It is common knowledge throughout Litchfield, or at least throughout A Dorm, that Norma and Red have an understanding. Norma thinks that's the best word for it most of the time. She would know; she looked through that vocabulary book she got for Red far more than Red ever did, not that anyone will ever be aware. When they first met over twelve years ago, Red held out her hand, palm down, as though she expected it to be kissed in homage. But that would've been inappropriate, so Norma clung with both hands, trying to telegraph just enough of what she couldn't say. Red eyed her like a cat inspecting its prey. Nowadays, Red looks less like a cat and more like a battle-scarred lion shaking the blood out of its mane. How strange it must've seemed when Norma stepped in front of Red during that first encounter with Piscatella, the mouse protecting the lion. But Norma knows that Red understands because Red wants to protect too, even when she can't, which is often.
Touch makes Norma feel safe. Touch is precious in this place; it gave Norma near god-like status for a couple of months. Red's touch is exceptional. Whenever Red cups Norma's face or puts a hand on her shoulder, it's like she's marking her, sealing her against the violation of others and telling her something akin to You're good. Norma talks back with her own touches and looks. Red likes to be touched. Norma likes to touch Red, to make her feel good and powerful, even though they both know Red's goodness is questionable and her power hangs by a thread.
Red claims she doesn't want to be in charge of Norma, jokes that she's just Norma's "bossy friend." And this is true. It makes Norma giddy. And yet...Norma doesn't have the words, written or spoken, to tell Red exactly what she wants from her. She tries one night, as she finishes up Red's legs in the deserted bathroom. She sets the razor aside and begins to work on Red's feet, painfully swollen after a long day's work. Red gasps and covers it with a watery chuckle. Norma knows she hasn't really rested in weeks. "You don't have to do that," Red murmurs, even as her eyes slip closed. Norma gives the feet a squeeze to say I want to. At that, Red attempts a nod from her angle and sinks down into the pile of towels. Norma keeps at it, reverently kneading out tightness. Every so often, Red's breath hitches. Norma looks up, stilling her hands until Red wiggles her toes impatiently. Norma gets bolder. Red's little gasps give way to luxurious moans as Norma's hands travel up her ankles and calves. Norma peeks again at Red's face. Flushed. Ecstatic. Like she's forgotten where they are. Before she knows it, Norma's let out an answering sigh. A grave mistake.
Red freezes. Her eyes fly open as she swings her legs over and heaves herself off the counter. Norma shrinks back, thinking for a horrified second that Red might slap her. Instead, Red pulls down the edge of her nightgown and stalks out of the bathroom, leaving her book behind.
The next morning, everyone works the first breakfast shift like usual, as though nothing of magnitude has happened. Red barks orders at everyone but Norma, who takes up residence in a corner with the broom, sweeping the same small area over and over. It isn't even her job, but it's all she wants to do. Most of the girls ignore her, though Mendoza has caught her eye a couple of times already. "Woman trouble?" she mouths, jerking her head in the direction of Red's back. Norma shrugs, and Mendoza moves on, shaking her head as if to wash her hands of the matter. By the mid-point of the second breakfast shift, Red has run out of orders to give, and her crew is fading fast. Norma continues to sweep.
Finally, Red walks over and takes the broom away, laying it decisively against the wall. "Stop sulking," she says under her breath, avoiding Norma's eyes. Norma stares at her. After a moment of unnerving stalemate, Red puts a gentle hand on Norma's shoulder and squeezes, as Norma sometimes does. That brings a smile to Norma's lips unforced. She nudges Red's arm with a fist and walks off to empty the dustpan, feeling a bit better. So that's that. Maybe. Mendoza winks at her as she walks by with a half-empty pan of breakfast sludge. Norma expects to discuss this with Red later. Knowing Red, later will be a few months or years from now. Norma thinks she understands. She's spent years training out the useless impulse of fidelity to a twisted man. She's still making peace with the radical notion that she is a person who can ask for what she wants. And what she most wants is to be near Red.
She'll stay by Red's side, accepting the flattering if inadequate title of Red's 'Best Friend,' protecting as she's able and comforting when Red is in the right frame of mind. For now, Norma contents herself with holding Red's calloused hands in her lap as she paints her nails, listening to the relaxed sighs that escape involuntarily when Norma combs through her hair, basking in the presence of Red everywhere and in everything. In a place like this, there are few comforts, few absolutes. But she and Red have an understanding, and on the good days, Norma thinks that's the most wonderful thing in the world.
-End-
End note: I feel like I was channeling Pride and Prejudice when I wrote this. Please let me know in a review if you want more like it and/or have constructive criticism.