Miranda crossed her legs, her lips moving, words shooting out of her mouth in rapid fire at her meek, frightened looking assistant. Her words made sense, but her mind was far from what she was saying.
When she reached over to grab a post-it note in the middle of her fast-paced instructions, her legs brushed slightly together and she could feel them.
The first ones had long since disappeared, having faded away over the years. But even though they were no longer visible, they were still present. There was one from her first, brief marriage that had ended seemingly faster than it had begun. One was from a woman who had broken her heart.
Another remained from the birth of her children. She had stayed away for all the nine months, willing them to heal so that they wouldn't be visible for the birth, but the instant those two red-headed girls left her body she fell into a devastating depression and had found solace in several more.
One was from the end of her second marriage. Another for the frustration of pursuing a man who had no interest in her.
The most recent was from the decline and extinction of her third marriage which had been more like a façade than anything real.
But the most recent was the deepest by far. It was long and cavernous. It had hurt the most…watching her walk away.
Her mind couldn't stray there now, though. No, now was the time to frighten her sloppy second assistant away and return to viewing a spread for the newest spring edition of Runway.
"That's all." Miranda waved the blonde girl away, her blasé attitude imprinting on the girl, somehow making her leave faster, looking as if she were the lowest scum on earth.
Miranda found instant solace in the renewed silence of her empty office. She returned back to her work, trying her hardest not to focus on her thighs as they rubbed together.
This was what she did because she did not know what else to do. Miranda Priestly did not lower herself to expound her issues with anyone other than her therapist. And even what she divulged to her therapist was wrapped in padding, for no one knew how much she hurt on the inside, how much she wanted someone to break through and pull her out of this hazy, mindless, uncaring state.
The only person who had gotten close had walked away like everyone else…
And so Miranda was left to herself. Left to deal with issues all by herself.
Friends were fake, made only to move further up, climb the ladder of success. They were not meant to lend a helping ear. Her past relationships had been meaningless ever since she had invested in her first marriage only to be left. She was fearful of becoming too close, too involved.
No one knew how easily Miranda could break.
~*~
That evening the girls were absent.
Miranda ate dinner alone and then retired to her study with a bottle of wine and a full glass sloshing messily against the side of the crystal as she made her way up the stairs. Inside her study, Miranda fell into her black chair, her silver hair smashed as she rested her head against the cool leather. She closed her eyes and willed the tears to not fall. It had been nearly forty years since she had cried and she would not give in now. Not on such a meaningless, pointless, uneventful evening.
A storm was brewing somewhere in the near distance. She could hear the low rumble of thunder over the noisy city street below her townhome. Without opening her eyes, Miranda sipped back her red wine and sat the bottle she had brought along messily on the surface of her unkempt desk.
Opening her eyes, Miranda found her vision was blurry. She felt lethargic, tired, worn down. She was getting old. She was no longer desirable, attractive. The only thing she had left was her job, her power, her position, her wealth. But even all of that had almost been taken from her and none of it made her happy.
As she poured herself another glass of wine, she realized that even though all of her goals had been achieved, she was no better off than she had been in the beginning of her climb to power.
She was nothing, she had no one.
Another glass of wine and she was retreating to her bedroom, her steps heavy, her body uncoordinated as she walked.
Inside her bathroom she located the very thing that she had come to rely on to bring her peace. It was sitting inside the bottom drawer to the right of her sink. Extracting the thin metal piece she felt a shiver run down her spine.
Sinking down to the floor, she set her glass of wine beside her and uncouthly pulled her skirt up, revealing the red scars of pain. The deepest set further up, high on the inside of her thigh. It was still bright red, looking as if it could burst at any second and bleed once more.
With unsteady hands, Miranda moved to her other thigh and pressed the blade to her lily-white skin, wanting to make it ugly like she felt on the inside. As the blade sliced her skin open, a thin drop of blood seeped out. This was the only safe place to do this…Miranda Priestly was a well put together, beautiful woman. She had no imperfections to the outside world.
Miranda grinned drunkenly. If only they knew…
The line was increasing, blood flowing. She closed her eyes and in a swift, quick motion she accidentally pushed the blade too far.
She cried out but it was too late…
Blackness.
~*~
Her eyes opened slowly, uncertainly. Bright overhead lights blinded her as her blurry vision attempted to focus. She heard a gasp come from somewhere in the room and she tried to turn her head to see who it was, but she suddenly felt light-headed.
Eyes entered her vision. Deep, rich, chocolate, doe-eyes were looking deep into her soul and she suddenly felt naked, exposed, vulnerable.
"Miranda, oh God." The girl was crying, her words broken. Miranda could feel her hands moving to her own. Unexpected lips flew to her forehead, kissing her. "She's awake!" The brunette above her was screaming.
Was this a dream?
Why was Andrea here?
"Andrea?" Miranda's voice was hoarse, soft.
"Yes, Miranda. I'm here. You're awake. You're alive." Wet lips pressed to her cheek.
A doctor or a nurse came into view. "Hello Ms. Priestly."
~*~
Miranda fidgeted in the back seat of her car, her eyes not moving away from the outside world, not wanting to believe that the person who was seated beside her was actually there.
Andrea had not left her side since she had come-to after her brief encounter with death and Miranda wondered if death would be better than having this young woman glued to her at the hip. Andrea had walked away, damn it. Why was she here now?
"Miranda," Andrea was trying to get her attention now. She didn't want to give it, but the girls voice was so broken, so hurt.
Miranda raised an eyebrow in response.
"Miranda, why?" She was crying, she was clearly concerned.
"Why what, Andrea? Why are you here now?" Miranda snapped, her voice sharp, biting.
"I care about you."
Miranda shook her head, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. She was glad her sunglasses were on. "You left." Her voice was a whisper.
"Oh God, I didn't think I had any other choice." Andrea was crying.
Miranda frowned, confused and perplexed.
"I want you, damn it, Miranda. You can't do this to me." Andrea cried through broken tears.
"Can't do this to you?" Miranda turned to face the girl. "I do believe I did it to myself. Not to you." She turned to face the window again. "Why couldn't they have just left me alone?" Miranda mumbled to herself, feeling as if she had died then things might not be as they were now.
"Miranda!" Andrea cried, "you're lucky your daughter came home when she did. You could have died!"
Miranda felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. Her daughter had found her? The girls were going to be scarred for life. Perfect. Perhaps child services would take them from her. She was suicidal, unstable.
Andrea groaned in frustration.
"Stop it." Miranda hissed, not wanting to hear or see Andrea in so much pain. "Shut up!"
Andrea's crying quickly shifted to soft sniffling.
Roy pulled up to the front of Miranda's townhome. He quickly got out and opened the door for Miranda. She unsteadily stepped out on a Jimmy Choo and before he could escort her to the door, Andrea was at her side, taking her from Roy.
"Go away, Andrea." Miranda's voice was low.
"No, I'm not leaving you." Andrea shook her head, helping Miranda up the stairs despite her protestations of being just fine.
Miranda was too weak to push Andrea away and close the door in her face, so she was left with allowing the girl inside.
"The girls are at their dads and Nigel has taken over the responsibilities of the book for you for now." Andrea sniffled, leading Miranda up the stairs.
Miranda groaned, her thighs hurt as she walked up the stairs. She wanted Andrea to leave her, to quit being so nice, to quit proclaiming her feelings for her. But she seemed stuck with her, for when they entered Miranda's bedroom, Andrea had her on the bed, helping her out of her shoes.
"Do you want to change?" Andrea asked, wiping at her teary eyes.
Miranda couldn't look at her, her eyes darted anywhere but at her. She shook her head 'no', but Andrea started undressing her anyway. Mindlessly Andrea's lips found their way to Miranda's and she kissed her, salty tears mixing on their lips and Miranda wasn't sure if it was just Andrea who was crying any more.
She didn't want Andrea to see her; she didn't want her to know what she'd done. Andrea was so innocent, so pure to her that she didn't want to hurt her with the image of her red, swollen inner thighs. But the girl was taking off her shirt, hands reaching down to the button on Miranda's pants. Miranda's hands stopped her, her lips hungrily attempting to distract Andrea from seeing what she didn't want her to see.
But Andrea just cried harder, her lips moving to cover every inch of Miranda's bare chest, tears and moist lips left a wet trail down Miranda's body.
"I want to see you." Andrea whispered through soft, tender kisses.
Miranda shook her head, realizing that she was, in fact crying. "No." She shook her head.
But Andrea fought to undo Miranda's pants.
In the past, they had come together on various occasions. Miranda would never let Andrea go below her waist, but she would allow the woman to kiss her. They had spent awkward evenings and nights together after Andrea delivered the book towards the end of her tenure at Runway. It had been a strange relationship that wasn't sexual, yet was quite intimate. Neither had understood it, but now Andrea was realizing why Miranda had never let her go further.
"Please," Andrea begged, her lips coming closer and closer to Miranda's center.
Miranda was melting faster and faster. She wanted Andrea so much; she knew that the woman was sincere.
But she was frightened at the reaction Andrea would have once she saw her torn up thighs.
However, as her pants slipped off and away, Andrea's face didn't change. Instead she ignored the marks altogether and allowed her fingers to find their way to Miranda's clit, rubbing over it. Her lips kissed the tops of Miranda's thigh, careful of the cuts. And soon her lips were on Miranda, licking at her wet center.
Miranda arched her back upwards, overwhelmed with emotions, feelings.
Yes…she was feeling. She hadn't felt in a long time and now…now Andrea was making her feel things she had begun to think she might never feel again.
She moaned and rolled with Andrea's lips against her. Andrea licked and sucked, her tongue sliding messily in and out and around. Her finger flicked over Miranda's clit and Miranda nearly screamed.
She was coming all too quickly and she never wanted it to end. But the instant Andrea licked her way around Miranda's clit, she was gone. Completely gone.
She fell hard against the bed, her body vibrating with nerves and energy and aliveness.
And then she felt Andrea licking, kissing her way down to her inner thighs. Tenderly Andrea spread Miranda's legs apart and began kissing the cuts. She kissed every single one of them. Lingering on each, her healing lips kissing them all better, willing them to go away.
And Miranda couldn't help but cry, tears spilling out over her eyelids and running messily down her awe-struck face. Andrea kissed and kissed and kissed until she had hit every single cut and with tears running unkemptly down her cheeks and nose, she leaned up and took Miranda's mouth with her own, kissing her so deeply that it felt like she was devouring Miranda.
"I love you." She whispered, her voice still shaking with tears. "Never do that again." Andrea let her hands wonder to Miranda's thighs, caressing them.
And Miranda responded with returned kisses.
She was alive; for the first time in her life she felt like she was truly living.