abandoned, so Momo could find her.
When Momo turned back around and walked back towards her Sana let her eyes wander. She was dressed comfortably, probably ready for bed until she noticed where Sana was . She had her location, something they had done while Momo traveled abroad and kept since, and she knew Momo was more than aware of where she tended to spend her evenings. There was something about the older girl that she found enthralling. It was either the alcohol or the remnants of her high school crush, but Sana could feel want settling into her frame.
Momo set the clothes down next to her, telling her to change, before stepping out into the hall. She stood up shakily, leaning forward onto the bed to still herself for a moment. Clumsily she tried reaching behind her, grabbing at the zipper on her dress’ back only to find air. She cursed under her breath, trying to maneuver herself to reach higher. She stumbled for a moment, reaching for the bedside table and knocking a notebook off in the process.
The thud had Momo walking back into the room , sighing with relief when she saw her journal on the floor instead of Sana. She sat on the bed with a huff, tiredly rubbing her eyes , “Come here, I’ll get the zipper for you.”
Sana swallowed hard as she felt Momo’s fingers graze the bare skin of her back. Her touch was so gentle, barely grazing her skin and making her shiver slightly. It reminded Sana so much of her. T he type of gentleness that she thought she had lost in a mix of rushed and desperate one-night stands. It had been months since she felt it, the sensation making a reel of memories flash past her.
The room was silent enough for the zipper to sound audible, the sound of the zipper moving down the track making memories flash past her eyes. Their first date, anniversaries, when Sana met her parents, their first Christmas together, their last date, their first fight. The last memory flashed as the dress was pushed off her shoulder, pooling at her feet as she stepped out of it . When Jihyo left.
Her movements felt automated, her breath heavy from the liquor and her thoughts. Her hands were heavy on Momo’s shoulders, the older woman watching to make sure she could keep her balance. They were used to changing in front of each other, the history between them spanning from first sleepovers and first crushes. She felt warm under Momo’s attentive gaze, reading into it and molding it into what she wanted. Shakily she moved closer, seating herself on Momo’s lap.
The older girl wrapped her arms around her, understanding how hard the night had been. In her daze, all she could register was Momo’s hands warm on her bare skin, placed just below the back of her bra. Fingers tracing soothing and comforting shapes on her skin. She nuzzled into her neck, breathing in her familiar scent before tentatively pressing a kiss onto the warm skin.
It felt right enough, Momo familiar beneath her and the warmth she had been craving. Her cheeks felt warm, warmer than they should be as she sloppily tried to press her lips against her neck. As quickly as it started, Momo pushed her away, holding her at arm’s length. “Sana, what are you doing?”
Momo’s eyes turned scrutinizing, Sana only focusing on the cold in her irises. It came crashing down, the look all too familiar.
Disgust.
Her voice was soft and broken , “Jihyo… please.”
She earned a scoff in response, as Momo pushed her to the side. She stood up and walked towards the door leaving Sana alone on the bed. Momo spared her one last look over her shoulder before she left and closed the door behind her. Only then did Sana register the tears streaming down her face.