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Summary
“I guess,” she replies vacantly, leans closer like Lapis wants her to judging by the brief flutter of her eyelashes in a blink, and the other woman turns back to face her.
Clear as day, Jasper can recall when it had been sweat slicking the shallow crests of Lapis’ collarbones instead of dry air. When it had been just them two, skin-to-skin and soul-to-soul. When Jasper didn’t have to worry about Lapis’ gaze pinned on another because she humored her enough. That cage only fit one. Now, when she watches another smile stretch across Lapis’ face, promising gleam of teeth and all, she feels vaguely sick. It pulls at her, this illness coughing up her spine, beckoning. She concedes.
Lapis laughs softly. “You’re jealous.”
Lapis pierces her own navel. Jasper, in her own fashion, deals with it.