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“You’ve been staring all night,” Clara points out.
“You’re the one who followed me into the bathroom,” Ruth counters, just as harsh as she always is. She leans against the sinks, hands pressed flat to the marble on either side of the basin. She does her best not to let her gaze wander to Clara in the mirror.
“Because you’ve been avoiding me like the plague and staring at me like- like-” Like you’re the Mona Lisa, Ruth thinks.
“You’ve made your point,” Ruth snaps, banishing her own train of thought to the deepest recesses of her mind. She runs her shaking hands under the cool running water and lightly presses them to the sides of her face, careful not to smear her makeup. Ruth Wayne can’t look anything but perfect, after all. Especially at her own gala.
Her eyes slip shut and she hears Clara huff a sigh a few feet behind her.
“You’ve been giving me the slip since the night we kissed–” Ruth’s eyes fly open and she whirls around to face Clara.
“Would you keep it down?” She interjects, quickly checking underneath the stalls for anyone else in the bathroom, sighing a breath of relief when she realizes they’re alone. “You know what would happen to me if this got out?”
“I know, I know,” Clara starts, words as biting as ever, “your precious reputation. How could I forget when you keep reminding me of it every time I so much as breathe too close to you.”
“My reputation is important to me–”
“And this — us — isn’t?”
“There is no ‘us,’ Clara. We are friends.”
“Yeah, friends, I forgot.” Clara sneers. “Friends who kiss and fall asleep in each other’s arms and bring each other to every family holiday, of course.”
“I don’t know what you expected, but I’m not a dyke like you are, Clara.”
“Really? You’re gonna stoop that low?”
“I think you should go.”
“I’m the one you think should leave?”
“Yeah, well, it’s my gala and you’ve clearly been misconstruing our friendship into something that it definitely isn’t.”
“I’m sorry, then. For loving someone who will clearly never care about me.”
“Yeah.”
Clara scoffs again and shakes her head as she storms out of the bathroom. Ruth aches to chase after her, but her Louboutin heels stay rooted in place. She turns back to the mirror once she’s heard the door slam and blots her tears away before they can escape the corners of her eyes.
Ruth returns to the gala a minute or so later, once she’s fairly sure that Clara made her leave. Her arm hooks in the socialite’s again and her eyes sweep unconsciously over the ballroom in search of the smile she stomped on.
When she doesn’t find it, she whispers something she won’t remember into the man’s ear and drags him back to a hotel room. Her mind doesn’t stray from Clara for the rest of the night.
***
“I love you,” Ruth whispers, breath barely brushing against Clara’s flushed cheeks. Ruth’s lips trail from Clara’s cheek to her jaw, planting soft kisses to her warm skin. “I love you,” another kiss, this one to her sternum, “so much.”
Clara giggles, soft and light. Like she doesn’t have a care in the world. Like neither of them do. She lightly shoves Ruth away by the shoulder, bright smile lighting up the dim room. The light that filters in through the window is pale with the early morning hues, and it only serves to make Clara look even more angelic.
Ruth leans away from her, lips twisting into a smile of their own without her permission. The light catches on a diamond sparkling around Clara’s finger, and Ruth glances down at the matching one on her left hand. Her smile widens, just so.
“What’s got you all lovey this morning?” Clara asks, eyes glimmering.
“Hm,” Ruth hums, pretending to think the question over, “I don’t know. Maybe the gorgeous person in my bed?”
“Stop it,” Clara giggles again.
“Ooh, or maybe the fact that I have the best wife in the world?”
“I’d like to hear you say that in twenty years,” Clara scoffs, as if time will make their love any less true.
“I’ll be saying it every day for the rest of my life.”
“You are such a flirt,” Clara comments, rolling her eyes, though her smile doesn’t fade one bit.
“You knew that when you kissed me. And when you asked me out. And when you said ‘I do’”
“I did,” Clara sighs dreamily. Ruth could listen to her forever, she could get addicted to that far-off tone, and the way her cheeks color when she gets a compliment. Ruth just stares, for a sweet, lingering moment.
It isn’t real, but it feels real enough. Real enough for her to lay there, and soak in Clara’s warmth until she wakes.
~~~
When she does, it’s a harsh shift. The man’s arm is thrown around her waist, and her back is pressed to his chest. It makes her want to vomit, like she’s cheating on someone that’s never really been hers. Could have been, if she wasn’t so stupid.
She unceremoniously removes the man’s arm from her body and drops it onto the now-empty pillow. Ruth wastes no time in getting dressed and finding her way from the hotel to the manor, ruminating the whole way home on the harsh words she said to Clara. The light of pre-dawn filters in through the windows of the manor as she stalks through the halls, deliberating on how to make it up to Clara. If she even can.
~~~
Ruth gently raps on Clara’s door. Her other hand holds tightly to the flowers — yellow cosmos, since Clara said they reminded her of home. The door opens just a crack, and Clara’s head pokes out. She takes a small step into the hallway and closes the door behind her. Clara heaves a large sigh when her gaze drops to the flowers.
“What are you doing, Ruth?” She asks, already exasperated.
“I wanted to apologize–”
“And you thought flowers would make up for what you said?”
“I had a whole speech planned.” She can’t seem to remember it now, though.
“So you came over here, with the smallest of grand gestures, and figured it would make up for calling me a dyke and then going to bed with a man fifteen minutes later?” Clara scoffs, voice as harsh as Ruth’s usually is.
“I fucked up,” Ruth admits weakly.
“Yeah, you did. You’ve been fucking up.” Clara’s voice wavers, and it sounds as unsteady as Ruth feels. “You can’t seem to get over yourself and admit that liking a woman — liking me — won’t be the end of the world.”
“I love you, Clara,” Ruth spouts without any thought. Her fingers twitch around the stems of the flowers, and she tightens her grip on them instead of reaching for Clara. “I don’t just like you, I love you. I’ve been loving you.”
Clara’s eyes water. “Don’t say that.” A knife to Ruth’s heart. “Because I’ve loved you for years, and you choose now to say that? Now?”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t say it before—”
“No, you could have. You just didn’t want to.” The dagger twists.
“You’re right. I didn’t have the guts to say it before, but I do now, and god, Clara, I love you. I can’t stop loving you, I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as I can. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Ruth pleads, the flowers in her hand dropping to her side.
“You’re going to have to learn.” The knife rips out. “Because I don’t love you anymore. I finally got over you.” The killing blow. “You can keep the flowers.”