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Carol stood by the fact that the phrase “good book event” was an oxymoron, but even she had to admit that, as far as book events went, the one that had taken place tonight had been marginally less insufferable than usual. The moderator for the Q&A acted something resembling professional, the audience’s questions weren’t particularly inane, and only two people overshared about their personal lives while getting their books signed, which was a record low. None of them had tried to hug her, which was a small miracle.
Also, Helen had looked fucking hot.
Helen always looked fucking hot, but there must be something in the water in Lincoln, Nebraska, because she looked particularly delicious. It was her hair, maybe — up in a bun that ironically made her look like a sexy librarian, the fluorescent lights of the Barnes & Noble somehow reflecting angelically off the brunette strands. Or perhaps it was the way Carol could spot the smallest bit of black lace from her bra peeking out from her blouse. (In all honestly, it was probably the way that Helen looked at her — full of more love and pride than Carol had ever received from anyone else in her life combined — but that thought came with far too many complicated emotions, so she shoves it in a box and stashes it into the back of her brain next to the ones marked CAMP FREEDOM FALLS and MOTHERHOOD.)
Carol had even permitted herself the smallest indulgence of danger. She’d given Helen a quick kiss in the store’s bathroom after checking that every stall was empty — allowed her fingers to brush against Helen’s when she had handed her a new Sharpie after hers had run out of ink, a fresh bottle of water once she’d drunk the first one down, a tissue when a woman’s aggressive perfume had made her sneeze. Helen was always there, giving her exactly what she needed before Carol even realized she wanted for something.
Helen has never once pressured Carol to go public with their relationship — has never once used it as ammo against her, even in their ugliest fights, many of which Carol was guilty of starting — but there is a small, giddy glimmer in her eye whenever Carol breaks her own rules and offers any kind of public display of affection, even if it’s always subtle. Even if there could always be plausible deniability.
Carol tells herself it’s more intimate that way, sneaking around and keeping it just for themselves, though deep down, she knows it’s bullshit. That she’s holding Helen back, selfishly depriving her of something normal and real. She hates herself for it, but she hates the idea of losing Helen just a little bit more, which is why she’s currently participating in what’s turned into a bi-weekly ritual.
Carol is not good at being happy because Carol knows that she does not deserve to be. Every time she’s at risk of feeling it, it’s her duty to self-sabotage — to punish herself for forgetting her place: miserable and alone.
It sounds dramatic, but most of the time, it just involves searching her name on Twitter once Helen falls asleep next to her. She doesn’t even have an account — she absolutely refuses to have a social media presence save for a few times a year when she’s coerced into participating in some ridiculous Reddit Q&A or blackmailed into doing an Instagram Live interview with an influential BookToker — but everyone knows Twitter offers the crème de la crème of hate comments. Usually, all it takes is a few quick scrolls before she finds a post calling her work mindless drivel, or cliché schlock, or another mean but accurate description. That was normally enough to make her feel sufficiently demoralized so she could peacefully doze off.
The good news? The very first tweet she sees does the trick of ruining her night.
The bad? There’s no way in hell she’s going to be able to turn her phone off and sleep after seeing it.
@zzzoe_thee_capricorn: was anyone else @ the stormshadow of wycaro book event tonight??? my aunt dragged me there so i know nothing about it but i sweeear carol sturka was getting close with her female publicist or agent or whatever…what’s the tea there
The little bar at the bottom informs her it already has 30 replies, 18 retweets, 83 likes, and counting.
How could she have been so fucking stupid? She was a writer, for god’s sake — she knew the story of Icarus — but she had been so tempted by the sun that was Helen, had craved so badly to feel her warmth, that she had forgotten it was always her destiny to burn. Maybe in Hell, like her mother and Camp Freedom Falls had foretold. Or maybe just right now from the inside out, her blood hot in mortification, her skin reddened in shame.
Carol wants to slam her head against the bed frame until she’s concussed. She wants to throw her phone across the room until it shatters into a thousand pieces. She wants to reach through the screen and strangle Zoe the Cunticorn until she repents for the sins of being observant and correct. Considering the first two things would surely wake Helen, and the last was illegal (not to mention physically impossible), she settles for continuing to scroll through the comments.
@wildwildwycaro: no because i was getting fruity vibes too!!! ik what you are carol sturka lol 👀
@lucgrinatruther: WHAT!! omg i sooooo hope this is true maybe she’ll FINALLY do the right thing and make lucgrina canon 😍
@lesbianlucasia: YES YES YES YES YES!!!
@rabid_about_raban: girl nobody gaf about your trash yuri ship rabasia is endgame
@lesbianlucasia: raban literally died at the end of this book soooo
@rabid_about_raban: if you think he’s actually dead you’re dumb as hell
@space12345: love the wycaro series but i always thought the way she wrote smut was kinda strange so her being a lesbian irl would actually make a lot of sense hahahaha
@colleenhooverupdates: fr her spicy scenes are CRINGE i couldn’t make it past the first three chapters
@sturkanationpresident: 1) there’s not even a sex scene until chapter 24 so you’re just lying and talking out of your ass 2) bitch you stan COLLEEN HOOVER stfuuuuu
@wycaroworld: The woman you saw her with was probably her manager, Helen Umstead. She always goes with her to events.
Carol’s stomach churns violently at that. It was public knowledge, of course — listed on her website, even — but it felt so…invasive to see her name written out in this capacity.
@space12345: damn just googled her and she’s a baddie so good for her if they are hooking up
@zzzoe_thee_capricorn: like i said i don’t even go here but i ship it i sensed chemistryyyy
@wildwildwycaro: ahh they’d be so cute!!
Most of Carol’s childhood is a blur, but she remembers once, when she was around six, her parents driving her to California to visit her aunt and uncle, who lived in a condo a few blocks from the beach. Her cousin, Henry, was a few years older than her, and he talked her into letting him bury her in the sand. It had taken him all morning to dig the hole and pack all of the grains up to her neck, and he had been so proud of his accomplishment — so excited that he had run back to the house to fetch their parents so they could bear witness to his grand achievement.
He left her alone for what felt like hours, the water inching closer and closer to her as the tide came in. She screamed, but nobody was around to hear her. She thrashed, but she couldn’t move — paralyzed with no hope of breaking free.
Carol feels like that trapped six-year-old now, each comment a new wave of cold water slapping her in the face. It was only a matter of time until she drowned.
@rabid_about_raban: you guys have to make EVERYTHING gay it’s soooo annoying
@bloodsongz: gay or straight i don’t love that we’re normalizing rpf…
@wildwildwycaro: carol doesn’t even have a twitter account she’s never gonna see this calm down and let people have fun
Carol can’t stop the humorless laugh that escapes at that, making Helen stir in her sleep. She freezes, glancing over. This should be a sign to quit now — to not upset herself any further — but that wasn’t Carol’s way. She didn’t stop drinking until she was blackout drunk, didn’t stop scratching at an itch until there was blood under her fingernails.
So she slides out of the hotel bed as quietly as she can, tiptoeing around the extra pillows they’d tossed onto the floor and into the safety of the bathroom. She lowers the toilet lid and perches herself on it, picking up where she left off. It was an addictive kind of torture, doomscrolling through everyone’s unfiltered assumptions about you.
@ravishmeraban: ugh if she actually is a dyke i will use the books as kindling for my fire wycaro CANNOT go woke
@wildwildwycaro: what are you talking about? the whole first book is lucasia dealing with sexism as the first female captain the series has always been “woke”...
@ravishmeraban: idc i skip every scene raban isn’t in sorry not sorry he’s one of the only REAL men we have in fiction anymore
@lesbianlucasia: okay well i headcanon raban as trans so what now
@ravishmeraban: you’re a fucking moron
@lesbianlucasia: cry about it!!
@thewindatyourback: Gonna be honest it would disappoint me a lot if she is gay I’m not homophobic or anything but I also don’t really agree with the lifestyle and I think I’ll just feel too weird trying to read her stuff knowing that about her so yeah. :/
@lucgrinatruther: so i have news for you that’s still homophobic
@thewindatyourback: It’s not though I said I just wouldn’t support her anymore not that I’d hate her not everyone has to agree with everything.
@wycarobrazil: pls pls pls ask her if there’s going to be a brazil stop on this book tour!!
@wycaroworld: She’s said before that it's US only. It’s expensive to go out of the country, unfortunately.
@wycarobrazil: noooooo i need her to come to brazil so bad :(
@fairskies_purplesands: it would truly be the plot twist of the century if she was writing thousands of pages of epic hetero romance if it turned out she didn’t even like dick lmaooo
@colleenhooverupdates: “epic hetero romance” you mean slop?
@sturkanationpresident: jfc stop ragebaiting and go read it ends with us or something
@r0mantasy0bsessed: i fear i might have to unstan if she’s actually lesbo i think that’d be sorta bizarre idk
@winebathbooks: saaaame…i enjoy the series for how authentic and real it feels and i think it would lose some of that knowing she was into girls
@lucgrinatruther: they sail around on PURPLE SAND and look for a compass that lets you TIME TRAVEL but the author being wlw is where you draw the line? do you hear yourself?
@r0mantasy0bsessed: it would just feel kind of icky knowing she isn’t even attracted to the male form yet she goes on and on describing raban’s abs and biceps and stuff all the time? i’d feel tricked and like she just wanted my money
@winebathbooks: this. exactly this. knowing there’s no real passion behind the writing would make it feel cheap.
@lucgrinatruther: your bio says your fav book is a mlm romance by a female author how is that okay but this isn’t
@winebathbooks: that’s different because it’s still men through the pure female gaze
@lucgrinatruther: HUH???
Carol’s not sure what possesses her to do what she does next, but before she knows it, she’s creating an account, which is frankly a lot more complicated than it should be. Finding a handle that’s not already taken is the first obnoxious hurdle, with @wycarofan, @captainlucasia, and @purplesands all unavailable. Exasperated, she types @rabansmistress as a joke, but considering it’s miraculously free to use, she goes with it.
No one has ever accused Carol of being technologically savvy, so the profile picture thing takes her a few more minutes to figure out. First, she has to go to Google and take a screenshot of her novel cover. Then, she has to learn how to upload it to her account. Finally, she has to teach herself how to crop and zoom to get Raban’s face in the middle of the little circle. It somehow ends up blurry and off-center, but it would have to do.
@rabansmistress: I know for a fact that Carol Sturka is definitely straight.
She’s tempted to pat herself on the back. Short and sweet, clear and to the point, measured and calm. It’s perfect.
A reply comes a moment later from who other than Zoe the stupid fucking Capricorn.
@zzzoe_thee_capricorn: umm how? are you irls with her or something?
Carol heads back to Google to figure out what the hell “irl” means, biting her lip once she gets her answer. She obviously can’t tell the truth, but claiming to be an acquaintance of…well…herself seems like just as slippery a slope.
She decides the best course of action isn’t to confirm or deny but rather double down on her previous proclamation.
@rabansmistress: I am 100% certain that she is not gay.
It’s not even a full minute until Zoe responds again.
@zzzoe_thee_capricorn: k well clearly you were nooot at the book event tonight because i was sensing crazy sexual tension
I was the fucking book event, you little shit, she’s tempted to reply. But of course, she can’t — that would blow her cover and defeat the entire purpose of this whole urgent, ridiculous mission.
@wildwildwycaro: yeah they were totally eyefucking lol (and then probs actually fucking right after the event)
@space12345: like ma’ams this is a barnes & noble
@zzzoe_thee_capricorn: LITERALLYYYY…but also i’m not complaining it was hot af
@rabid_about_raban: god forbid women just be friends you all read into every little thing to push the gay agenda i swear
@zzzoe_thee_capricorn: it was not giving gal pal energy i know what i saw she’s a 2 on the kinsey scale at LEAST
Carol sucks in a sharp breath. There's a sick irony in the fact that the rampant, violent homophobia she’d grown up with had been easier to navigate in some ways than this “support.” Though being shoved into the closet had been painful, eventually, she’d gotten…comfortable in there. Had learned to make the space her own. But now people were breaking the door down without her permission, were trying to drag her out kicking and screaming, and it somehow felt even more violating.
She manages to get her bearings long enough to craft another message — one she thinks is far more diplomatic and restrained than any of these idiots deserve.
@rabansmistress: I am telling you for a fact she is not, so I think it would be best for you to drop this conversation.
@lesbianlucasia: another raban stan account lesbophobic? fork found in kitchen at this point you all are such toxic pick mes
She barks out another humorless laugh, glad she had the foresight to leave the bed.
@rabansmistress: This has nothing to do with me “stanning” Raban. It’s not appropriate to spread false information about someone’s sexuality.
@lesbianlucasia: why are you putting stanning in parenthesis asdfghjkl it’s giving boomer go back to facebook grandma 💀
@r0mantasy0bsessed: okay but HOW do you know that she’s straight @rabansmistress? do you have proof?
@thewindatyourback: Yeah I would also like to know how you know because it honestly breaks my heart thinking about her not being who I thought she was. She’s been such an inspiration for me as an aspiring writer but now I’m sick thinking about her being gross like that. :(
@lucgrinatruther: how do you expect someone to PROVE heterosexuality
@lesbianlucasia: we should ignore them queen i just checked and their account was literally made today it’s probably a troll or a bot
@colleenhooverupdates: carol sturka paying for fake fan accounts??? likely thing for her to do
@sturkanationpresident: i’m legit gonna dox you
@colleenhooverupdates: kill yourself
“Fuck,” Carol mutters under her breath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” In her fruitless attempt to put an end to one scandal, she might have just inadvertently started another.
@rabid_about_raban: she’s said before her celeb crush is george clooney you guys are reachiiiing
@lucgrinatruther: and? bisexual people exist
@r0mantasy0bsessed: yeah idk i still need more than the george clooney thing tbh like the more i think about it something isn’t adding up…
Carol swallows hard, hands shaking to match her rapidly bobbing leg as she types out another desperate comment.
@rabansmistress: Trust me — I have a very reliable source. Carol Sturka is straight.
@zzzoe_thee_capricorn: lol sure jan
@space12345: kiiinda seems like you have bad intel
@lesbianlucasia: whatever flop
@colleenhooverupdates: bitch we deadass don’t care #carolsturkaisoverparty
The knock on the door is soft, but it still makes Carol jump, sending the phone in her hand clattering to the floor. “Shit,” she mumbles as she scrambles to pick it up before forcing out a, “Yeah?”
“You okay?” Helen’s voice comes a moment later.
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Does your vocabulary happen to extend beyond that one word by chance?”
“Yeah,” Carol quips.
Helen promptly ignores it. “You’ve been in there for a while,” she points out, blunt but caring in that way only Helen could be. “I wanted to check on you.”
Carol chews on the inside of her cheek. Helen had a gift for cutting through bullshit — had a gift for cutting through her defenses, too. “I’m fine,” she vows. “Something’s just not agreeing with me.” It wasn’t a lie. It just so happened that dozens of comments speculating about her sexuality were the things making her stomach ill, not the Applebee’s grilled chicken caesar salad she’d eaten for dinner.
“Not agreeing with you, Carol?” Helen replies. “Or you, Raban’s Mistress?”
That hot, humiliated feeling seizes her body for the second time that night, and she curses the fact that there were no windows in this bathroom out of which to leap.
Carol seriously considers spending the rest of the night in there, curling up in the tub until dawn, but she knows that would only prolong the inevitable — that Helen would be on the other side of the door no matter when she chose to finally make her walk of shame out. She and Helen were very, very different people, but one thing they had in common was their impressive, unrelenting stubbornness.
So she rips the band-aid, pushing herself up from the toilet and opening the door. “How did you—”
“I’m your manager,” Helen dryly reminds her. “You seriously think I wouldn’t recognize your writing anywhere?”
“When did—”
“The sound of the bathroom door shutting woke me up. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep until I saw you were all right. When it started to seem like that might be a while, I decided to kill some time.”
“But why did you—”
“Once again, I’m your manager. You seriously think I don’t monitor what people are saying about you online?”
Carol purses her lips, the reality of it all crashing down on her now that her rapid-fire line of questioning is complete. “Then you know it’s bad,” she says more quietly, voice cracking on the last word. “You know it’s really fucking bad.”
Helen softens at that. “Hey, take a breath.”
“I’m fine,” she snaps.
“Okay, so be fine while you take a breath.”
Helen’s palm goes to Carol’s chest to assist — to ground her — and though it feels nice (maybe precisely because it feels nice), Carol slaps it away a little harder than strictly necessary.
Helen gives her a stern look. “Don’t ever do that again,” she orders, tone both calm and deadly serious. Yet she remains undeterred, reaching her hand up once more.
Carol clenches her jaw, valiantly resisting the urge to double down and defiantly bat it to the side. But it’s not long before she gives in to the temptation to sink into her touch, muscles relaxing against Helen as her body registers the contact, simultaneously extremely vulnerable and undeniably comforting.
“Good,” Helen praises. “Now breathe.”
She reluctantly complies, sucking in a labored gasp.
“Oh, come on — you can do better than that.”
Carol shoots her a glare, though it works like a charm. Helen knows exactly what she’s doing, after all, appealing to Carol’s competitive spirit and spiteful nature.
Helen waits until Carol doesn’t sound like she’s just run a 400-meter dash before she speaks again. “Tomorrow, someone will get accused of plagiarism, or cultural appropriation, or multiple counts of sexual harassment," she soothes, thumb tracing up and down Carol’s sternum.
“That’s dark,” she mumbles.
“But it’s true. I give it 48 hours tops before they all move on to something else. I know how this works.” Helen’s hand travels from Carol’s chest to her face, cupping her chin and tilting it up to meet her gaze. “Which is why you should let me handle it instead of arguing with people on burner accounts,” she gently implores.
Carol takes another shaky inhale, her lack of pushback a tacit agreement. “We have to be more careful,” she whispers on the exhale.
“Okay.” Helen nods. “I can sit out the next couple events.”
“No,” Carol hears herself reply with embarrassing haste, a bit of panic managing to creep into the single syllable. She can’t imagine a reading without the safety of Helen there. Can’t imagine much of anything without Helen by her side anymore. She clears her throat, awkwardly smoothing her oversized t-shirt. “I mean…that would look weird. Fuel the rumors. We just…need to be extra discreet.”
She gives her another nod. “Whatever you want, Carol.”
But what do you want? Carol’s tempted to counter. And are you sure that it’s this? Are you ever tired of keeping secrets for me? Of living a lie? Of it all being so fucking complicated?
Do you ever wish things were different?
Do you ever wish I was?
But Carol has learned that it’s better not to ask questions she’s afraid to hear the answers to, so she stays quiet.
Helen’s hand moves once more, landing between Carol’s shoulder blades and leading her out of the bathroom. “You need to get some sleep before we drive to Wichita tomorrow.”
“I fucking hate Kansas,” Carol half-heartedly mutters.
“I know you do,” Helen coos, patting her back.
“Amelia Earhart, and barbecue—”
“—and the Wizard of Oz,” she finishes as she ushers Carol into bed. “I agree — it’s a total nightmare.”
They lie in silence, though Carol knows from the sound of Helen’s breathing that she doesn’t immediately fall back asleep, a fact that’s further confirmed when, after a few minutes, she lets out a little giggle.
“What?” Carol prompts, staring up at the ceiling.
“@space12345 thinks I’m a baddie.”
Carol reaches her arm out beyond the edge of the bed, plucking one of the discarded pillows off the floor and smacking Helen with it.
Helen’s giggle turns into a full-blown cackle. “What, I’m not allowed to be flattered?”
“No,” Carol deadpans.
“Are you not a little flattered that the baddie in question is lying next to you?”
“No.”
“So we’ve moved on from ‘yeah’ as our word of the day? We’re exclusively saying ‘no’ now?”
“No,” she grumbles.
Helen scoffs, rolling onto her side to face Carol. “Don’t tell me you’re actually jealous.”
“I’m not,” she unconvincingly insists.
Helen reaches over, carding her fingers through the blonde locks that now sit at Carol’s shoulders. Her hair is much shorter than it had been when they’d met, but still longer than Carol would prefer. Cut any more off, however, and Carol worried there would be talk. More talk, even, than what she’d read tonight.
“You don’t have to worry,” Helen assures her, more genuine than the conversation requires, but exactly the amount of sincerity Carol needs to hear right now. “About anything.”
It’s not remotely true, but somehow, it consoles her enough to play along. “You just like knowing there’s interest in case I die in a zombie apocalypse or something?”
“Yes,” Helen purrs, kissing her jaw. “That’s precisely it.”
Carol rolls her eyes, a fleeting, bittersweet smile flickering on her face despite herself.
She knows Helen has options — has far better ones than her — and that scares the shit out of her.
But as Helen drapes an arm around her, curls in close, and nestles her face into the crook of her neck, she also knows that — for some reason, against all odds and despite the fact that Carol doesn’t deserve it — she has chosen her.
She knows that, no matter what anyone says or doesn’t say, no matter what anyone sees or doesn’t see, at the end of the day, Helen Umstead is hers.
At least for now.