Pins and Needles

They kissed in bathrooms, on the roof, in a mostly vacant bus, in the park by the willows on a white-checkered spread, in the alley by the theater downtown, in the back row when the lights went out; they kissed with eyes closed or open, with tongues or without; Sasha’s hand on Anne’s waist, on her shoulder, on the small of her back, the back of her neck; her touch gentle, discerning; her lips soft; breath minty, buttery, hitched; Anne’s vision turning numb, black, exploding; her stomach flattening, teeth straightening, a thousand other imperfections melting away.

Sasha whispered, “I’m gonna grab some more popcorn,” planted one more kiss on Anne’s cheek, and unwrapped herself.

Anne leaned back in her seat, shivering slightly. On screen, someone was being dismembered—the main character’s best friend, maybe, although the missing limbs made it difficult to tell. Goosebumps crawled up Anne’s arms. She tried closing her eyes, but the gooey sounds of slaughter were even worse without pictures.

Sasha returned with no popcorn, but a wide grin. “Good news! My dad said you can sleep over tonight!”

Heads turned, and a chorus of shushing noises met them from the front rows.

“Oh, you shh,” Sasha shot back. Loudly. “Ugh, let’s get out of here. This movie sucks.” Without another word, she scooped up her jacket and marched off.

Anne scrambled to gather her things. She tossed an apologetic smile toward the few people still glaring; bloody screams followed her out of the dark-lit room.

She found Sasha leaning against the hallway wall, sipping at an oversized soda.

“So…” Anne said after a glance at her phone, “that bought us some time. What now?”

Sasha kept slurping her drink; for a moment, the sound of air in a straw was her only response. Then: “So do you wanna stay over or no?”

Anne grinned despite herself. “Yeah! I just gotta ask my mom.”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Yeah yeah, okay—but you’re coming, right?”

Anne bit back her response and gave the answer she knew Sasha wanted to hear: “Of course.”

Her reward was a gleeful smile. “There’s my girl!”

Sasha leaned forward expectantly; Anne stepped into the kiss. She tucked away the text she’d been mentally composing to her mom—it could wait.

“Hey,” Sasha said on the bus ride back to her place. “Don’t let my parents find out that we’re, y’know. A thing.”

Anne was leaning into Sasha at almost a forty-five degree angle; it probably would have been easier to lay her head on Sasha’s lap, but a handful of other people were on the bus with them. A dark-haired woman sat in Anne’s periphery, sporting what could only be described as a mustache.

“They’re not homophobic or anything,” Sasha said without looking up from her phone. “But there’s no way they’d let you sleep over if they knew.”

Anne hummed. She ran her thumb across Sasha’s cheek, brushing aside a sweat-stuck lock of hair. “That sounds hard. Pretending I’m not in love with you.”

Sasha turned her gaze on Anne, blushing—or maybe it was just the heat. “God, you’re a sap.”

Anne tried to remember whether she’d invoked the word love before this moment. Unlikely. They’d only been dating for two days.

Staying out of Sasha’s arms proved…difficult. All throughout dinner, as Mr. and Mrs. Waybright made small talk to each other and the girls, Anne felt as though gnats were crawling over the exposed flesh of her arms and neck. She’d never done drugs before—or coffee—but this was what withdrawal felt like, right?

Sasha sat mere feet away, barely looking at Anne as she wolfed down her steak and sprouts.

Fortunately, dinner did end. They retreated to Sasha’s bedroom and put on the TV.

And resumed.

Relief crashed into Anne as she was pulled into an embrace, and they sank into the plush bedding. One of Sasha’s hands cupped Anne’s cheek, and the other found the small of her back. The ceiling lights left nothing untouched, but it didn’t matter; Anne disappeared into her girlfriend.

“Hey,” she finally said between breaths. “Sash?”

Sasha leaned back, giving Anne room to speak, although she remained straddling Anne’s lap, arms wrapped around her waist. A hint of curiosity made its way onto her otherwise ecstatic face.

Anne swallowed. “I wanted to say…thank you. These past few days have been amazing, and I—just—” She inhaled; a laugh track played from the TV. “I feel whole when I’m with you. That sounds stupid, but, yeah.” Then she pulled Sasha into a hug, burying her face in the other girl’s shoulder. Tears burned in her throat, like an old friend calling at the worst possible time.

“Anne…”

Sasha shuffled around within Anne’s grip—she didn’t let go—the remote sounded, and the sitcom went silent. Then another presence: a hand on her chin. Sasha lifted Anne’s face, slowly, until they were eye to eye, mere inches apart.

“Hey,” Sasha whispered. An unfamiliar tenderness filled her voice—and her gaze, and her touch. “You deserve the world, okay? The whole fucking world.” She pressed her mouth against Anne’s forehead, her lips, then her cheek. “And I…love you. Too. A lot.”

No quantity of kisses, however enthusiastic, would have allowed Anne to communicate her feelings in that moment. But she tried.

They followed the old rule: no sleep till sunup. Some unholy combination of energy drinks, terrible movies, and randomly timed makeouts kept them awake into the earliest hours of the morning.

When Anne finally began to drift off, she was flat on her back on the bed. Sasha lay sprawled atop her, smothering her with kisses; her hand traced the outline of Anne’s hip. Anne returned the affection lazily. Neither had even changed into their PJ’s yet—and Anne would need to borrow a pair. Maybe that could be their next activity. To stay awake. But that would require moving. Sasha’s hand slipped into her skirt.

Anne recoiled. Her waist rotated to avoid the intrusion.

Sasha laughed. Her palm rested once more on Anne’s hip, as if nothing had happened. “What’s wrong?”

“Sorry, I—” Anne tried to sit up, but the weight of Sasha’s body kept her pinned to the bed. “I think you got the wrong idea. I didn’t—I mean, I’m not—”

“Anne,” Sasha cut in. “Did you seriously think I invited you to my place so we could, what, make out all night?” Her voice still carried an undercurrent of laughter—not kind or cruel, just amused. She reached for Anne’s face, runnning the backs of her fingers along her cheek like so many ants. “I want you, girl. All of you.”

Anne’s heart hammered in her ears. “Maybe…later? Like, a lot later? When we’re, y’know. Older.” Holy shit she was not ready for this. Holy shit she was not ready for this. She was not ready for this.

“Anne, it’s just us. It’s me.” Sasha spoke in a too-familiar tone, firm and cajoling. “There’s nothing to worry about. It’ll be totally safe. And fun!”

Anne didn’t move. Or talk. Or think. She could easily have fallen asleep but for the pounding in her ears, and Sasha holding her down like a giant paperweight, and Sasha’s face just an inch from her own, red meat heavy on her breath.

“Well?”

An eternity passed.

“Anne. Seriously. There’s no need to be a prude about this. If you actually like me—”

“Okay!” Anne said. “Okay. Sure. I guess it couldn’t hurt to…try it out.”

Sasha lifted herself off Anne at once. She sat across the bed with her legs crossed and regarded Anne coolly. “Take off your shirt.”

Slowly, but without delay, Anne sat up. Grabbed the hem of her white top in two fists. And lifted it. Getting it over her head was the hardest part, but she didn’t hesitate. Didn’t let herself. And then she was topless save for her bra; she instinctively folded her arms in front of her, trying to cover up.

Sasha exhaled, the tension visibly leaving her body—a small victory. “There we go. That wasn’t so hard.”

“No.”

Sasha smiled, her rigid exterior beginning to melt. “C’mere,” she said, patting the space next to her.

With wooden limbs, Anne complied. The blankets were pink and plush; the mahogany bed frame had a fluorescent sheen.

It was mostly just a lot of kissing at first. It felt different—Sasha’s hands left a trail across Anne’s bare back—but not much actually changed. If this was all it took to keep Sasha at her side, Anne could have lived with it.

Sasha took off her own shirt at one point, and her shorts. She made an elaborate show of it, smiling mischievously all the while, like she was letting Anne in on some secret. But her smile dropped a few seconds after she’d finished.

“Oh, come on, that’s your reaction?”

Anne blinked. “What?”

“Do you know how many guys would kill to be in your position right now?”

Sasha did look…good. She wore a matching set of underwear, white with pink embroidery, and the pose she struck reminded Anne of the swimsuit models from one of her favorite magazines.

“You’re really pretty,” she said.

Sasha snorted as she climbed back into Anne’s arms. (Offended? Indignant? Satisfied? She was far too exhausted to keep track of Sasha’s emotions.) Shame blossomed as Sasha snuggled up against her—Anne’s face flushed—she shouldn’t be seeing, touching, her best friend so exposed.

“Oh my god,” Sasha cooed. “You look so flustered right now. It’s adorable.”

As Sasha pressed their lips together again, it was all Anne could do to sit there and let it happen. She tried to disappear into the kiss, to forget about the particulars. But Sasha moved lower: she kissed Anne’s jaw, then her neck, then her collarbone, until finally she started peeling back the top of Anne’s bra to make more room for her mouth. Anne tried not to squirm.

Then, abruptly, Sasha backed away and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. Anne exhaled at the respite.

Sasha pointed the phone at her with the unmistakable sound of a shutter. She sucked in her teeth as she regarded the photo. “Wow. This came out good.”

“Wait!” Anne said. How could she hope to explain it in a way that Sasha would understand? That skin-crawling, out-of-body sensation—a hundred times worse than her own reflection. “I’d really, uh, appreciate it if you…didn’t. Deleted. If you deleted it.”

“Huh?” Sasha glanced up. “Anne, I’m not gonna share it with anyone. It’s just a little something to remember you when I’m alone.”

“That’s great, but—”

“But what?” Sasha’s eyes narrowed; her voice took on a hard edge. “Don’t you trust me?”

Anne clenched her jaw. “Of course I do.” She grasped for something, anything—her own phone was still in the back pocket of her skirt; she pulled it out. “Can I at least get a picture of you?”

“No.”

“What? But I—”

“I said no.”

The phone was knocked out of Anne’s hand before she could react. Sasha loomed over her, one hand pinning Anne’s wrist to the mattress. For once, she didn’t look at all smooth or relaxed or in control; her eyes betrayed a wild panic.

So what, thought a small piece of Anne’s brain, you can say no but I can’t? Or do you not trust me? She’d found it, the way out; Sasha had overplayed her hand.

But then, it didn’t really matter, did it?

“God,” Sasha breathed. The panic was already dissipating; her eyes sparkled with untamed adoration. “You’re so beautiful.”

And she dove in.