Hi again :) Here's Chapter 12. It's a fun chapter. You'll probably like it. I'm looking at two more chapters for this story (not including this one), and potentially an epilogue that I'll post on tumblr. Epilogues feel like word vomit to me. Like, too much information in one condensed thing. Anyway. Here's Chapter 12, and it's longer-ish, so enjoy it.

Wednesday, July 7th, 1999

My mom left the next morning without saying goodbye. I slept late, rolling out of bed around 12:30 to the phone ringing. It was Brittany.

"I'm coming to pick you up," she said when I answered. "We're going grocery shopping."

"Why are we going grocery shopping?" I asked. Usually Mrs. Pierce took Emily with her, and they usually went on Sunday afternoons.

"We need to get a ton of food for the lake. You know, because we're leaving in a few days?"

"Right," I said. The lake. I still hadn't asked my mom.

"You still cool with that?" she asked, sounding uncertain.

"Yeah, totally," I assured her, scratching the back of my neck. My pajamas felt exceptionally warm, and I thought about the inevitable lake conversation I'd be having with my mother. I was hesitant to bring it up with her after her random accusation that Brittany had impressed her less-than Catholic values upon me. And her belief that the banned book list still existed.

"Sweet, well I'll see you in fifteen. Brainstorm food we're going to need."

"Like what?" I asked.

"Literally anything. So far I have whipped cream, popsicles, and elbow noodles on my list," she said. I heard paper rustling and I smiled. "And then I have this other list my mom made that's got all this boring stuff on it like bread and milk."

"I mean, who needs bread, right?"

"Exactly," Brittany said. "Now go get dressed." And she hung up.

I looked down at my flannels. Had I even told Brittany I was still in my pajamas?

She rolled up in front of my house in her mom's Buick, and she honked (as if she didn't know I was waiting on the stairs for her).

"Still whippin' it in the Buick?" I asked as I opened the car door.

"Not for long, I hope," Brittany said, pulling out of my street. "I found a car magazine on my mom's office desk the other day."

"She's probably making a scrapbook," I said. "To commemorate you passing your driver's exam." Brittany reached across the center console and shoved me into the window.

The grocery store was virtually empty except for a few bored-looking employees stocking in the canned food aisle. There were two cashiers. Brittany grabbed a cart and wheeled it into the pet food aisle.

"Brittany, do you even have a plan?"

She stood on the bar above the wheels and rolled into a pyramid of cat food. "Does grocery shopping require planning?"

"It's a little atypical to start grocery shopping in the middle of the store in an aisle that contains nothing you need," I said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Haven't you realized I'm trying to make this outing last as long as possible?" she asked, winking. I shook my head and followed her.

"This looks good," Brittany said, putting a bag of Doritos in the cart. "And these." She added a bag of pretzels. She walked a little further down the aisle and grabbed two more bags of chips—barbecue and salt and vinegar.

"Okay, I know you have, like, a massive appetite, but could you really eat that much snack food in two weeks?" I asked her. I'd taken responsibility of pushing the cart, and Brittany was in charge of getting the food off of the shelves. She looked down at the contents of the cart and frowned, as if she was only just realizing how much food she had gotten.

"Yes?" she offered, pouting.

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, put two of those back. You know that face won't buy you chips." She replaced the bags on the shelf.

Brittany stepped closer. "Will it buy me a kiss?" she asked. I was alarmed by her forwardness. We were in a grocery store, had she forgotten that?

I blinked, staring at her. "I'll think about it."

Even though I was a dictator about what went in the shopping cart, Brittany could be pretty damn convincing when she wanted to be. Of course we needed marshmallow fluff, she said. For peanut butter and fluff sandwiches. And naturally we couldn't survive vacation without—not one—but two liters of coke.

"You're ridiculous," I told her. She flipped her movie star hair and flashed a kilowatt smile.

"Only for you," she replied.

"Is this everything, ladies?" the guy at the register asked.

"Yep," Brittany said, handing over her mom's credit card. I started bagging the groceries. After the cashier had swiped Mrs. Pierce's card, he walked around the register and began lifting our bags into the cart.

"You don't have to do that," I told him. "They aren't that heavy." Brittany began helping too, and the space at the end of the conveyor belt felt crowded.

"That's alright, miss, if you don't mind. A pretty girl like you deserves some chivalry." He smiled a wide, toothy smile, puffing his chest out. His name tag told me his name was Brian.

All of the color drained from my face. I shot a sideways glance at Brittany, who was holding a gallon of milk in her hand and staring at it like she wanted to bash it against the floor. It was a strange expression to see on her face; it was extremely unnatural.

"Um, thanks, I guess," I said to him, nudging the ground with my toe and grabbing another bag.

"Do you have a name, pretty girl?" he asked. If I was startled before, now I was plain uncomfortable. I sent a look at Brittany, but now she was looking at the cashier's head, like she wanted to bash him against the floor.

"I'm, uh, Santana," I stuttered, not wanting to seem rude.

"Santana," he said. His voice had a sort of twang to it, like he was from the south. I didn't like the way he said my name. I smiled a tight-lipped smile, trying to keep tabs on Brittany's reactions. She was quiet now, just looking at the floor. "Do you have a phone, Santana?" He said my name slowly, like "San-tan-uh," drawing out the second syllable. I knew he probably wasn't trying to sound like he was mocking my name, but that's what it felt like.

"I do have a phone," I told him, narrowing my eyes. This guy was relentless. "But I'm with somebody else." I swallowed, trying not to look at Brittany, which would give us away.

"Oh," Brian said, disappointed. "If you're ever not with somebody else, drop by the store sometime. I'm usually around." He put the last bag in the cart, and I thanked god that we didn't have any reason to stick around and chat with our new friend Brian. Brittany practically bolted for the door; her shoulders were tense, and her hands were wrapped tightly around the bar of the grocery cart. "You ladies have a nice day," he added, watching us as we left. I waved behind me.

"Britt?" I asked, stumbling off of the curb and following her to the car. "Are you okay?"

She stopped next to the car and opened the trunk. Her eyes were shut tightly. "I'm fine."

I began to transfer the bags from the cart to the car. "Are you sure?"

"Santana," she warned, opening her eyes. It was the closest thing to a glare I'd seen on her.

This was new territory. I decided not to push her; she'd talk to me eventually. Brittany closed the trunk—a little harder than necessary, I noticed—and we got into the car. She didn't talk until we were about a minute from her house. I'd never asked to come over, nor had she invited me, but it was assumed that I'd go home with her.

She sighed and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry I was being so weird."

"Don't worry about it," I said. I wanted her to tell me what was wrong, but I also didn't want to ask. I figured it was a jealousy thing, but opening that can of worms would force Brittany to put a name to whatever the hell we were doing, if only to explain her feelings. And that would fuck shit up, to put it bluntly.

She took a deep breath. "I know it's hypocritical, but I don't like knowing that you're still technically available to everybody," she finally said. She wouldn't make eye contact with me. "Boys and girls," she said, quieter still.

"What?" I asked stupidly.

"Like I am. We still haven't really labeled this," (totally saw that one coming) "and I don't like knowing that you can basically walk away right now without violating like, the code."

What the fuck is she talking about?

"Why would I walk away? Because some cashier thinks I'm hot?"

Brittany ground her teeth together. "I don't know."

"Britt," I said, trying to be gentle. "It's not…it's not like that."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm yours, alright? I'm not going to leave you for some guy, or some girl, or anybody. I promise."

It had never occurred to me that Brittany still saw the open-endedness of our relationship as a possibility for me to see other people. And, I realized, "other people" included boys and girls. She had no idea that I was gay. I had previously thought that information would repel her, but thinking about it, it was always Brittany who brought up what "we" were, who wanted the label. And she deserved to know who I was.

I reached for her and placed my hand on her forearm, trying to show her that I meant what I said. She relaxed.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be."

Brittany's mom took Emily to ballet as soon as we got back, so the house was empty. We put away the groceries and sat down at the counter to eat popsicles. Brittany pulled the box out of the freezer and dumped its contents on the counter. Only one popsicle fell out. She shook the box again and looked inside of it.

"I think you're out of popsicles, Britt," I told her, smirking.

"We just bought more, I'll open another box," she said, opening the freezer again.

"No, save those for the lake. Or somebody will be without a popsicle there."

Brittany frowned. "You're right."

"You can have the last one, I can live without it," I offered.

Brittany stared at the popsicle on the counter. It was cherry, her favorite flavor. "Split it with me?" she asked, ripping open the plastic packaging. She wrapped her lips around the tip of the red ice and sucked. The dye stained her lips immediately.

"How?" I asked, staring blankly at the popsicle between Brittany's lips.

She pulled it out of her mouth and handed it to me. "Did you forget how to eat?" she teased. "Lick it, or something. I don't know." She shrugged. "You're not a popsicle biter, right?"

"Fuck no," I assured her. "Those people are psycho."

"Good."

I wrapped my mouth around the red ice, just as Brittany had. I couldn't taste her mouth on the popsicle, just cherry, but knowing that it had just been in Brittany's mouth made my body feel warm and heavy. I passed it back to her, and she smiled; it was a shy smile, but it grew wicked as she watched me stare. I couldn't help it. My thoughts were in the gutter.

"Santana?" she asked.

"Hm?" I mumbled, prying my eyes away from her lips. "Yeah?"

"Your turn," she said sweetly, holding out the popsicle.

It took us forever to finish it; it tapered and eventually melted to slush on the stick, which Brittany held out to me. I sucked it into my mouth.

"What do you want to do now?" she asked me, smacking her cherry lips. She knew she had me.

"How about I give you that kiss?" I said, finally looking into her eyes.

Brittany grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."

I leaned forward and pressed our lips together; hers were freezing, but after a few seconds my own lips were numb to it. I put my elbow on the counter and put my weight on it so I could lean closer to Brittany. She pulled my lower lip into her mouth, and my other hand found the back of her neck to pull her head closer to mine.

I would say that kissing her was like fireworks, but it wasn't. Because fireworks are short, and explosive, and kissing Brittany felt more like standing in a fireplace. Burning had never felt so good.

"Can we go upstairs?" I asked Brittany when she pulled away for air. Her eyes were dark.

"Are you sure?" she breathed.

"I kind of need a horizontal surface right now," I joked, gesturing to my elbow.

"Oh," Brittany said, licking her lips. "What are we waiting for, then?" she asked, staring at me.

"I don't know," I said, staring back. Brittany ran her hands up my thighs, rubbing her fingers along the bottoms of my shorts. I looked at the ceiling and bit my lip. Then she pulled away and grabbed my hand. She jumped up and made a mad dash for the stairs, pulling me behind her. I followed her, giggling, as she took the stairs two at a time. She kissed me again when we reached the landing at the top, pulling me to her so the lengths of our bodies were touching.

"Are you sure you're sure?" she asked between kisses,

"I'm really sure," I said. I knew what I was agreeing to.

But like I said, I wanted her to know who I was. And I wanted to know her just as badly.

"It's hot," I complained as we maneuvered ourselves into her bedroom. She kissed my neck and mumbled something before coming up to look me in the eyes. Her hand was warm on my cheek as she brushed a few hairs out of my face.

"You know what will make you less hot, but like, more hot at the same time?"

"What?" I asked, breathing hard.

"If we take our clothes off," she said.

I blinked. "Alright."

"Really?"

"Why are you so surprised?" I asked her. She seemed to expect me to panic, but I didn't. I didn't feel the telltale uncomfortable burn of guilt in my throat, or the unpleasant sound of my heartbeat in my ears. She didn't make any move to get undressed, so I decided to do it for her. I pushed her t-shirt up against the muscles of her stomach. She shivered, looking briefly down to my hands and then back to my eyes. She lifted her arms up to let me pull her shirt off completely, and then she grabbed mine.

Her hands were trembling and desperate as she did the same with my shirt, but she was slow and careful. I watched her face while she did it. She was focused, and doing the thing with her tongue. I don't think she'd seen me without a shirt on before.

We left our bras on, still self-conscious about the amount of daylight in the room. When our shirts were in a pile on the floor, Brittany looped her arms around my waist and kissed me again. Her breasts were pressed against mine, and my knees felt weak. She seemed to realize this, and she used the opportunity to nudge me towards her bed. My knees buckled and I fell back onto the bed, and she laughed as she tumbled into me and our lips disconnected. I crawled backwards and she placed one knee on either side of me, like she had in the back of her car after the fair.

Her fingertips traced my ribs and I studied her face, the way her lips, still cherry-red, were parted, and how her eyes flashed. It was only so long before I wanted more than just to watch her, and I pulled her against me and we kissed. She began to run her fingers up the sensitive skin on my sides, and I burned under her touch. Her stomach was the warmest part of her, and having it pressed against mine—to be able to feel her muscles contract and relax and shift and expand—only made me want her more.

"Can I touch you?" she whispered into my ear, kissing invisible patterns along the muscles of my neck. I knew what she meant. I nodded and let my hands find her hips. My breathing was erratic as she sat up. She was so warm.

She didn't look into my eyes, so I closed mine, waiting for her to start. Her lips found my neck again, and I sighed and tilted my chin up so she could kiss me everywhere. My brain was in between frequencies; all of my thoughts had been replaced by the pleasant buzz and static of pleasure. She kissed my collarbone, and the hands that had been on my sides ghosted across my abdomen. I tensed, anticipating her touch, and she thumbed circles onto my ribs. Her fingers slid under my bra, and I gasped, and my eyes popped open. She kissed down the center of my chest and her hands slid fully over my breasts.

My body contracted of its own will; my legs bent at the knee and I pulled them towards me, with Brittany lying between them, trying to relieve the building pressure in my stomach. The sheets rumpled around us; I realized for the first time that Brittany's bed was unmade. She rubbed circles into my breasts, just like she had against my ribs, and I groaned, placing a hand on the back of Brittany's neck. She lifted one of my bra cups, and I felt her hot breath on my flesh before she wrapped her lips around my nipple.

I held Brittany's hair in my other fist, and I pushed my feet against the bed harder. My hips bucked. Brittany's left hand moved from my breast to my left hip, which she pushed back against the bed with surprising strength. Her teeth and her tongue worked on my left breast, and I felt beads of sweat gather on my forehead. She continued to move her right hand against my other breast, and her other hand slowly moved from my hip to replace her mouth. I was still in ecstasy.

I briefly wondered how she was doing so many things at once—and doing all of them so well—before I lost myself again. She lifted my other bra cup to repeat her ministrations on my other breast; but I pulled her to me, desperate to taste her, and I tasted the salt from my skin and the cherry popsicle. I smelled the lavender in her hair. I unbent my legs and wrapped them around hers, tangling our limbs together. Her calves were hard and lean, and her stomach tensed against mine. She kissed me harder, and I bit her lower lip, bringing my own hands up to her breasts. I was desperate to touch her.

I cupped them over her bra, squeezing tentatively. Brittany gasped into my mouth, and I palmed them harder, slipping my hands under her bra, as she had done to me. Her kisses became sloppy. Blonde hair hung between us while we kissed, and I almost missed the sound of a car engine in the driveway.

"Fuck," I said.

"I know," Brittany said, kissing my neck. My hands were still on her breasts.

"No, Brittany, like, fuck, your mom is home. Fuck."

"Shit," she cursed, running to the window to look out onto the driveway, leaving me alone and cold on her messy bed. My cheeks felt flushed. I pulled a sheet over my half-naked body, trying not to freak out. I was still breathing heavily. "Yeah, fuck. She's home."

Brittany tossed my shirt to me and pulled her own over her head.

"I'm sorry. I lost track of time," she said. "I wanted to…"

"I know," I said, standing up from the bed to kiss her. "It's okay. Another time."

"Yeah," she breathed. I put on my shirt and followed her back downstairs, where Mrs. Pierce was pulling out food for dinner. Emily was at the counter with paper and crayons.

"Santana! How are you?" Mrs. Pierce said as Brittany and I entered the kitchen.

"I'm doing well, thanks for asking," I said, shooting Emily a cheesy smile. She sent an identical one back. I hoped I didn't look how I felt, which was inexplicably frustrated and massively disappointed.

"I'm surprised you girls were upstairs today," Mrs. Pierce said. I looked at Brittany, raising an eyebrow. "The air conditioning hasn't been working too well up there, I've been meaning to call the repair guy."

"Oh, that's why it was so hot up there," Brittany said. "I forgot about that. Sorry." She smiled apologetically. I rolled my eyes.

"Oh well, that can wait. Are you excited for the lake, Santana? I've been meaning to call your mom and discuss details with her, but time has just been getting away from me lately. You know how it goes."

I paled. "Of course. My mom should be around tomorrow, I can have her call you, if you want."

"Oh, that'd be great," Mrs. Pierce said, chopping a carrot. "Will you be staying for dinner?" she asked. "We're having steak."

"As much as I love steak, I should be getting home," I said, wishing I could stay, but knowing that I had a few things to discuss with my mom. And I didn't think I could sit through dinner with Brittany's parents and not think about how I'd been groping their daughter a few hours earlier.

Brittany looked disappointed, but she smiled and offered to drive me home. Back at my house, she gave me a longing look as I opened the passenger door.

"What?" I asked, laughing.

"Don't I get a kiss goodbye?"

"I'll think about it."

"Asshole." She crossed her arms.

A glance at my house and up the street told me that my mom was still at work and the block was empty. I placed my hand on her jaw and tilted her head towards mine. I kissed her quickly and got out of the car, smiling to myself as I crossed the front yard.

6:00 p.m.

I made roasted chicken legs and potatoes for dinner; I knew I needed to butter up my mom if she was going to agree to the lake trip. She'd be thrilled to have dinner ready when she got home. I was seasoning the asparagus when I heard her car pull into the driveway, and I pulled out two plates and hastily set the table.

"I smell chicken," my mother announced in lieu of a greeting as she took off her white shoes.

"Yeah, I made chicken, potatoes, and asparagus," I said. "Are you hungry?"

She surveyed the spread from the living room. Her scrubs wrinkled. "Yep. Looks good. I'll go change."

When she came back downstairs, we sat down and began to eat. The meal was delicious, but my mouth was dry. I was distracted by my thoughts, which were a constant stream of Brittany and the lake and Brittany at the lake and Brittany in the lake and Brittany in a bathing suit—

"Is this rosemary on the chicken?" my mom asked. She was being weird about the food, showing excessive approval of everything. It crossed my mind that she might be trying to apologize for her outburst the night before. I just wanted to eat my chicken in peace and work up the courage to ask her about going away with Brittany.

"Yeah," I said, putting down my fork. "Can I ask you something?"

My mom blinked suspiciously, but kept eating her chicken. "Sure."

"Can I go to Vallecito Lake with Brittany on Saturday?"

"Excuse me?" She put down her chicken leg.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Her grandparents have a house there. They invited me to go for two weeks."

"Two weeks?"

I still couldn't tell if she approved. Her face was expressionless. "Her parents and Emily will be there."

"How far is that? Three hours?"

"Four."

"Have you finished your summer reading?"

I wiped my palms on my shorts. Why couldn't she just give me a straight answer? "Almost," I told her. "I'm halfway through the last book."

She seemed indifferent. "I don't see why not."

"Really?" I asked, trying not to sound disbelieving (even though I was). She ate a forkful of potato and shrugged. I got up and walked around the table and hugged her. She froze, but then she hugged me back. "Thank you, mama."

"Of course, Santana."

It seemed like she was over the whole lesbian book thing.

11:55 p.m.

Brittany was exceptionally clingy when she came over; when I let her in she kissed me, hard, and then she followed me up the stairs with her hands on my waist. When we slid under the covers she buried her face in my neck right away and ran her fingers over my ribs as she'd done on her bed earlier.

"Britt," I whispered.

"Yeah?" she murmured, kissing along my jaw.

"What are you doing?"

"I dunno," she whispered into the skin below my earlobe, and it didn't feel like midnight anymore. Her hands pushed up my t-shirt, and goosebumps erupted across my stomach where the cool air of the room hit my skin. Her fingers walked up my ribs.

"Brittany," I breathed. She looked into my eyes. "I don't know if we should do this here," I said, lowering my gaze. I felt like I was betraying my body; it took an enormous amount of effort to keep my hands palms-down on the sheets.

I don't know if it was because we were in my bed, or because of the cross around my neck, or because there were only a few walls between us and my mom, but it didn't feel right. She looked disappointed, and her hands disappeared from my stomach. She flopped onto the bed next to me with a sigh.

I glanced over at her and rolled so I was draped halfway across her with my head on her chest.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, kissing her shoulder, and then her neck, and then her cheek. She turned her face towards me and I kissed her lips.

She smiled. "It's fine. But I…" she paused. "I don't want to, um, wait. Too much longer."

I froze, startled again by her forwardness. It was strange to feel so wanted.

"I need you," she said. Her desperation sent tingles down my spine, and I kneaded the fabric of her shirt with my knuckles.

"Soon," I promised, kissing her cheek. I wanted this just as badly as she did. "Soon."

We fell asleep like that, with my head on her chest and her arms wrapped protectively around me.

Friday, July 9th, 1999, 11 a.m.

Brittany and I had just finished a run on the trail. I was getting better at keeping up with her, and when I stood in front of the mirror naked (because I did that now) my body was leaner and harder than it had been before. And I enjoyed running next to Brittany. On some days hearing her ragged breathing was difficult, though, because I couldn't help but imagine her like that under different circumstances. Under me, really.

Anyway. Brittany still had that fucking sunburn, and she'd started letting me rub the aloe into the burns on her shoulders, where they were the worst. She sat shirtless in front of me on her bed, and I held the bottle in my right hand and rubbed the cool, green gel into the burns with my left. Brittany tensed at the coldness, but I kissed the base of her neck and she relaxed.

"What do you want to do today?" I asked. "I can help you pack, if you want." I'd brought my own packed suitcase over to Brittany's house that morning so her parents could pack everything into the car the next day. That way, they were able to come to my house to pick me up without the hassle of shoving my suitcase into the trunk.

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'm pretty terrible at packing."

"I don't want to say that I expected that, but I kind of expected that," I told her.

She laughed. Every time she laughed I felt my heart expand in my ribcage.

"I also have a couple of chapters left in The Awakening that I'd like to read today. It's interesting. I think the lady is going to cheat on her husband, but I'm not sure which guy she'll pick. She just ditched her kids."

"Sounds like a soap opera. How about we pack up your stuff and then we can sit on the deck and read?" I suggested, squirting more of the aloe gel into my hand to rub into her skin. Heat radiated from the burns.

"Works for me."

I couldn't decide what Brittany was worse at—grocery shopping or packing. I concluded that she was equally incapable of both. She completely disregarded the number of days we'd be at the lake; she just grabbed fistfuls of clothing and tossed it into the open suitcase on her bed.

"Brittany, no," I said, pulling out the first thing she'd tossed—underwear—and placing it on the bed next to the suitcase.

She bit her lower lip and knit her eyebrows together. "What's wrong? I need underwear, don't I?"

"Count these. You need like, fourteen pairs. Unless you feel like doing laundry at the lake."

"No thank you," Brittany said. "But I might have to. Why can't you count it for me?" She smiled sweetly.

"I'm not going to count your underwear."

"Come on, you totally want to touch my underwear."

"Oh my god." I picked up all of the underwear and threw it at her.

With Brittany's new understanding of packing for the length of a vacation, it only took us an hour to stack up the clothes she needed. We had to refold them after Brittany tackled me like a linebacker onto the bed and kissed me. The kissing turned into a full-blown make out session, and that added about fifteen minutes to the packing. But I was fine with that.

2:00 p.m.

I had the summer reading book I hadn't finished yet—A Farewell to Arms—in my suitcase, so I pulled it out and lounged next to Brittany on the chairs on her back porch. It was hot. We sat in silence, just reading.

"She cheats with the racetrack guy," Brittany said. "But then also with the guy she was in love with first."

"This lady sounds like a mess," I commented, bookmarking my page.

Brittany looked at the sky. There were no clouds to protect us from the heat of the sun. "She's totally a hot mess, you're right, but she realizes a lot of cool stuff about like the role of women in marriages and society and stuff. But those realizations kind of make her cheat on her husband."

"Sounds complicated," I laughed.

"It is," Brittany said, putting the book down. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Sure, what's up?"

Brittany chewed on her lower lip. "Quinn wants to throw me a birthday party when she gets back from Ohio."

A thousand different potential reactions raced through my mind, but I settled on neutral. Or maybe I was too shocked to form an expression. "Are you serious?"

"What? Yeah."

"You want the girl who was spreading rumors about you playing for the other team to host your seventeenth birthday party?"

Brittany pursed her lips; she had seen this coming. "You haven't forgiven her, have you?"

"Give me one reason why I should."

"Are you worried you're not going to be invited?" Brittany asked. Her voice quivered with nerves. "Because that's totally not going to happen, Santana," she said, sounding sympathetic. "I want you there more than anybody."

"If Quinn is hosting it I don't want to go."

Brittany's face fell. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want to hang out with a bunch of jocks and cheerleaders I don't know?"

"It'll be a really nice way to end the summer," Brittany insisted. "It'll feel like normal again."

"Things will never be normal, Brittany." My bitterness surprised me. I think my aversion to the idea was mostly due to my desire to protect Brittany (and myself) from the prying eyes of our classmates. As that thought crossed my mind, I realized that Quinn and Brittany must have talked on the phone recently, and my stomach churned.

"Just think about it," she pleaded.

"Fine," I sighed. "I will."

"Thanks."

She picked her book back up and began to read. I went back to my own book, but after rereading the same page five times I realized I wasn't going to be able to focus on a World War I love affair. Not with Quinn back in the picture.

I don't know why I chose that exact moment to tell Brittany. I think it was because I wanted a way to tell her "I'm scared" but also, "I'm yours." I wanted her to realize what a party like that would do to me. And with the recent physical developments in our relationship, I'd never felt gayer. It kind of just slipped out.

"I'm gay," I told her. She was stretched out across the lawn chair, her tanned arms above her head. When she didn't reply immediately, I turned to look at her, thinking she might've fallen asleep. Her book was opened to a page, but it was untouched in her lap. I couldn't tell if her eyes were open behind her dark sunglasses. The rhythm of her breathing told me she wasn't asleep—just thinking. She was quiet for a few more seconds while she processed the information. My heart pounded.

"Okay," she finally responded.

"That's it?" I asked. All of my inner turmoil had culminated in a single "okay?" It was so utterly anticlimactic. But then again, it was so Brittany. Still, I couldn't help wonder if it was because of residual tension from our Quinn conversation.

"I'm glad you've figured it out," she elaborated. "But I'm not going to make a big deal out of it because I don't think you want me to." She turned in the chair to face me, and her blue eyes peeked out from over her sunglasses. "Am I right? Or do you want to talk about it?"

I sighed with relief and my shoulders sagged. My head dropped against the back of the chair. "Yeah, I guess you are. And no, we don't have to talk about it." I turned back to look at the book I was reading.

"I love you, Santana," she said, looking back at the book in her hands. Her cheeks were red.

I smiled, looking out over her backyard. "I love you too, Britt."

It was easy. I should've known it would be; everything with her was. She didn't make me feel guilty about hiding it from her, or like it was something that should be celebrated. She just took the news like she'd known forever (had she?) or like it just wasn't a big deal. I supposed it really wasn't. But I felt like the world had been lifted from my shoulders.

4:30 p.m.

I went home from Brittany's earlier than usual to eat dinner with my mom. Brittany decided to stay at her house for the night because her family would be getting up early to pack the car and she didn't want to walk up her driveway at 7 a.m. to find her parents putting up the car. That would have been awkward. Even though I'd miss her, I could understand it, and it would be good for me to sleep in my bed alone for once. At home in the shower, I sang loudly, and I hummed as I boiled the water to cook spaghetti for dinner.

"Dinner again?" my mom asked as she took of her shoes at the front door. "That's two nights this week. I'm impressed. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to win me over."

I smiled nervously. "Hey, mama. How was work?"

"You know, the usual. Not too exciting."

I piled some spaghetti onto plates while my mom changed out of her work clothes.

"I printed out some information for you at work," she said when she came back downstairs. I turned to see her place a packet of white paper on the counter.

I frowned. "What kind of information?"

"School information. St. Mary's, Mullen Academy, and the Lutheran School extended admissions through August fifteenth. They're expecting a surge of new applicants after…everything."

A lump formed in my throat. "Right."

"I thought we could take a look at it over dinner," my mom suggested. We sat down, and she started going over the schools, telling me about class size and AP course offerings and special programs. "I could drive you to any of the schools in Denver before work, so that wouldn't be an issue," she said. "And we can do some tours when you get back, but—"

"Mom…" I started, choosing my words carefully. "I don't think I want to leave Columbine."

"Why not?" she asked.

Even though thinking about wrestling with my feelings for Brittany while seeing her every day—in public—made me nauseous, I couldn't fathom the thought of leaving my school, which I'd attended since kindergarten, because something bad had happened. Something bad that likely wouldn't happen again. I needed the protection that Columbine would undoubtedly offer, and I needed the extensive efforts to rebuild the school, and the familiarity of the classrooms and my locker and the faces. I needed to heal.

After all, they say lightning never strikes in the same place twice.

I told my mom as much, and she shuffled the papers into a neat stack. She stood up and walked over to the trash can and threw them out.

"I'm proud of you," she said. She kissed my hair.

"Thanks, mom."

Saturday, July 10th, 1999

I barely slept. For the first time in my life, I wished I had a cell phone, like Brittany's. Just so I could call her to say goodnight and I love you and to fall asleep listening to her breathing. The empty space in the bed next to me was unsettling, so I pulled the unused pillow to my chest and breathed deeply, finding comfort in the residual scent of lavender and shampoo.

A lot was going on in my head. There was relief that Brittany had accepted my confession without blinking, and there was the anxiety over the Quinn situation. There was nervous anticipation for when Brittany and I finally had sex. I curled into a ball around the pillow and put Winston the hippo where Brittany usually slept.

"What the hell have I gotten myself into, Winston?" I wondered aloud.

My alarm went off at six and I grinned as I slid out of my bed. My body trembled in the cold morning air, but much of that could be attributed to adrenaline. The shower was warm. By seven I was eating breakfast with my mom, who was reading the paper. She'd made sausage and eggs, which she rarely did. I couldn't stop smiling.

Two weeks, with her. Where we'd be expected to sleep in the same room together and swim in the lake and find picnic spots in the mountains and eat popsicles somewhere other than Brittany's kitchen counter. I found myself wishing I'd asked Brittany about the sleeping arrangements beforehand; I wondered if we'd be sleeping in separate beds, or in the same bed, or if one of us would sleep on the floor. I'd figure it out when I got there, I decided.

The Pierces pulled up in the Buick at 7:15, and I could tell from inside my house that the trunk was close to exploding. My mom put down her paper and stood up to say goodbye to me. She pulled me into her arms for a hug, and I watched over her shoulder as Brittany ran across the lawn and rang the doorbell.

"Bye, mom," I said. "I love you."

"Make sure you call a few times," she said, pulling back to smile at me. "You're so grown up," she said.

I rolled my eyes, but I blushed at her compliment anyway.

Brittany rang the doorbell, and I answered. She looked like she'd slept about as much as I had.

"Hey," I said, grinning so hard I thought my face would split.

"Hey you." She glanced over my shoulder into the kitchen. "Hey Mrs. Lopez."

"Keep her safe, Brittany," my mom said. "She's the only one I've got."

My stomach churned at her comment, but Brittany handled it well.

"Absolutely. There's nothing to worry about."

"Good. You girls have fun."

"Bye, mom," I said. Brittany moved over so I could step onto the porch. My mom waved. We were halfway across the lawn when I stopped. "Wait," I said to Brittany. "I forgot something."

"No rush," she said. "I'll be in the car."

I sprinted back into the house, mumbled "Forgot something" to my mom, and ran up the stairs, undoing the clasp of my necklace as I pushed my way through my half-open door. After I took the necklace off, I dropped it on my nightstand. I ran down the stairs without looking back.

The first thing I saw when I got in the car was Emily, who was already asleep. Her head was propped up on the window. It looked uncomfortable.

"Good morning, Santana," Mr. Pierce said. "Ready to get this show on the road?"

Mrs. Pierce smiled at me over her shoulder and waved. I waved back. "Totally," I said to Mr. Pierce.

Brittany was in the third row of seats, wearing a gigantic sweatshirt—with the hood up—and huddled under a blanket.

"Come join me in my lair," she said in a strange guttural voice I'd never heard her use before.

"Ew," I said, wrinkling my nose. I climbed back to sit next to her, leaving the seat next to Emily empty. There was nothing more appealing to me than sitting with Brittany under a blanket for four hours, even if she planned on speaking like an extra-terrestrial.

Mr. Pierce turned up the radio—a Beatles song—and pulled onto the main road.

"And we're off like a herd of turtles!" he exclaimed.

Brittany sighed and closed her eyes. "Turtles travels in bales, dad, not herds. I've told you that like, five times."

Mr. Pierce just laughed. I looked at Brittany incredulously, and she just smirked.

I realized quickly that the Beatles song was not on the radio, but a track on a CD. Which was part of a collection of many Beatles CDs. And when I say many, I mean that the collection included every song the Beatles ever recorded. I had no idea the Pierces loved the Beatles so much. They also liked to sing to the Beatles. Brittany groaned and sank further into her massive sweatshirt.

"I'm so sorry," Brittany said, leaning against the window of the backseat. "I asked them not to do this."

She spoke quietly enough so her parents didn't hear her in the front. "It's kind of fun," I said. "I've never been on a road trip like this."

She opened one blue eye and looked at me sideways. "For real?" she asked.

"Um, yeah," I said, blushing.

Brittany laughed. "Oh man."

She yawned. Maxwell's Silver Hammer played in the background.

"Do you mind if I stretch out?" she asked, pointing at the space between us. "I'm going to take a nap."

"Yeah, no problem," I said. Brittany swung her legs onto the bench so her bare feet were in my lap. They were freezing.

"Christ, your feet are cold," I said.

"They'll warm up eventually," she said. "Here, share the blanket with me."

I gladly pulled the blanket over my lap as Brittany settled into her sweatshirt and laid her head back against the window. I was way too wired to sleep, so I just watched her. I could pinpoint the exact moment when she dropped out of consciousness; her body relaxed, and she stopped twitching and her feet went slack in my lap. Her mouth parted slightly.

She was so damn beautiful.

Every time we went over a bump I held my breath, not wanting Brittany to be jolted awake. Her head bumped against the window multiple times, but she never woke up. Her feet weren't as cold in my lap, and, having nothing better to do, I traced the bones of her ankles and the tendons in her feet. Mr. and Mrs. Pierce talked animatedly when they weren't singing to the Beatles, but they seemed far away from the back row. I let my own head fall against the window on my right. The glass vibrated, and it was as uncomfortable as it looked. I sighed and glanced at Brittany, envious of her ability to just fall asleep. We were barely an hour into the car ride.

"That tickles," she said, opening her eyes and blinking at the light streaming through the windows. I looked down to her feet in my lap, realizing that I was still drawing circles around her ankle bone. I looked back up at her and she smiled.

"Sorry," I said.

"No problem," she said through a yawn. She removed her feet from my lap and adjusted herself into a sitting position, moving the blanket so it covered both of us. The song changed, and Mr. Pierce turned it up. "What a great song," he commented, clearing his throat to prepare for the next sing-a-long. Brittany shook her head and pressed her hands to her forehead.

"Yeah I'll, tell you something," Mr. and Mrs. Pierce began, "I think you'll under-stand. When I, say that something, I wanna hold your hand," they belted. Their hands were joined on the center console.

Brittany looked mortified.

"Oh please," I began, looking straight at Brittany. "Say to me, you'll let me be your man," I continued. Brittany looked surprised, but a smile spread across her face as she watched me sing.

"Santana's singing!" Mr. Pierce exclaimed. "Are you in the choir?"

"Oh my god," Brittany whispered.

I laughed and joined back in on the next verse. "And when I touch you I feel happy inside," I said to Brittany, unashamed. "It's such a feeling that my love…I can't hide…I can't hide…I can't hide!"

Brittany was blushing madly from the attention, but her smile encouraged me to finish the rest of the song.

"There's a rock star in the back seat," Mrs. Pierce whispered (loud enough for me to hear) to Mr. Pierce.

My cheeks pinked. When Brittany's hand nudged mine under the blanket, I wasn't all that surprised. I took hers in mine and intertwined our fingers, glancing at her sideways. She winked, and I smiled back.

The flat stretch of highway made the car feel like it wasn't even moving, and soon I found myself drifting off. Instead of falling to my right, onto the window, I fell into Brittany. I barely realized I had my head in the crook of her neck before I was out.

We were still holding hands when I woke up to her other hand rubbing small circles on my thigh. Panicked, I quickly sat up, looking around the car. Brittany reached out and wrapped her fingers around my right hip and tugged me to her, shaking her head.

"Relax," she whispered when I was close enough to hear. Her arm tightened around me, hidden from sight under the cover of the blanket. I took a deep breath. "They're not paying attention."

I nodded and scooted closer to her so our bare legs were touching. Hers were warm. She resumed drawing shapes on my thigh with her left hand, and my spine tingled every time her fingers moved. Brittany kissed the shell of my ear, and I sent her a warning glance. She just smiled and shrugged.

After a few minutes of being in Brittany's arms, my eyes began to droop again. I was nodding off when Mr. Pierce announced that we were ten minutes from the house. I looked out the window as we passed a sign for Vallecito Lake. Brittany sat up, and I followed suit, allowing her to remove her arm from around me. I settled for just holding her hand under the blanket. I forced myself to wake up.

Emily, who I learned slept like the dead, was finally awake and chattering about campfires and s'mores and swimming. Mrs. Pierce had turned off the radio (had they actually run out of Beatles music?!) and was pointing out landmarks like the nearest general store and the place that sold fishing bait and the old flea market where she bought all of her records as a kid. The house we were staying at was her parents' lake house, and she'd been going there since she was a little kid.

I could tell Brittany was excited; her head was on a swivel, looking out of her window, and then mine, and then smiling at me and pointing and saying, "Did you see that?" over and over again. We drove a little further, and Brittany was looking forward expectantly. I followed her gaze as we drove out from the shade of the trees onto a dirt road that encircled a massive blue lake.

It was beautiful. Looming green mountains framed it on all sides, forming a barrier around the lake. There were boats on the water and people on the beach, and as we turned Brittany pressed her face against the window to look at the scenery. I twisted in my seat so I could see it better.

"Look at that view," Mr. Pierce said.

"Wow," I breathed.

It was a damn good thing I was getting out of Littleton, even if it was only for two weeks.

12:30 p.m.

The lake house was just as spectacular as the lake, but for different reasons. It wasn't impressive in the typical sense, but it was simple and beautiful and I fell in love with it the second I got out of the car. It was nestled between two rock faces, where wildflowers grew between the boulders and stretched up to the cloudless sky above us. Brittany and I grabbed a few bags from the trunk and walked up to the porch, which disappeared on both sides of the house; I assumed it wrapped all the way around the house.

The house itself looked like it was made of Lincoln Logs, and it smelled like pine trees. All of the furniture was handmade, Mr. Pierce said, and the first floor was open, allowing anyone in the kitchen or the dining room to see out of the massive window in the living room. It looked onto the rocks behind the house, and the smaller windows in the kitchen looked out over the lake. I kept turning in circles trying to see everything.

"It's cool, right?" Brittany said. It was obvious she was proud of the house.

"It's the greatest thing I've ever seen," I replied, putting a few grocery bags of food on the kitchen counter.

"The greatest thing you've ever seen?" Brittany asked, raising an eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes. "Emphasis on thing, Brittany. God, you're impossible."

She laughed and we brought in the rest of the bags.

Brittany gave me a tour of the upstairs next. The master bedroom, where Brittany's parents would sleep, was on the first floor, behind the staircase. Up the stairs were a bathroom and two more small bedrooms, each containing one set of bunk beds. Emily would stay in the room on the left and Brittany and I would stay in the room on the right. In our room, the ceiling slanted with the pitch of the roof, and there were two small windows—one set into the angled ceiling, with a view of the lake over the treetops, and one on the back wall looking over the rocks behind the house. I felt indescribably lucky to be sleeping in that room.

"Oh my god," I said. "I've never slept in bunk beds before."

Brittany laughed and flopped onto the bottom bunk. "I'm assuming you want the top, then?" she said.

"Works for me," I said, tossing my bag up onto the bed. I climbed up the ladder, kicking Brittany's hands when she grabbed at my ankles. She just laughed.

When I reached the top, I lay down on the bed and breathed in the scent of pine needles on the sheets. The comforter was red and patterned with small bears. Mr. Pierce and Emily came upstairs to set up her room before going back downstairs. I examined the bears and let my arm hand over the side of the bed. Brittany must have noticed my hand dangling, because a few seconds later, she reached up and grabbed it.

"You should come down here," she said. "I'm lonely."

"You've been down there by yourself for less than five minutes."

I could hear her frown. I gave an exaggerated sigh and climbed back down the ladder. Brittany patted the spot on the bed next to her, and I crawled into the space. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed the back of my neck.

"You're going to love this place," she said, running her fingers through my hair.

"I already do," I told her.

Before long Mrs. Pierce was making grilled cheese and calling us down for lunch. The smell of butter and melting cheese reminded me of the first time I'd gone to Brittany's house; I inferred that Mrs. Pierce must really like to make grilled cheese. It was delicious, like everything she made, and we ate quickly. Mr. and Mrs. Pierce left us to clean up from lunch so they could unpack. Brittany had Emily help her dry the dishes and put them away, and I washed.

After we finished cleaning up, Brittany's parents went and sat out on the porch, encouraging us to "go exploring, or build a fort, or start a hedge fund, whatever it is you kids do these days" (Mr. Pierce's words, obviously). Brittany wasn't in the mood to start a hedge fund, so we opted for a nature walk. We started at the back of the house and walked along the rock wall, following Emily's lead; Brittany and I meandered, and she started doing the thing where she walked in an angle so every few steps she'd bump into me. She found it wildly entertaining.

Emily picked flowers as we walked, running back to us every few minutes to hand us bouquets of dandelions and red clover. Brittany stuck a dandelion in my hair, and I put a clover in hers. We followed Emily through the woods, and Brittany bumped her hand against mine over and over again. I finally indulged her, taking her hand and squeezing it. The trees around us felt like shields from the real world. Emily ran ahead, jumping over a tiny creek. She picked up a stick and dragged it behind her. Brittany tugged me along.

It was quiet except for the crunch of our footsteps on dry twigs and dead leaves. I was startled when Brittany started talking.

"The night Max wore his wolf suit," Brittany began softly, "and made mischief of one kind…and another…his mother called him 'WILD THING!'"

Emily stopped where she was running and turned around, recognizing the opening sentence. Brittany didn't let go of my hand, and Emily didn't seem to notice. My heart pounded. "And Max said 'I'LL EAT YOU UP!'" she yelled back at her sister.

"So he went to bed without eating anything," Brittany shouted, picking up a stick and throwing it. Emily's smile took up her whole face.

They recited the entire thing from memory. The overdue book fine had never been so worth it.

Brittany's parents had a bonfire started in the fire pit when we came back. Even though the sun hadn't gone down yet, Mrs. Pierce wanted to bust out the s'mores early so her youngest daughter wasn't bouncing off the walls come nine o'clock. Brittany was impatient about her s'more-making; she scorched the marshmallow until it was in flames, and then brought the charred marshmallow out of the center of the bonfire, blew it out, and stuck it on a graham cracker. It took her about fifteen seconds. I was more careful, turning mine over the tips of the flames for at least two minutes, waiting for the edges to brown and the sugar to cook through.

"Is it better like that?" Brittany asked, making her third s'more while I carefully pulled my perfectly roasted marshmallow off of the stick.

"Totally. You want mine? If you don't have the patience to do it yourself, I'll be kind enough to let you taste heaven for once in your life."

"You sure?" Brittany asked, laughing. "I'm sure it's not that good."

"Here," I offered, handing her the one I'd made. She handed me hers, and I smiled as I watched her realize the value of patience.

"Well thank god somebody finally told me," Brittany said. "I feel like I've just wasted seventeen years of my life."

I just laughed.

Her parents went inside to put Emily to bed, and soon it was just us and the rocks and the lake. She leaned against my shoulder and ran her thumb over my forearm.

"I love this," I whispered.

"I love you," she whispered back.

"I love you too," I said. "More than anything."

She kissed my jaw and laid her head back on my shoulder.

10:00 p.m.

I insisted that she shower first, telling her I needed time to unpack and call my mom. She didn't argue and disappeared into the bathroom, handing me her cell phone as she left. I typed in my mom's number, smiling when 'Santana's mom' appeared on the screen after I hit send. It was touching that Brittany had taken the time to program my mother's phone number into her phone.

We talked for a few minutes, and I told her how beautiful the lake was and how good the s'mores were. She said she missed me already.

"I know, mama. I'll be home soon."

"I love you, Santanita. Be safe."

"Love you too, mom."

I hung up as Brittany walked back into the room in just a towel. I dropped the phone on Brittany's bed.

"Um," I said, watching Brittany walk over to her suitcase, which was next to the dresser under the rock-facing window. Her legs had never looked so long.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Brittany said. I threw her pillow at her and picked up the stuff I needed for my shower and quickly left the room.

While I massaged shampoo into my scalp, I realized a very important fact. Two important facts, actually. The first—Emily Pierce would probably not wake up if a freight train barreled through her bedroom. And the second—Mr. and Mrs. Pierce were sleeping on the first floor. When I stepped out of the shower I didn't change into the pajamas I'd brought into the bathroom with me.

11:00 p.m.

Brittany had turned the lights off when I walked into the bedroom, but I knew she wasn't asleep; the room had too much energy in it. Moonlight slanted across the floorboards.

"You awake?" I asked anyway, squinting while my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"Yeah," she whispered back. Her voice cracked. I inhaled. "Come lay with me?" she asked, and I heard the sheets on her bed rustle.

I walked over to her bunk and dropped my towel. I don't know where the surge of confidence came from; part of it was because I knew how much she loved me, how much she wanted me, and another part came from the serenity of the house and the trees and the lake. I reached for her and pulled back the covers; her hand found my waist immediately, and I heard a sharp intake of breath when she realized I was naked.

"C'mere," I said, placing my thumb and my index finger on her chin and pulling her to me. Her hand slid to the small of my back, and she burrowed into my neck.

"You still smell like a campfire," she said. She was nervous. I kissed her forehead.

We weren't completely pressed against each other, but she was close enough for me to notice that she was wearing underwear and a t-shirt. She seemed to notice at the same time I did.

"I should probably take these off, shouldn't I?" she asked. Her voice trembled. I smiled and tugged on the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it up and over her head. She began to take off her underwear, and I steadied her hips with my hands while she pulled them off of her legs. She took a shaky breath.

"You okay?" I murmured into her jaw, kissing up to her earlobe.

"Yeah," she whispered with conviction. "Definitely."

She kissed me and pulled my body against hers, and it was the first time I'd ever felt all of her pressed against me at once. It was a lot to take in, and I was drowning in her already. I moved one hand to her cheek, steadying her face against mine. Her tongue drew patterns over my teeth, and every time she nipped at my lower lip, I couldn't stop my hips from pressing into hers, desperate for resistance. She pushed back, and we went back and forth like that for a while, with her hands eventually finding my breasts again. It had felt incredible the first time she touched me, but now, unrestricted by clothing or cars in the driveway, it was ecstasy. I burned between my legs.

Her hands pushed my hips to the bed as she sat up and straddled me. I struggled to breathe as she ran her hands across my stomach, up my ribs, and over my shoulders, tracing my muscles and my bones. Her long, wet hair hung around her, and she looked like a sculpture. She was warm and wet where she sat on my thighs. I gazed into her eyes, breathing hard through my mouth. She lowered her lips to my left breast and sucked my nipple between her lips; I whined, grabbing a fistful of the sheets. Her shoulder muscles rippled as she held herself up on her elbows.

I ran my hands down her spine, and she hummed against my flesh as her back arched. She moved her lips to my right breast, still running her fingers up and down my ribs. Every time she went back down she went lower, until she was drawing a line from the sides of my breasts to my hips. My head hit the pillow behind me and I pushed my hips into her again, silently begging her to do something to relieve the mounting pressure between my legs. She removed her mouth from my nipple and kissed the skin between my breasts before moving lower, kissing down my abdomen and across my belly button. Her hair splayed out in a waterfall over her shoulders and my stomach.

Brittany looked into my eyes and parted my legs. The cool air made my whole body tense. She crawled back up and kissed me, but kept her hands on my thighs.

"Relax," she whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know," I told her. And I did know.

She kissed me then. Any self-consciousness I had went out the window when I felt her fingers fumbling at my entrance; I couldn't offer her any direction based on any actual knowledge of my anatomy, but I knew what felt right. I slipped my hand between us and over hers to guide her fingers.

"Fuck," I whispered into her lips. She flexed her wrist, pressing the digit further into me, and I gasped. "More," I begged. "More."

A second finger joined the first, and I rocked against her, breathing hard into her mouth as she kissed me. I struggled to kiss her back, overwhelmed by the feeling of her fingers inside of me. Sensing that I was incapacitated, Brittany kissed the corner of my lips, and then trailed her lips down my cheek, my jaw, and down to my collarbone. I bucked my hips up into her, and she forced them back down. She kissed the skin under my earlobe, and I dug my fingers into the skin on her back, holding onto her like she could be ripped away from me at any second. My blood pounded through my veins.

The heel of her hand found my clit by accident, and when it did, I moaned loudly. Brittany took my cue to do it again, and she built up a steady rhythm, rolling her wrist to push her fingers deeper and hit my clit on each thrust. I knew I wouldn't last much longer; the pressure had been building up inside of me for far too long. Brittany's rhythm slowed, and I opened my eyes to see her descend down my body again, pressing kisses in a line down my chest, between my breasts, and down my stomach. She removed her fingers entirely, and I was sweating with frustration.

"Brittany, please," I whispered. "I need you."

She hesitated before she kissed the juncture between my legs, but as soon as she started, her hesitation evaporated. Her tongue took up the space her fingers previously occupied, and she flattened it against my clit and built me up with long, slow licks. I tangled my fingers in her hair and moaned. She held my hips to the bed and stared up into my eyes while she worked her mouth against me.

The pressure in my body became indescribably high again, and I thought that if something didn't happen soon I'd die of sexual frustration. Brittany licked harder and faster, using her fingers and her tongue together. Her back was shiny with sweat.

"Brittany," I whispered between gasps. "Brittany."

I felt all of the blood in my body rush to my head, and my cheeks flushed. Stars danced in my eyes. She thrust into me one last time with her fingers and I came undone. It felt like falling, but a reckless, delirious fall—a good kind of falling. I moved my fingers from her hair to her face as she crawled towards me and the pressure rushed out like the air out of a deflating balloon. My hips jerked into her, and I held her face above mine and stared into her blue eyes. I felt like I could see the world.

It was over seconds later, and I kissed Brittany, whose lips were wet. She tasted like me. I smiled into the kiss and wrapped my arms around her, breathing heavily. I traced the contour of her hip and her waist while we kissed lazily, stopping every few seconds to breathe and to stare at each other.

"Hey," I said as she held herself above me, her hair falling around us.

"Hey," she said back, laughing.

I sighed and just looked at her. I couldn't believe how lucky I was—to be alive, to be sane, to have her. To be allowed to see something so beautiful.

"Stop thinking so much," she said, leaning down to tuck a piece of my hair behind my ear.

"But I'm thinking about you," I whispered, tracing her jaw with my fingers.

"I guess that's allowed," she whispered back, and she kissed me again.

Where I'd felt completely void of all energy just minutes before, her lips woke me up again, and soon we were grabbing at each other like before. I turned us sideways and tangled our legs together, distracting her with kisses while I flipped her onto her back. She didn't protest. I straddled her legs like she'd straddled me and palmed her breasts, watching her pupils dilate. It amazed me that I could control her like that. I kissed her neck and trailed a line of kisses down her torso, eager to please her, to give her the same ecstasy she gave me.

"Wait," she breathed, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Come back and kiss me."

I frowned, but obliged, moving up the length of her body to kiss her.

"Here," she instructed, holding my left hand in hers and leading it down between our bodies. She parted her legs and guided my fingers to her entrance, and we both gasped when my fingers touched the slick skin there. She helped me with the first finger; after that, I added a second, and I began to slowly pump my fingers into her. "I want to kiss you while you fuck me," she offered in explanation, and with that, she kissed me hard, sucking my bottom lip between her teeth. That was all the encouragement I needed. I thrust harder, feeling heat building in my core. Remembering how Brittany's palm on my clit had felt, I did the same to her, feeling her insides tense around my fingers each time my hand passed over it. She moaned into my mouth and wrapped her legs around mine, rocking into my fingers.

"San," she gasped; she was too breathless to say my whole name. "I'm going to…I…I…" Her sentences dissolved into moans and whines, and her whole body tensed against mine. Her eyes opened as she tumbled over the edge, and I saw her emotions flicker through her irises as she shuddered in my arms. Her blunt nails scratched feebly at my shoulder blades, and I held her in my arms as she came down. Brittany kissed me, breathing inaudible thank you's and I love you's against my lips. I sank into her arms, pressing my head into the crook of her neck.

It was at least ninety degrees in the room, but I couldn't let go of her. She held me to her chest and I felt her fall asleep against me. I'd seen a lot of beautiful things that day, but none of them held a candle to her.