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Like most nights they shared, Yolanda had passed out twenty minutes after the last light was off. Her curls splayed across her pillow, more than a few intruding on Trinity's side. Trinity always liked to watch or listen to her for a few minutes. There was a softness to a sleeping Yolanda: the complete lack of tension in her face, her mouth propped slightly open like a blissed out kitten, how her old t-shirt twists and creases from a few minutes of tossing and turning. Yolanda would immediately straighten the fabric back out if she were awake.
Like clockwork, Trinity pulled her girlfriend’s sheets down and slipped out of bed, careful to tuck Yolanda back in and nudge a pillow between waiting arms.
She’d done this almost every night since they started staying the night at each other’s, maybe a month into sleeping together.
It was easier when they were casual, when Yolanda left straight away, when there was no reason for her to question why Trinity couldn’t relax in her bed.
Even if it was harder, she still wanted it. And, yes, she’d told Yolanda a lot in the last two months; she told her about her best friend, about her scars, about her coach and her parents— but she wasn’t ready to admit to the physical side effects of being as fucked up as she is.
The floorboards creaked under her weight as she padded down the hall and into Yolanda’s living room. When she first found herself sleeping over semi-regularly, she had quickly catalogued the loudest boards, drawing out the quietest possible route out of the bedroom in her mind.
Trinity flopped down on the couch, curling into the corner seat and drawing her knees halfway to her chest. She draped one of Yolanda’s blankets over her lower half and started to mindlessly scroll through Instagram.
A while later, her yawning drew the attention of a newly-awake blob of black fuzz and sharp, green eyes. He delicately hopped onto Trinity’s knee, curling up on her thigh. His head was resting against the bottom of her stomach, half-asleep but still less tired than her.
“Mmh… Hey, buddy,” she greeted, exhausted. Her voice was hushed— even from down the hall, with two closed doors, she worried about waking Yolanda. “You should be asleep, like your mom. Don’t take after me, it’s not as fun as it looks.”
Zeus blinked at her, licking at his paw, the movement increasingly languid until his eyelids began to flutter and his nose almost pressed against her hip.
And just like that, Trinity was alone again. This time, with the contented rumbling of a sleeping cat, making it impossible for her to fidget and shift around again.
“You’re worse than Zeus, you know?” Yolanda called softly, head poking out from the hall. “Climbing out of my bed and sneaking around my house every night. Should I start taking it personally?”
Trinity flinched and almost knocked Zeus off her lap in the process. “You fucking scared me,” she hissed. Yolanda stepped fully into the room, making Trinity’s heart skip a beat.
She’s always been gorgeous. In scrubs, in silk gowns, in lingerie. Trinity would worship the ground Yolanda walked on, no matter how she looked, but she still looked so fucking perfect, even past two a.m., following a twelve-hour shift.
Her hair fell neatly into its usual place, where Trinity’s stuck up in every direction, knotted as ever. Anyone would guess Trinity was the one who had just woken up, not Yolanda.
Trinity blinked, and suddenly her girlfriend was sitting beside her, taking one of her hands into her own, and gently petting Zeus with the other. Yolanda’s smile was soft, warm and inviting— the kind only Trinity gets to see. She prided herself on that.
Yolanda’s head tilted to the side. “I thought I was going a little crazy.” She exhaled a small laugh, but a slight grimace remained. “Were you ever going to tell me you can’t sleep? Or were you planning to wait for me to fall asleep and sneak out every night for the rest of our relationship?”
She stretched out long legs, propped up on the couch armrest. The movements were slow and languid, the way they were every morning they spent together. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me, Trin.”
“I do.” Trinity insisted. She wanted to want to tell Yolanda everything... But she was too used to defending herself. Every assumption was an accusation, every question an interrogation, and every show of support an underestimation of her competence.
“No, baby, you don’t.” Yolanda nudged her head back up with an index finger under her chin. Then she squeezed Trinity’s hand, encasing it with both of hers. The pad of Yolanda’s thumb glided effortlessly across the back of her hand, skin soft as velvet. It made Trinity wince, hyperaware of how coarse her own skin was. Yolanda was one for self-care and looking after things important to her. Trinity could barely manage washing her face and remembering to water her single, dying houseplant.
Yolanda made her feel inadequate sometimes.
She knew it was ridiculous. But Yolanda was what an adult should be. Trinity was a traumatised teenager masquerading as an adult. A doctor, a girlfriend, and someone who didn’t wake up in tears most nights, if she slept at all.
“It’s hard,” she admitted through gritted teeth.
Yolanda waited patiently for her to continue, even if her fingers pressed a little deeper into Trinity’s hand and her forehead creased in silent concern.
“I do trust you.” Trinity defended, falling right back into the pattern she’s been stuck in for almost fifteen years. She resisted the urge to yank her hands away.
“I know.”
Trinity’s eyes had scanned the room, unsubtle in her attempts to avoid further eye contact and intimacy. Still, they snapped back and locked onto Yolanda’s when she eventually processed her reply.
Yolanda didn’t take the bait.
Trinity had set her up to get upset, to snap at her, to tell her how she couldn’t possibly trust her if she didn't tell her everything, if she wasn’t fully vulnerable whenever Yolanda wanted. She’d pulled the same bullshit with every other girl who had gotten too close. But Yolanda was different; Trinity actually wanted this. She was just so fucking scared.
But here Yolanda was, weathering out her storm, warm brown eyes staring into hers, inviting Trinity to share the weight of twenty-seven years of baggage without insisting.
“You do?” She asked, words slipping out thoughtlessly. Her voice was much softer now, small and hesitant. Unsure.
“Yeah, I do.” Yolanda raised Trinity’s hand to her lips and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “And I want you to tell me everything.”
Trinity’s breathing ceased. She knew it was too good to be true.
Here we go again.
Yolanda continued, “But that doesn’t mean you owe me that, and I don’t get to pressure you into some timeline.” Trinity’s eyebrows furrowed, but she refused to interrupt. “You’ll tell me exactly what you want me to know, once you’re comfortable with that. That’s okay, Trinity.”
“In the meantime, I just want to hold my girlfriend.” Yolanda gently guided Trinity into her side, until the younger all but melted, her head on Yolanda’s shoulder. “And for you to tell me next time you feel like fleeing my bedroom.”