18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Rosalie's slip-up and Kinsey's ongoing pushback wasn't enough to stop either of them in their tracks. Night after night they fell into bed, melting into each other, a non-stop push-pull of desire and heat, the intensity never waning. Kinsey made damn sure though that it was Rosalie's room she snuck into, rather than the other way around. She could see how much Rosalie was wavering, wanting more, but unless Rosalie herself could articulate exactly what more meant, there was no way Kinsey was going to go down that slippery slope with her, finding herself with real feelings and a lover intent on running the other way. So every night, once they found themselves finally spent, Kinsey kissed her and left.

Rosalie didn't try to make her stay again, at least not for more than a few more kisses, but Kinsey could feel the longing coming off her in waves. It was confusing and intoxicating, like hope was being dangled in front of her that Rosalie might start to see her as more than just hot in bed. She wasn't going to fight for a future here though; she knew she'd been more than clear that she wanted more from the first night they'd met. Right now, the only sensible thing to do was to try to keep her head, knowing that in less than a week the vacation would be over and so would the fling.

God, it was hard though. Kinsey tried to remind herself of the intense power of oxytocin, the hormone driving them higher and higher the more they had sex and the closer their bodies became. It could trick you into thinking it was more, that you needed someone, when really it was all biochemistry at work. She'd close the door behind her after dragging herself away from Rosalie's bed, and lean back against it, her eyes closed, repeating just chemistry, just chemistry, just chemistry under her breath until she could force her feet to take her back to her own cold bed. She wasn't stupid. She could beat her body at its own game: have Rosalie every night and still keep her heart intact. She had to.

The upside? It made for killer songwriting.

"Holy shit," Cassidy kept saying to her. "Where is this coming from?"

"Oh, you know…" Kinsey trailed off vaguely, unable to explain that when every single part of you wanted someone you could touch but not have, it filled your brain with longing and your lyrics with a solid punch to the guts.

Cassidy narrowed her eyes around the fourth time Kinsey refused to reveal her inspiration.

"You must be getting into some serious sexting with whoever she is right now," she said. "Because this shit is on fire."

For Cassidy's part, her upbeat pop songs seemed to have taken a dive. This was in fact, real country music she was writing now, brooding and melancholy. The songs were impressive; if there were a writing gene then both the sisters seemed to have it. Kinsey loved what her bandmate was coming up with but it made her concerned for her friend.But try as she might though to get Cassidy to talk about it, her bandmate was equally cagey.

"Just getting my angst out. " Casssidy said it like a jest, but her eyes lost a little of their sparkle every passing day.

Between the two of them the collection of songs in the ‘keep' pile grew at a steady rate. This vacation, it seemed, was all kinds of productive.

They took a break one afternoon early into their second week in Vermont. The snow was cascading down in impressive flurries, a small blizzard keeping everyone indoors. Brynn and Savannah looked a little ragged, as was Tucker, their youngest family member restless at night. Tucker was so cranky at lunch that Lane wrangled him off to bed for a nap and everyone else ended up flopped on sofas in the living room or, like Kinsey, at the windows watching the snow fall outside.

Brynn eventually snapped on the television and started flicking through movies.

"Wait," she said, "I've got it. A vastly underrated cinematic masterpiece. Perhaps the best film ever made."

"Josie and the Pussycats?" Cassidy asked, incredulous. Rosalie's head snapped up from her book.

"Yes!" she said, her green eyes going bright. "Dumped on by old male film critics and adored by girls and women everywhere."

"Sounds about right," said Savannah, setting big bowls of popcorn on each coffee table, making the room smell like a real movie theater. "Looks ridiculous. I'm in."

"Josie and the Pussycats?" Rosalie frowned at Savannah, a small wrinkle forming between her red brows. "Come on," Rosalie pressed, "it was Rachel's favorite movie. She had it on DVD and watched it like, every other week."

"I don't remember," Savannah said, with a slightly apologetic smile.

Rosalie raised her eyebrows. "DuJour means friendship. DuJour means seatbelts."

Savannah looked lost. "What?"

"She quoted it basically every day. Remember? Who's a rock star? She'd say that literally anytime anyone was in a bad mood."

"I'm sorry," Savannah said, with a little head shake. "I don't remember." Rosalie's face fell and Savannah quickly added,"I'm sure it'll come back to me as we watch it."

Brynn clicked the remote and the movie started.

Kinsey wasn't really in the mood for a film. She stayed at the window, gazing out at the snow, watching the drifts pile up. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Eventually, though, as always, her eyes drifted to steal a peek at Rosalie. She frowned. Everyone else was chuckling at the screen, but it looked like Rosalie was fighting back tears. A minute later, she got up and left the room.

Savannah made to get up and go after Rosalie, then she paused. She glanced at Kinsey. For a second, they just looked at each other, until Savannah shifted, deliberately leaning back into the couch. With the slightest nod, she gestured for Kinsey to go.

Everyone else focused on the movie, Kinsey slipped away unnoticed. Rosalie was halfway up the stairs already, her movements a little slow like she was dragging herself through deep water. Kinsey caught up with her just before she got to her room and Rosalie turned around.

Her eyes were slightly red and she flinched a little when she saw Kinsey. A small sharp breath escaped her as Kinsey took her hand and pulled her into the bedroom.

"I didn't leave for that-" Rosalie protested, pulling her hand back. Kinsey closed the door behind them.

"I know," she said quietly. "Me either. I came for this."

Gently, she pulled Rosalie into her arms to hold her. Rosalie stood there stiffly for a few seconds, not responding, as if she were tolerating the embrace, willing it to be over. Kinsey didn't shift. Rosalie pressed her face harder into Kinsey's shoulder and began to cry. Kinsey held her tight and let her.

"Hey," she murmured, holding Rosalie tight even as her tears soaked her t-shirt. "I've got you."

When her tears stopped - all of a minute later - Rosalie pulled back sharply. She turned, quickly, disappearing into her bathroom. Kinsey stood still, her arms empty, listening to the sound of Rosalie blowing her nose and running the tap, trying to clean up. When she finally reappeared, her face was set firmly, her eyes red and her neck blotched with emotion.

"It's so stupid of me," Rosalie said, avoiding Kinsey's eyes. "It was just a dumb little thing. I'm fine. Please. You should go watch the movie." Kinsey didn't move and Rosalie gave her a quick, almost glare. "Seriously, I'm just going to take a nap or something. You can go, it's fine."

"You really hate being vulnerable," Kinsey observed and Rosalie scoffed and looked away. "What?" Kinsey stepped into her space again. "I can make you come but I'm not allowed to see you cry?"

Rosalie finally met her eyes properly.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," she said, her voice a little wry, and Kinsey smiled.

She reached for Rosalie's hand and pulled her close. She didn't take her to the bed like she normally would, but over to the window seat looking out over the snowy forest and toward the lake. She sat down at one end and leaned her back against the wall, tugging Rosalie up to sit between her legs, her back resting against Kinsey's front.

"Better?" Kinsey wrapped her arms around Rosalie and murmured in her ear. Rosalie's body went soft in her arms, relaxing back against her, face angled away toward the snow.

"Yeah," she said quietly.

Kinsey just held her, until her breathing slowed.

"Tell me about Rachel."

Rosalie was quiet for long enough that Kinsey thought she was going to refuse. But eventually, she began to speak.

"She was 14 months older than me," she said, "but to hear her talk you'd think there were eight years between us."

She told Kinsey about her sister's love of fashion and girly magazines and glamor. Of how she'd always known she was a girl, and Rosalie had always known it too.

"It was the rest of the fucking world," she said, "that wouldn't let her just be."

She told her about how they'd met Savannah, their cozy little trio, the way hiding her bonded her and Rachel even harder together.

"We were all so tight." Her voice broke. "Rachel and Savannah too. I always thought that at least one other person in the world would remember her the way she truly was. But for Savannah it's just… the past. She's forgetting Rachel and I can't stand the idea that one day I might too. Then she'd really be gone, you know?"

Kinsey held her tight, kissing the side of her head.

"What happened to her?" Kinsey asked. She felt Rosalie take a deep breath in her arms.

Rosalie told her about the fight with her parents, about the threat of a conversion center, about how she'd left and Rosalie hadn't gone after her.

"We never saw her again," she whispered. "I decided that she was finally really free, that she'd left Tennessee and was living this beautiful life in California or New York, you know? That leaving her little sister behind without a word was just the cost of her freedom." She took another deep breath. "Of course there were holes in that theory. It wasn't just me she didn't contact. She had all these friends that loved her and not one of them saw her after that night."

She heard Rosalie swallow.

"Five months after she'd gone, two other girls she'd known disappeared. Her friend Daria was one of them. They found her body soon after that. She'd been strangled to death."

Kinsey sucked in a deep breath. She kept her arms locked around Rosalie's middle, like holding her this close could hold her together. After a minute Rosalie kept going.

"The other girl's name was Mara," she said. "And it was the same thing. Disappeared then found strangled. They were both young trans women. The police were never sure if it was the same person who did it. They never arrested anyone. I honestly don't know how hard they tried. They were young, homeless, sex workers, you know?" Rosalie's voice turned bitter. "There's so much violence towards trans women that they figured it could be one murderer or ten. And as far as they were concerned, especially back then, they'd practically asked to be murdered just by daring to exist."

Kinsey's eyes prickled, her throat going tight.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, though whether she was saying it to Rosalie or to the murdered women she wasn't sure. Rosalie let her own hands rest on Kinsey's encircling arms.

"Savannah eventually told me that Rachel had been doing sex work regularly for a long time. It was how she was paying for the hormones that my parents wouldn't help her access, not to mention all her ridiculous wonderful wardrobe. She used to make such a big deal about not letting me sneak out with her and I always thought she was just trying to leave me out. It turns out that she really was just trying to protect me from the truth about how she was surviving."

"She sounds like she was a wonderful big sister," Kinsey said quietly and Rosalie squeezed her fingers.

"My parents eventually hired a private detective. He concluded that Rachel was dead," she said flatly. "His findings were that she was either an earlier victim of someone hurting trans sex workers or that she'd died by suicide not long after leaving home. I never believed the second one.

"Rachel was the most alive person I've ever met. She wanted to live her whole damn life so fucking badly, that's why she left. She was so close to eighteen. A couple more months and she could have told my parents to fuck off with their conversion center bullshit and just lived as she wanted."

"She was never found?" Kinsey asked.

"No," Rosie said shortly. "I still think of her being out there, living her life somewhere far away. Paris maybe. Or Barcelona. And I literally see her sometimes, like a woman will pass me in the street with her eyes, or I'll see some girl with her hair and jump out of my skin before I have to remind myself that she wouldn't be a teenager anymore. I'm not stupid. I know the chances are basically nil, but unless someone comes to me one day with incontrovertible proof, I don't want to think of her dying a lonely violent death. I'm thirty-seven years old and I still want to think of her just… dancing."

Kinsey felt tears dropping onto her forearms. Gently she reached up, brushing Rosalie's cheek with her fingers. Together, they watched the snow fall.

"Thank you," Rosalie said after a while. "I don't get to talk about her much anymore. And it's been, god, over twenty years since she disappeared. I'm actually okay, like ninety-nine percent of the time. Just every now and then something weird will trigger it."

"The ball in the box," Kinsey said. Rosalie twisted slightly in her arms to look at her.

"The grief theory," she said, "with the pain button and the ball that keeps getting smaller?"

"But when it hits the pain button it still hurts just as much." Rosalie's green eyes shone like seafoam in the light reflecting off the snow outdoors, as if crying had changed the color. "You lost someone too."

Kinsey nodded.

"Not a sister. And not the way you did. My best friend though." She clenched her jaw slightly, holding back her own tears, refusing to take over Rosalie's moment. "When I was twenty-one. Car accident."

"I'm sorry," Rosalie said, her voice genuine.

"Yeah," she said. "We'd been friends since kindergarten. I'm not sure there's an experience I'll ever have my whole life where I won't wish I could tell Chloe all about it."

"Her name was Chloe?"

"Yeah."

"We just lost a Chloe," Rosalie said. "One of the kids from the centre. Suicide."

"Oh, Rosalie." Kinsey's heart ached for her. For all of them.

"She was in your session actually," Rosalie told her and all of a sudden she remembered.

"She sang," she said quietly. "She had a lovely voice. Oh fuck."

Rosalie finally turned all the way around, one of her legs bent, the other dangling over the edge of the seat. Their bodies were close, their faces closer. She stopped a silent tear slipping down Kinsey's cheek with her thumb. Kinsey's breath caught at the tenderness of her touch.

"I…" Rosalie said, then she bit her lip. "I don't know that I deserve someone like you."

"What are you talking about?" Kinsey's heart began to hammer as she blinked and struggled to push the tears away. She tucked a lock of Rosalie's hair back, needing to touch her, feeling a bit like she was drowning, the two of them raw in the gray afternoon light.

"The night we met I treated you like some hot young sex toy," Rosalie admitted, dipping her head slightly. "I wouldn't let myself see all of you."

"And now?" Kinsey barely dared to ask, her eyes on Rosalie's collarbones. When Rosalie didn't say anything she finally met her gaze. Her green eyes were conflicted.

"I see so much," Rosalie whispered. "And I don't know what to do with it."

Kinsey knew that wasn't enough. She knew that if Rosalie still couldn't see clear to dating her they had a problem. She knew that what she was about to do was not the right answer but she kissed her anyway. Slow. Soft. Tender. Rosalie whimpered. She pulled back and gazed at Kinsey again like she was everything. Then she kissed her. Hard.

Everything caught fire. Kinsey jerked off Rosalie's sweater, Rosalie's hands flew to her jeans zipper. They gasped into each other's mouths, pulling at each other's clothes, desperate to get at each other's skin. Somehow they were on their feet, still kissing, and Kinsey found herself shoved down onto the bed under Rosalie's body.

Immediately she switched them, pressing Rosalie back into the sheets with a kiss to her bare shoulder that turned open- mouthed in a hungry hard suck, marking her with a bruise. Rosalie moaned and bucked her hips against her, digging her fingernails into Kinsey's back and scraping, the burn making her gasp ragged and loud.

She pulled Rosalie's panties part way down her thighs and finding her slippery with want thrust two fingers roughly inside her. Rosalie cried out and wrapped her legs around her waist, encouraging her with hungry thrusts of her hip. Her hand pushed fast between them to slip inside Kinsey's underwear, stroking her clit. Together they gasped and cried out, fucking each other until Kinsey - overwhelmed with the sounds Rosalie was making, the feel of her tight body squeezing her fingers and the sight of her breasts bouncing with every thrust - came savagely hard against her.

Immediately, barely recovering her breath, she slipped down between Rosalie's legs. She tasted her arousal, opening her mouth like a hungry kiss and adding a third finger, hearing her moan as she took her with hard thrusts. Just when Kinsey's biceps were burning, Rosalie came with a violent shudder. Still gasping, she pulled Kinsey up to kiss her.

As they kissed, they pulled at the rest of their clothes until they were finally naked, pressing together, their touches becoming gentle. Rosalie kissed her like she was fragile, breakable, precious and Kinsey felt like she was coming out of her skin. In the fading afternoon light they held each other and moved, falling into the kind of sex that was like trying to meld yourself into the other's body, like there was no physical way to get as close to each other as they wanted.

They lay in each other's arms as darkness fell, the room turning into such deep gray shadows she could barely make out Rosalie's face in the gloom.

"We should get out of bed," Kinsey said finally. "If we both miss dinner I think that might raise some eyebrows."

"You're right," Rosalie agreed and Kinsey found herself wishing she'd said fuck that, let them talk, I just need you here and kissed her all over again. Instead they both sat up on opposite sides of the bed.

"Come here," Rosalie said, appearing out of the semi-darkness. Without switching on any lights, she pulled Kinsey into the shower with her, where they kissed and gently soaped each other's bodies and somehow, miraculously, managed not to have any more sex. By the time Rosalie had switched on a low lamp and the two of them were dressed, Kinsey had made up her mind.

"I'm not coming back tonight," she said quietly. Rosalie went still. "I'm not… calling it off," she reassured her, "at least not yet. But I need to step back a little. I'm feeling far too close to you and if I let that happen there's a pretty good chance that I'm going to end up getting hurt."

Rosalie stood a few feet away and just nodded. Her eyes were as conflicted as Kinsey had ever seen them, her expression crestfallen.

"Last week," Rosalie said, "you said you wanted no strings."

"No," Kinsey corrected her, "I told you I wanted you however I could have you. I wanted you so much I thought I could just leave all the strings behind. And I'm trying to but…" She swallowed. "This is me trying not to want you."

"Kinsey." Rosalie took a step towards her. "I want you-"

"Oh, I know you do," Kinsey told her. "Physically. But other than that you don't know what you want." Rosalie didn't argue with her, but her eyes were aching. Kinsey sighed. "I know what I signed up for," she said, her voice getting firmer, "but I don't know, maybe it's about now that I should be calling time."

Rosalie reached out for her, but didn't quite touch her. Instead her fingers barely brushed Kinsey's arm, before her hand dropped by her side. That, in a way, felt like all the answer she needed. Rosalie opened her mouth but Kinsey stopped her.

"I don't want you to feel bad," she said. "We were both quite clear about what we were doing. But I know when it comes to you that I'm always going to want more."

She looked at Rosalie's beautiful face, her lovely eyes, her soft mouth. She imagined Rosalie in her apartment, her feet up on Kinsey's couch, across the table in a restaurant, holding her hand in the street on a cold day.

"I think all this sex is going to my head," Kinsey said after a moment, managing to smile. "Let me have the night, okay? Then we'll see where we're at tomorrow."

"Okay," Rosalie said quietly. "That's fair."

Rosalie stepped in close, very gently brushing the softest of kisses against her mouth. Kinsey cupped her face and stopped her. She met her eyes, tracing her thumb slowly along the curve of Rosalie's bottom lip. And then she left.