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Trinity hates being the designated driver. It’s not even because she can’t drink, though she does feel a bit left out. It’s not because she needs to shepherd her drunk friends around, leading Dennis to the bathroom when he couldn’t figure out how to get there himself.
She tries to remind herself of positives to being the driver. No hangover tomorrow. She’s not spending any money besides on gas, which she knows her friends would Venmo her for if she asked. The bartender gave her a free mocktail, though she let it get watery from the melted ice cubes. The mocktail left a puddle of condensation on the table, but she can’t get up to track down a napkin. Because the worst thing about being the designated driver is happening, unfolding in front of her like one of those wet-dream nightmares that burn into your memory as soon as you wake up– Victoria Javadi is being touchy.
Victoria isn’t just touchy tonight, it’s like she’s decided Trinity’s body is a playground and she’s a particularly rambunctious kid. Like she might burn like a witch touching water if their arms aren’t plastered together, or that she’ll get seven years of bad luck if her hand moves from Trinity’s skin.
Trinity realized the first time they drank that Victoria got looser after a beer. But three cocktails and two shots means Trinity is wearing her like a coat. Trinity can handle touchiness, especially forgiving the intoxicated state of her. But what she can’t handle is the flirting.
Javadi is accompanying every touch with a look, or a smirk, or a joke that makes Trinity’s limbs feel they are on fire.
She begged Trinity to come on to the dance floor. If Trinity had a few drinks in her, she’d be throwing ass, but her primary concern was to keep an eye on her friends’ drinks from afar and making sure Victoria didn’t tip over in her ridiculously high heels. Victoria had a one track mind, focused on wrapping her arms around Trinity and pulling her into a tempo-inappropriate slow dance.
“I should go watch your drinks.” Trinity tries to ignore Victoria’s arms around her neck, the hands wandering into her hair.
“Trin,” Victoria pouts, “I wanna dance with you.”
“And I want to keep you from getting roofied.”
Her plump bottom lip juts out even more.
“Okay fine, after this song.”
Three songs later, Trinity is headed back to the table, when she spots Dennis looking lost. She beelines for him and grabs his arm.
“Where’d our table go? Did they move it?”
She sighs and drags him back to the table. He says “ah-ha” in such an adorably-pathetic drunk way she can’t have the heart to be annoyed with him. Now that Dennis is at the table, she scans the room for Victoria. She’s on the edge of the dance floor talking to a fellow drunk girl in equally tall heels. They’re talking animatedly and the girl holds her glass up then gestures to Victoria’s. She nods and then Victoria is nodding and handing her own glass to the girl, taking the girl’s glass of mystery liquor.
Trinity runs up and grabs at Victoria’s arm, pulling her close enough to hear her through clenched teeth, “You don’t even know her.”
Victoria’s free hand snakes up Trinity’s back, distractingly touching the hot expanse of skin under her top. “It’s not like she spiked it.”
Trinity digs her fingers in more, which makes Victoria move her hand, still on Trinity’s bare skin to her stomach. She seems to be absent-mindedly tracing shapes, fidgeting with Trinity.
“You can keep drinking, just not anything anyone else gives you.”
Victoria frowns but doesn’t fight back, letting Trinity lead her back to their own booth.
“Perfect timing, I just ordered a round of shots,” Dennis gestures with a flourish of his hands. Trinity grabs the potentially spiked glass out of Victoria’s hand and offers a shot to her instead, waggling her eyebrow.
“I’m not supposed to drink things other people give me.” She looks up at Trinity with big doe eyes and a bratty grin.
“Victoria…”
“Say please.” She has a smirk on her face that is doing awful things to Trinity.
“Please take this shot and sit down.”
Javadi grabs the shot glass from her hand with a victorious grin and leans her head back, downing it. She makes an exaggerated ‘ahh’ sigh.
Trinity looks at her and points at the booth. Victoria gestures, telling her to sit. So she does, and Javadi climbs into Trinity’s seat, tucking into her lap like she’s a cat. Trinity is keenly aware of her ass sitting on Trinity’s crotch, her back pressed against Trinity’s front.
Drunk Victoria Javadi was made in a lab to kill her specifically.
“I don’t think you should drink anymore, Vic.” Trinity whispers into Victoria’s ear, holding onto her hips to keep her from moving around.
Victoria pouts, bottom lip sticking out, and Trinity has to close her eyes to stop herself from thinking about what she wants to do with her lips.
“Why? I’m being so good.” She draws the last word out in a whine that makes Trinity squeeze her thighs together.
“You’ve had a lot to drink.”
“Do you want me to beg? Cause I’ll beg.”
Trinity swallows hard. “No, Vic. I’ll take you home.”
“Fine,” Victoria draws out the word, throwing her head back and leaving her neck a bare expanse Trinity wants to kiss and bite and lick. “But…” She starts to negotiate.
“Whatever you’re about to say, no.”
“What?” Victoria whines, “I was just gonna ask if I could stay at yours? My parents are gonna kill me, they have no clue I own these clothes.”
Trinity also wishes she didn’t know Victoria owned this miniskirt, though for very different reasons.
Whitaker was sober enough that getting him into bed wasn’t an issue. The problem, was of course, with Victoria. Despite being one person, getting drunk Javadi into bed really was like herding cats. She wouldn’t stop talking, trying anything to distract Trinity from the task at hand, getting her into bed. She was also still touchy, holding onto Trinity’s arm even though her feet were getting steadier and steadier by the minute. Trinity sits Victoria down on her bed as she rummages through the few pajamas she has. She manages to find an old med school t-shirt and a pair of sweats for Javadi to put on and tosses them to the girl. They hit the ground uneventfully, Javadi didn’t even try to move to catch them. Her eyes are just on Trinity. Trinity leans down to pick up the clothes. And then, Victoria’s skirt falls to the floor.
“Oh, um, let me turn around.” Trinity holds out the clothes, eyes on the ground, then turns, squeezing her eyes shut. Tries not to think about if she looked at the mirror on the back of her door– Victoria’s top hits the floor, and then her bra, and the shirt is taken out of her hand.
She stops breathing, quietly listening as Victoria slides the pants over her legs, the shirt over her head.
“I’m dressed now.”
Trinity exhales and turns, taking in the smaller girl drowning in her clothes, and her chest tightens. She’s leaned back on Trinity’s bed, hands buried into the comforter propping herself up. She looks comfortable, like she belongs there. She looks up at Trinity, and Trinity knows this look. It’s the one where she’s keeping herself from saying something, her hands itching to move, waiting for permission. Permission to check vitals, to suture, to touch.
“You should get some sleep.” Trinity pulls at the edge of the comforter, lifting it back for the girl to slide in. She still has that look, still has words in her throat. Trinity looks at her, gesturing for her to get under the blanket. She listens, saying nothing. Trinity moves to the door. She shuts off the lights and reaches for the door knob, trying to shut it quietly behind her.
Barely perceptable, Trinity hears her.
“Stay.”
She pauses, door still ajar.
“Please.”
Trinity doesn’t move, doesn’t think, doesn’t breathe. Then she does.
Trinity shrugs her clothes off, leaving her briefs and bra on, and slides under the covers. Victoria is a radiator, a warm warning to Trinity’s skin to stay clear. She closes her eyes, steadies her breath. Feels a heartbeat joins hers. Victoria scooted closer, skin brushing Trinity’s goosebumps. She feels like she’s burning, the sweet smell of her shampoo cloying in her throat mixed with the rising humidity that makes it harder to breathe. She turns onto her back, hoping that she’ll get more air into her lungs. She stares up at the ceiling, head pounding. And then Victoria shifts, moving her head to Trinity’s chest.
Trinity takes a shallow, shaky breath. Victoria’s head rises and falls with it. She keeps breathing slowly, scared to disrupt her. The small exhales she can hear from the girl’s mouth sound like she’s asleep. So Trinity tries too.
In her dreams, Victoria is everywhere. She’s touching Trinity, and making noises that Trinity wouldn’t let her brain go to normally, but it's one of those dreams she can’t control. It’s a car crash of a wet dream, she couldn’t make herself wake up or look away even if she’d try.
It ends way too quickly, though she tries to pull and grasp the wisps of Victoria’s skin touching hers and the sounds she makes, but Trinity is pulled out of sleep to an empty bed and someone in her bathroom. The door swings open and Victoria looks like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar, frozen. But then she moves, quickly, grabbing at her bag and shoving her club clothes into her arms.
“I should get going,” Victoria reaches for the heels that she left at the foot of Trinity’s bed.
“What do you mean?” Trinity sits up quickly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“I am gonna call an Uber,” Victoria’s eyes are on her feet. She is bent over slipping her shoes on, still wearing Trinity’s clothing.
“Victoria, what’s going on?” Trinity’s voice is firm, accusatory. She can feel heat rise in her chest.
“I should go–”
“How can you pretend last night didn’t happen?” Trinity throws the blankets off of herself, standing unsteady on her feet. She can feel tears pricking her eyes.
Victoria looks up at her, wide-eyed. “We just hung out?”
“We didn’t just hang out–”
“Trinity, I don’t know what you’re–”
“Don’t play dumb, you get drunk and flirt with me, and touch me, and I’m supposed to forget about it? We’re just supposed to go back to being friends?”
“That’s not what happened.” Victoria stretches out her words like Trinity's the one misunderstanding, that this is something Victoria has to clarify with her often.
“Then what is it? Why do you only warm up to me when you’re plastered?”
Javadi scoffs. “Well, being around you sober is unbearable.” She says it, but then her jaw tightens in realization of what she just said.
“What the fuck do you mean?” Trinity snaps, “Do you hate me?”
Victoria shuts her eyes, sets her jaw, and says the words she’d been thinking last night, in bed. “It’s so hard to not want you when I’m sober.”
Trinity takes a step back, head tilted and eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” There isn’t an answer, so she repeats herself. “Vic, what do you mean?”
“When I get drunk, I can pretend that's all it is. That it’s the reason why.”
“Why what?”
“That I want you.”
Trinity shakes her head in disbelief. “What do you–,” She scoffs and tries again, “What do you mean?”
Victoria drops her clothes in a pile at her feet. “That when I’m around you I want to kiss you and hold your hand and–”
“No, you don’t.” Trinity swallows around the emotion rising in her chest.
“I’m tired of people telling me what I do and don’t want.” Victoria inhales, exhales deeply. “Trinity, I want you. I want to go on cheesy dates and kiss in the rain and wear your sweatpants not just because I don’t have any clothes with me, but because you want me to.”
Trinity opens her mouth but doesn’t say anything, and Victoria goes to grab her hand before hesitating. Trinity reaches her hand out, and her knees get weak feeling Victoria’s skin against hers. Straight out of a dream.
Trinity squeezes her hand, and can feel the tears finally fall on her cheeks.
“Aw, Trin, don’t cry.” Victoria’s crying too, but she reaches her hand up to wipe the tears from her face. Trinity captures her hand instead, kissing her wrist, her palm, her finger tips. She kisses each finger tip then holds Victoria’s hand against her face.
“You look really good in my clothes.”
“Yeah?” Victoria sniffles.
“How about you wear them more often?”
“Please.” Victoria smiles and gets on her tip toes, pressing her lips into Trinity’s.