Daybreak

Sun / Atlas

watch?v=lOQrfLFDUKY

Pulling at the seams,
our once barren world now brims with life,
that we may fall in love
every time we open up our eyes.
I guess space, and time,
takes violent things, angry things
and makes them kind.

The sun peeked into the room through slanted blinds, the sound of the ocean crashing against the beach roused her, woke her from a deep, uncharacteristic sleep. Her senses slowly awoke, limb by limb, a tingling, alert sensation stretched out from her center. A warmth radiated near her, the left side of her body ensconced in the curve of another form, another body.

A bird chirped as it flew past the window, the hints of springtime filling in around her. The smell of new growth fluttering in on the ocean breeze.

The events of the previous day floated through her half-woken brain stringing themselves together in an incoherent pattern. A storm off the coast, the hot air balloon ride, the loss of power until an early morning hour, unanswered questions, a shared bed.

The arm rested across her stomach. She was suddenly acutely aware of its pressure as it laid there, fingers splayed out against her exposed flesh. Her night shirt had ridden up, the hand was dangerously near to her breast.

Even breathing ghosted against her neck, dark hair curled against her cheek.

Fingers rustled, fidgeted for a moment against her stomach before settling again, pulling her attention to the soft hand resting against her. To the artful fingers that created, cared, cultivated, smoked pot, gardened, grasped at her, pulled her in, clung to her despite her best efforts to keep them away.

Finding solace in her bed mate's deep sleep, she found her free hand hovering over the errant hand, a finger daring to trace over the soft skin, upwards over a gentle finger.

The breathing stumbled over itself, breaking from its even in and out pattern. Though there was no other movement, no indication that the woman beside her had actually woken. Her fingers trailed over the soft skin, daring to caress down the arm she so often admired when they were in the kitchen taking her blood pressure. Mornings had not been the same since the stroke, but they held a new meaning. The skin was so smooth, tender like a baby's. She marveled at the way it felt, reveling in this moment of freedom to explore as she wished.

Dawn was a magical time of day, a time that she had always enjoyed most. The possibilities felt endless, the darkness of night had subsided and she was again in the light. And this morning she was no longer alone - not out of the woods, but not alone either.

When the hand that had rested atop her slowly wrapped itself about her arm, the pads of fingers gently massaging against her forearm, she thought nothing of it, only allowed the feeling of skin against skin to linger, play against one another. Hands slid, inched their way towards one another so that fingers intertwined, grasped at one another.

Her eyes stayed fixed upon their fingers, aware that her shirt was still askew, revealing a hint of her breasts. She was suddenly very aware of her breasts, the way the air moving in the room blew across them, the way her bedmate's breath sent shivers over her skin.

Fingers unraveled, circles over her barren skin, grasping slightly at her side, moving upwards painfully slowly. She reached down to pull at the hand, to move it upwards, to urge it to where her body seemed to want it most in that moment. The palm of her bed mate's hand fit over the curve of her breast, thumb and forefinger resting on either side of her pert nipple. She watched as the two nimble fingers closed in about the nipple, twisting it ever so slightly, squeezing, stroking.

Lips muttered against her shoulder, pressed intimately against her neck. The sensation sent a shiver through her body, a surprise jolt that brought about a new craving. Though she was afraid to look, to acknowledge who was exquisitely fondling her breast.

Silence clung to the early morning air, no sound but the unevenness of her breathing, the near silent breathing of her bed mate and the distant click of a clock somewhere in the beach house. A finger slid over the nipple, the woman seemingly transfixed by the breast.

She could forgive this behavior because without looking, without acknowledging she could pretend that she was asleep and not at all aware of what it was that she was doing. Yes, that could easily be explained away, couldn't it?

Though the body shifted, moving in ever so much closer. Lips found their way to her neck, her jaw. She braced herself for a kiss, for a real kiss to her lips. Her eyes closed, blocking out the world, focused solely on the sensation of that divine hand and those talented lips. Though just as she felt herself succumbing to a near kiss on the lips she felt the woman's mouth wrap about her untouched breast, the warmth and wetness shocking her, forcing her to look down at the mess of grayish-brown curls.

Her left hand betrayed her, tangled into the silky strands, back arching into the mouth of the woman near her, practically on top of her. There was an awareness to this moment while still feeling as if a dream. She wondered if she would wake up and discover her roommate fast asleep still. Yes, she could still wake up from this if she wanted, but she didn't in that moment. She wanted her lips, she wanted to feel those magical lips against her own.

She prodded slowly, gently, urging the other woman upwards. Their eyes met briefly then, so crystal clear and blue as the sky and as real as real could be. There before her in technicolor. She had to close her eyes, to erase the image of the truth she captured there in that moment, the beauty, the pain, the care, the concern, the lo-

Their lips lingered in space, hovered before she lifted her head upwards and took what her bedmate willingly gave. There was an instant intimacy to it, a powerful, shocking sensation ripping through her like she had never felt before. Not with Phil, not with anyone.

With her eyes pressed closed she felt seen, truly seen, for who and what she was. It was vulnerable and frightening but she couldn't pull herself away from what her body so desperately needed without having ever known it had needed it. There was a healing to it, a revitalization, rebirth. This kiss, this dreamlike kiss.

Was she dreaming it all? It felt so real. She could smell the ocean, she could feel the sun against her skin, the body practically atop hers, the lips pressed to her own, the hand still resting against her breast.

It was painful when the kiss finally broke. When her roommate pulled herself away for a moment. Her eyes opened, searching, wishing, wanting for more, or perhaps wanting to wake up and discover that it had all been in her mind, all in a dream – as it had been before (though she would never admit it).

Their eyes met, so intense that it knocked the breath out of her lungs. That look, that look of complete openness and honesty. It shook her to the core.

The woman above her bowed her head, taking in the spans of body before her, eyes trailing over her as she had never been looked at before. Her fingers curled against her scalp, holding her close, though she was scared, scared now that it was all a dream and that she would crumple into a thousand pieces, scatter, and float away and this would all be forgotten, brushed aside.

That hand, those talented fingers slid downwards. She watched their trajectory, knowing their intended mark, knowing before they covered her thigh that they would touch her intimately. She watched as fingers slid upwards between her thighs, pressing into intense tenderness as they moved upwards over the soft material of her pajama bottoms.

"Frankie," Grace gasped, more awake now than she had ever felt in her life. Her breathing quickened, she scampered into a seated position, flustered, pulling at her shirt, covering herself, covering the body that had only moments before been so open and so pliant, willing.

Frankie sat up facing her, no fear in her tranquil eyes.

"What were you doing?" Grace's voice quivered, pulling the blanket up over herself as if it could protect her from the flushed feeling invading her every sense.

"Grace, please breathe." Frankie reached out for her, but she batted her hands away, feeling betrayed. Her body had betrayed her.

"I should have never agreed to let you stay in bed with me. You're like a child. It was only a storm." Her fingers raked through her hair, uncertain in their movements. She only knew how to push away, not pull in.

"I know you're just saying that because you're scared, Grace. Please try to calm down so we can have a reasonable discussion about this." Frankie's voice was gentle. How could she be so calm about this? How could she have let this happen when she knew she would make amends with Jacob and run off with him to Santa Fe – the most Frankie of all American cities. She belonged there, she belonged there with Jacob. Not here, not in Grace's bed, not touching Grace, not making her feel this way.

"Why would you do that?" Grace panted, near hyperventilating.

Frankie looked a little anxious then, knowing that Grace was going into panic mode and there would be no way of reeling her in until it passed. "Grace," Frankie sighed, afraid to reach out but wanting nothing more than to comfort Grace. Grace could sense this and felt conflicted. "Okay, I see what this is about."

"Do you?" Grace braced herself, curling into herself for she could not think of anything else to assuage her broken open self. Vulnerability had never been her strong suit.

"This is because of Jacob, isn't it?" Frankie's hand came to rest on Grace's foot, needing to be near.

"And the fact that you…" Grace's eyes closed and she gulped down air. "I told you that you could go with him, I told you that you could leave, I let you go. And now you're in my bed and I can't – I can't – "

"Grace," Frankie scooted closer but Grace wouldn't let her wrap her arms around her. She needed space. She held Frankie at a distance. "Grace, please. Listen to me. And try to breathe."

"I need you to leave." Grace shoved, thrust at the woman with a force she hadn't known could come from her own lithe frame. "Get out of my room, please." Fear wrapped itself around her until she was choking, lost too deep in a sea of Frankie.

"Can't we just talk about this, man?" Frankie sputtered as she fell backwards.

"No, man, I don't want to talk about it. I can't talk about it. I need you to get out of my room. Get out of my bed. Get away. Please, Frankie." Grace stood from her bed, stood in the harsh morning light that now disfigured the room. She was repulsed by herself, by her actions. As her eyes opened wider she felt her stomach sinking.

Frankie stumbled and fumbled her way up, concern etched in every inch of her face, worry for her friend evident. "Grace, you're hurting right now and we need to talk about it." Frankie's arms wrapped about her upper arms, holding her, trying to brace her.

"I don't want to talk." Grace growled, anger brewing as she walked the duo towards the bedroom door, pushing at Frankie, unable to look her in the eyes.

"You're hurting me, Grace." Frankie yelped, but Grace needed her to leave, needed to be alone.

"Stop resisting me, just go. Please." Grace untangled herself, leaving Frankie in the hallway. She couldn't even look at her as she closed the door, collapsing slowly, painfully to the floor.

"Grace," Frankie's low voice inquired from the other side of the door. Her presence lingered, it was as if she were still in that suddenly too small room with Grace. Yet, a door separated them and it still felt too close for comfort.

Why wouldn't she just go away?

"I'm okay, Frankie." Grace tried through tears to appease the woman, to urge her to go away and leave her alone.

"That's not what it looked like when I was forcibly removed from the room." Frankie persisted.

Grace worried her lip, replaying the past few moments again in her head. Had she really dragged Frankie across the room and away from her because she had dared to reach out, to touch her? Because she had given in to what Grace had asked for? Oh God, she really was a monster, wasn't she? "Oh God, Frankie?" Grace wept, "Frankie."

"Yes, Grace. I'm still here. Sending the spirit of my arms through the door to wrap about you because I can feel your pain. Even through this wooden barrier." Frankie's voice was beside her ear now, as if the woman had stooped down to her level to communicate with her, to reach out to her.

"Frankie, did I hurt you?" Grace whispered, knowing the other woman – despite her poor hearing – would register the question.

"No, no Grace you didn't hurt me." Frankie insisted. "I would prefer to talk to you without this barrier, though. Would you let me in? I just want to talk, Grace. No funny business."

"Not funny." Grace groaned. The very mention of it, the very acknowledgement that it had – in fact – taken place made Grace's stomach flip, an agitation seeping into every inch of her being. No, she needed to be alone, to control this wild beast that was suddenly growing – unstoppably – inside of her. She had to tame it, to push it back and dull the ache deep inside. If she gave into Frankie now she might find herself in deeper water and there would be no turning back. A line would be crossed and then if Frankie still left – Grace knew she couldn't go on. Not after that. Just the fact that those annoyingly chatty lips - lips that Grace had never thought about a day before moving in with the other woman - had kissed her was already pushing her to a place she was afraid she could not recover from.

"Grace?"

"Uh huh?"

"Just checking to make sure that you're still alive."

"I'm still alive, Frankie."

"Well you never know at our age."

"Frankie, I'm okay. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but please…please. I – I need to be alone right now."

"Grace, I thought that you – "

"Please," Grace begged, wanting nothing more than to be left alone to her thoughts, to herself, to time and space without Frankie. Without the thought of Frankie touching her like she was the most beautiful, precious person in the world.

"Alright, okay Grace. I am moving away from the door," there was some ungraceful rustling in the hallway, several attempts at standing, and finally the woman's feet came to rest near Grace's back. "You're not mad that we…"

"No," Grace breathed before realizing she'd said it. Her heart leapt into her throat and she wrapped her arms a little tighter around herself. "I'm not mad, Frankie. I need some space right now." She needed to breathe, she could hardly get her lungs to expand.

"I'll be in my studio. But I'll be back to haunt you with some food if I don't see ya around soon." Frankie jokingly threatened, though her jokes were weak. There was a hint of worry in her voice, an unrest at the unsettling events that had followed their brief prelude that morning. Their brief foray… "I don't regret it, Grace." Frankie packed a punch with her parting words. Whispered though they might have been.

Grace could hear Frankie's footsteps as they padded their way to the stairs and away from her. And instantly she felt very, very alone.

Grace's eyes closed, head falling back against the wood of the door. She needed a second to process, she needed time to think, to clear her head. Every inch of her body told her to run, to hide, to get out now before she'd be hurt. Pulling her knees to her chest she rested her forehead against her folded limbs, tears falling against her pajama pants.

She wanted to resist everything that made her think of Frankie, but in that moment she found herself breathing through the tears. Breathing in, breathing out. Repeat. Breathe. She had to reign herself in, to gain some clarity, some control over the situation.

What had happened? She'd been dreaming hadn't she? It had all been a dream, a horrible, wonderful dream. She couldn't help the arousal she had felt, still felt. The way her body was humming, alive. Warmth permeated every crevice, every corner but as she sat collapsed into herself she felt the warmth slowly fade out, slip from her grasp. The room itself was cooler, chilly even.

She shuddered and fought her way into a standing position. She retreated to the bed, determined to go back to sleep and forget the whole ordeal had happened, to make as if it had never happened at all. Maybe it had all been a dream. Maybe the storm had never happened, maybe Frankie had told her she would be leaving to go to Santa Fe after all.

Curling onto her side she realized the bed felt colder. It was lacking something. It was empty. It was no longer comfortable.

She shifted, trying another position.

Then another.

Exasperated, Grace fell open on her back. Legs spread wide, arms stretched out to either side. This was her bed for Christ's sake. This was where she slept, where she enjoyed sleeping, had enjoyed being alone beneath the covers.

Now it just felt…lonely. As it had the night after she'd succeeded in kicking Frankie out after the robbery.

"Ugh," she rubbed at her forehead, the hum of her body rose from a dull ache to a near scream.

Legs still wide she looked downwards, down to where dream Frankie – (for it had to have been dream Frankie, hadn't it? Real Frankie would never have …) - had touched, had allowed her fingers to gently curl. "Oh," her chest fluttered at the thought, at the idea of the contact.

It was better this way, wasn't it? Better to push Frankie away instead of allowing her into this mess of emotion. Yes, it was certainly better to work this out on her own. This way kept things neat, categorized. Frankie was with Jacob. Frankie was moving to Santa Fe. Grace would be left to herself, left alone to fend for her own body and its needs, so it was better, wasn't it? Better that she extracted the vibrator she had created with Frankie. The vibrator that could remind her of the woman without actually involving the woman in any intimate part of her being.

She was surprised by how little she needed. How ready and wanting and easy she was. The device barely swirled over her and she felt herself falling. She gasped when her body responded too eagerly, the tumble shaking her to the core with its intensity.

"Oh God," she gasped against her pillow. Though it wasn't her pillow anymore because it smelled of Frankie. "Oh God," the tears fell one after another as the realization settled itself into her conscious. There was no more denying it.

And it hurt, it felt like her heart was in a thousand pieces.

Why would Frankie have done that? Why?