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She’d loved Pavetta and Duny, truly.
It was too late that she realized Duny was a bad guy—by then he’d already discarded her. Pavetta followed suit, never speaking to her again.
Ciri sort-of thought her time as a unicorn, then, was a fluke.
“Do that again, but this time until you fail.”
“What?”
The man had strange, honey-colored eyes. He crossed his arms and nodded to the system of cables and pulleys. “Your form is remarkable. But it looks too easy for you. Do it again, but this time until you literally cannot lift anymore.”
Ciri, taught like any normal person not to speak with strangers, peered dubiously at the newcomer. Still, she complied, wondering if her form was still correct when she was being observed.
She stood straight, then brought the rod up to parallel with her shoulders. It took her fourteen repetitions until she winced, fifteen until she was aware she was tempted to engage the wrong muscle groups, sixteen until she could not bring it past her elbows.
“So, you do fail. You just have endurance.”
“I guess?”
“Do more weight. Balance it to get in twelve reps before you fail.”
“Look, sir—“
“No, I’m not your dad. But I know other assholes are going to come up and talk to a petite blonde woman and try to make you feel inadequate. Your form is great, you just need to trust yourself to push harder.”
Strangely, Ciri relaxed at the words of praise. “Thank you.”
His name was Geralt.
Sometimes, he showed up with a woman with jet-black hair, near-violet eyes, and a severe demeanor.
Ciri tried not to stare, she really did. But sometimes, well, the woman was in an especially flattering set of workout gear. Maybe Ciri just really admired a toned set of calves.
Together, they were intimidating. But sometimes, Geralt spied her from across the gym, clenched jaw relaxing into something like a smile. He waved. Ciri waved back weakly.
Geralt came over to spot Ciri at the inverted leg press, knowing how nervous the machine made her. She knew logically that it had stops to prevent her from turning into a pancake—but nobody in their right mind should like that position.
“Who’s, um—?” was all Ciri could manage.
Geralt followed her gaze to where the raven-haired woman was doing chest flys. “That’s Yennefer.”
Ciri secured the stops on the leg press, blowing her hair out of her eyes. Geralt’s terseness was really something. “Um, your wife?” she hedged further.
“Partner,” Geralt corrected. “Not married.”
“Cool,” Ciri said lamely.
“She wants you to come over for dinner.”
Ciri had just released the stops on the leg press, and she gave a startled squeak as her knees buckled. “Today?!”
Geralt’s face changed into one of alarm, but she waved him off as she readjusted and smoothly engaged her quads.
She cleared her throat. “Um, today?” she repeated.
He looked at her quizzically. “Only if you’re free.”
“Geralt, I’m sweaty and—and look like a rat. It’s almost dinner time already.”
“So are we.”
“I’m not meeting your hot girlfriend in my gym clothes.”
“Go home first,” he said simply. He didn’t even acknowledge her comment on his partner’s attractiveness.
“Fine.”
“Oh, you’re going over to have dinner with friends,” Calanthe said over a crackly phone connection. “How nice.”
For all her fuss over not talking to random people on the Internet, Calanthe sure seemed blasé about the matter.
Dara had a more appropriate reaction on Facetime.
“Sorry, you’re going where?”
“Over to hang out with a hot couple from the gym.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know! Dara, I don’t know.”
“Isn’t that, like, dangerous?”
“Dara, you’ve done…things.”
“Yeah, but I’m a guy. You’re a girl. You have to be careful.”
Ciri snorted, raising her eyebrows meaningfully at his lithe form.
“You know what I mean. At least give me the address where…Gary and Jennifer live.”
If Ciri hadn’t known any better, she would’ve thought Yennefer didn’t like her, even if only on a subconscious level.
All of her movements were marked by stiffness even as she smiled, offered a drink, or introduced the cat.
She seemed to relax when they all sat on the couch, eyes sparkling with mirth.
Ciri waited for the signal—the flit of the eyes down to observe Ciri’s mouth as she spoke, lingering just a beat too long.
Ciri leaned in to capture Yennefer’s lips, giving a simple kiss, then withdrawing a couple inches.
Yennefer’s breath hitched. She chased Ciri those few inches and their mouths made a gentle smacking sound as they reconnected once, twice.
Yennefer’s brain seemed to catch up. “Uh, what are we—what’s happening?”
Ciri must have miscalculated.
Because she was certain that their seating positions, bracketing Ciri on the couch, implied what they wanted.
“Sorry!” Ciri yelped. “Is that not…did I read it wrong?”
Yennefer’s face, even with her caramel complexion, was cherry-red.
Ciri looked to Geralt, who was frozen in bewilderment behind her, lips working uselessly even as no noise emerged.
“Um, that’s okay,” Yennefer said hollowly. “That wasn’t what I…expected, but I’m not. Upset. Or anything.”
The back of Ciri’s neck burned with shame.
“Geralt?” Yennefer prompted. “Are you…upset?”
Geralt shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” Ciri said, directed to him this time.
“Please don’t be,” he said, eyes sincere as ever. “You’ve…done that before,” he guessed.
“Yeah—my. An old coworker and his…girlfriend would, um. We were a thing.” Ciri stumbled through the explanation, clumsy as ever, the words coming unnaturally even when describing something that had come for her so naturally.
“Did they hurt you?” Geralt asked, voice so patient it hurt Ciri to the core, though she didn’t know why.
“Yes. No! Not like—that. I wanted to. Um, the bad things came later. When it was just me and him.”
“Hmm,” Geralt said.
“He thought,“ Ciri started, then corrected herself with her therapist’s words. “He felt entitled to me at work afterward.” She folded her hands in her lap.
“I hate that,” Yennefer said, soothing hand coming up to rub Ciri’s shoulder in a placating gesture.
“You don’t have to do anything to please us when you’re here,” Geralt said carefully. “We won’t take advantage of you.”
“Okay,” Ciri said, defeated by the polite distancing.
Ciri was surprised when she wasn’t banished from the household. Geralt invited her for dinner three days later.
She got off work, drove over as if on autopilot.
She sat on a different couch, but felt comfortable enough to fold her socked feet under her.
They asked her to stay for a movie, and she did.
And then she excused herself and went home to her studio apartment, standing before the window as the kitchen light cast her own reflection onto the long panes of glass.
She was in the most excruciating, isolating pain, but it wasn’t something she could share with anyone. Doing so normally resulted in odd looks, or occasional pity.
People always thought she was talking about Pavetta and Duny for attention or sympathy. But it was more than that. She didn’t want pity.
She wanted community.
“Let’s go bowling,” Yennefer said, eyes lighting up. They piled into her Crosstrek—Ciri had never met another couple where the man didn’t expect to drive every time—and went to the nearest bowling alley arcade.
“You have tiny feet,” Yennefer shrieked at Ciri’s shoe size.
Ciri just shrugged.
Geralt excelled at bowling, of course. Yennefer was truly awful, and Ciri somehow worse.
“I think we need to let you use the rail,” Yennefer giggled.
“Fine,” Ciri said. “Rail me.”
Geralt snorted, but fetched her the contraption used to allow children to bowl. She still got a gutter ball.
“We should stop hanging out,” Ciri said.
“Did we do something to make you uncomfortable?” Geralt asked.
“No, I’m worried that I did.”
“We want you here,” Yennefer said, quiet.
“I’m not, like, a predator,” Ciri blurted.
“What?” Geralt looked puzzled. “We never thought you were. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But I was, like, an active participant.”
“You can say yes to some things, but not others,” Geralt said. Gentle as ever. “He was the bad person. Not you.”
“I know,” Ciri said, frustrated. “I know that.”
“I’m tired of people feeling bad for me,” Ciri said.
“What do you want instead?” the therapist asked.
“I want to—I don’t know, do the things that everyone else gets to. Make out. Cuddle.”
“With them? Geralt and Yennefer?”
Ciri sighed. “Yeah. I don’t think they’re…like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like…me. Like Pavetta and Duny.”
“Like you,” the therapist corrected. “Pavetta and Duny were doing something else. But there was nothing wrong with you being poly. Or queer. Or kinky, even.”
Ciri folded her knees to her chest, then clutched herself tight.
“What’s coming up for you?”
“I feel so alone.”
“We should stop hanging out,” Ciri repeated, having driven over and removed her tennis shoes in the foyer. She said it with finality this time.
Yennefer was looking down at her own lap on the couch, head hanging almost as if in…sorrow.
“What is this about?” Geralt asked.
“I feel lonely,” Ciri said. “I…I like you guys.”
“We like you, too,” Yennefer said miserably. “We don’t want you to go.”
“No,” Ciri said firmly. “Do I have to spell it out for you? I like you romantically. I. Like. You.”
Geralt furrowed his brow. “Okay? That’s fine.”
“But I want things, too,” Ciri argued. “I’m just like anybody else. I want to…find people to cuddle. And have sex with. And maybe live with, someday.”
“And you don’t want to…with us?” Geralt asked slowly.
Yennefer looked like she might cry.
“I do! That’s the problem,” Ciri said, and her own tears did arrive then—embarrassingly. “I don’t want to be creepy, but I do want you. That way. And if that makes you uncomfortable, we should stop being friends.”
“Come here,” Yennefer said, and held her arms out.
Ciri went tentatively, curling into her side like a child.
Yennefer used her sleeves to dry Ciri’s face, even the traitorous snot coming out her nose.
“Ew,” Ciri gave a watery laugh, “Sorry.”
“We all do it.”
Geralt disappeared from the room, only to return with a thin book with a yellow cover. Ciri recognized it, even though a pink sticky note with her name obscured part of the cover. It was Polysecure.
“That one is for you to take home,” Yennefer said. “We got one to keep here.”
Ciri stared at Yennefer, processing. Then she threw her arms around the older girl.
“It’s going to be okay,” Geralt said, and his hand came up to rub between her shoulder blades while she sobbed into Yennefer’s neck. “We’re all going to be okay.”