At the feel of a cool palm pressed against the small of her back, Andy plastered on a fake smile. She was about to be put on display. Turning, she smiled plastically at the handsome couple that surely meant a great deal to the continued success of the editor. Miranda only ever paraded her to contacts of particular interest to her position.
Andy nodded in all the right places, laughed jovially at the flat jokes, commented on the loveliness of their views. She charmed and enchanted. She played her part of perfect wife very well: Andy was the shiniest trophy in attendance.
The young woman felt the strain of the pretense. Her smile faltered. "Excuse me," she offered woodenly, face set in genial courtesy. She didn't turn to look at the editor. She didn't need to look to know Miranda wore the same hollow expression. Andy picked up a flute of champagne from a passing waiter as she sidestepped and avoided everyone. She needed some air. She felt suffocated and strangled in the room with so much artificial nicety.
The adjoining room was less crowded, its tall windows overlooking an illuminated skyline. Andy moved easily through the perimeter of the room, stopping in front of one of the large windows. She slowly sipped the alcohol while her eyes longingly drank in the freedom just out of reach on the other side of the glass. The din of the party fell away from Andy's awareness as her mind wandered far and away from the restrictive confines of her situation.
"Six." Brown eyes locked with Nigel's reflection. They stared at one another's transparent images, their visages somber and resigned. "I've been sent to collect you," his inflection transmitted his distaste. At what, precisely, Andy wasn't sure.
She drained the flute but said nothing. Her fingers idly played with the stem of the glass. She did not turn.
"It wasn't what you expected was it?" Nigel moved to stand next to her, his eyes moving from her reflection to take in the sight of their grandiose city.
"No," she said flatly, without pretense. She didn't have the energy to pretend with him. They both knew all too well how Miranda was. They had both keenly felt the sharp stab of the editor's betrayal. They both finally understood what happened to those most loyal to her: they were tossed aside and forgotten.
"Did you honestly believe she would change for you, sweetheart?" He was harder, sharper, crueler. More like Miranda.
Andy finally turned to look at his profile. Her heart wanted to ache for what had become of him, but it couldn't recall the sensation of sympathy. "I can't imagine myself ever being that innocent and naïve." Brown eyes stared hard at her own reflection. "To believe Miranda would change for anybody or anything. Especially love," her voice was factual, flat, and devoid of any emotional register. Maybe she was more like Miranda, too.
The atmospheric change that followed in Miranda's wake alerted the duo that the editor had entered the room and was most likely headed to their position. Imperceptible sighs escaped both Nigel and Andy as they turned and adopted their usual personas.
"We should've been actors," the jovial tone was accompanied by a wide smile. Only the gravity in his eyes ruined Nigel's blasé statement. He slowly moved across the floor to direct Miranda to Andy's location.
"What a fucking farce," the bitter words dropped like acid from her tongue, but they were hidden behind a forced smile. Andy wanted nothing more than to tear her arm out of Miranda's grasp when the editor reached her and leaned into her to tell her they were leaving.
Andy abstained from reacting in the very public setting. But, her skin crawled at the contact. And, it simultaneously burned pleasantly. Andy was slightly repulsed Miranda could still pull desire out of her. Under all the hurt she still felt passion for Miranda. It burned white hot and made the pain hurt deeper still.
Looking every bit the happily married couple they had been at the beginning of their marriage, Miranda and Andy walked regally to their waiting car in the midst of flashing cameras. Safely in the darkened interior of their car, their pretense immediately dropped. Andy moved as far away from Miranda as the small space would allow and stared sightlessly out the window. The only indication of Miranda's mood was the displeased sound that escaped her throat before she could stop herself.
Silence reigned for the duration of the drive. The car stopped in front of the townhouse. Neither woman made a move to exit. Finally, Andy opened her door and stepped out. Seeing no movement from Miranda, she turned back and arched a brow. "Going somewhere?"
"Yes." The bite of the single word made Andy's jaw tense. Blue eyes looked at her steadily, shuttered from Andy even while looking at her. Futile anger bubbled inside her at how much it hurt to be cut off from Miranda. "Somewhere."
"Andy, what are you doing?"
Andy startled at the sudden interruption by twins that were supposed to be in bed. She wasn't sure which twin had asked the question, and she didn't much care, she was well on her way to more-than-a-little drunk.
"Forgetting," there was no slur to her speech but she teetered on her heels.
The redheads looked at each other, frowns marring their faces. Two sets of sharp blue eyes pierced the now seated brunette. "Where's mom?"
"Somewhere," the word was choked out painfully like there were sobs clawing to get out of a slender throat.
There was a long silence in which the twins watched Andy drain the tumbler of whatever alcohol was in it. They moved in unison to sit on either side of her, preventing her from rising to refill the glass.
Slightly glassy, brown eyes turned to each girl and saw the echoed reflection of anger, sadness, and resignation on each young face in a way that only teenagers could display their whole hearts on their faces at once. And suddenly, Andy's heart remembered how to feel: it ached. It was shredded and bleeding by Miranda, but it ached with love for her daughters. Placing the empty tumbler down, Andy spread her arms and enveloped each twin beneath one arm. She felt two sets of arms crisscross her waist and two heads rest on her shoulders. Andy kissed each red mane and held to them tightly, allowing them to anchor her in the midst of her inner turmoil.
"You know," Caroline softly broke the silence.
"Mom does this to everyone," Cassidy picked up the sentence.
"She pushes and pushes and pushes," Caroline continued.
"Until whoever she's pushing falls off the edge of their limit," Cassidy finished.
"She changes everyone," they said together very softly.
Andy was just drunk enough to momentarily think they were one consciousness speaking through two mouthpieces. Her head was fuzzy with the words and the odd back and forth between the twins, so she closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing.
"Stephen got angry and drank." Andy didn't know which twin stated the fact but the comparison of Miranda's ex-husband and her behavior that night made her shudder.
"But, you don't really get angry or drink," sadness tinged the voice.
"You smile but you get sadder and sadder," tears made the teenager's voice shake.
Andy hugged the girls tighter as the fierce love she had for the redheads welled up inside her. It was a love completely independent of her love for Miranda. All her instincts screamed at her to stay and protect them from any and all pain. Her throat tightened against the insistent tears that wanted to spill out.
"You're leaving us aren't you?"
Andy could hear the anger and pain lacing the question. But, mostly she heard the resignation in it. Almost as if the twins had expected the outcome to be her walking away. Even so, she could feel the desperation of wanting a negative answer to the question in the arms that encircled her. It broke her heart.
"I don't know," was all Andy could manage. Up to that point, her decision had been emphatically yes. But ensconced between two crying redheads, her heart wavered.
Maybe it was time she pushed Miranda back and saw where the editor's limit was.
After seeing the girls to bed with a promise to at least be present in the morning, Andy waited for Miranda to come home. As the clock ticked closer to 4am, she reached the end of her rope. With heart ripping in her chest, Andy slipped off her wedding and engagement rings. She looked at the gleaming metal and diamond with longing for something that would never be. "This isn't even worth fighting for."
"You decided that long before tonight," Miranda's voice was unusually monotone as it carried from the doorway.
"Where the hell have you been?" Andy's fisted the rings and considered throwing them in Miranda's face. She put them on the bedside table before she did something she would later regret.
"Keep your voice down," Miranda reprimanded as if speaking to a small child, "you'll wake the girls."
Andy gritted her teeth to keep from shouting at the woman gliding across the room as if everything were fine in their world. "Where. Have. You. Been?" She was shaking with repressed anger.
"Out," came the flippant reply.
Andy felt the weight of that word finally snap something inside her. It was the spark that lit her rage. She could feel her heart hammering in her ears. Andy wanted to tear Miranda apart. Break her down and remake her. Mark her. Own her.
She was moving before she was conscious of it. Her hands grabbed Miranda's upper arms, squeezing unmercifully, before she'd given her body the command. Andy was all fury. She was all pain. And, she reveled in the momentary sliver of fear that lighted blue eyes.
"Were you with her?" The whisper was fierce and rough. Brown eyes itched with the sting of tears. Andy wasn't sure if she was shaking Miranda, or if she herself was shaking with jealousy, hatred, and love.
Miranda jerked out of the unyielding grip. Her face was a mask of indifference. Turning, she threw a barb over her shoulder, "What if I was?"
Andy was moving again. This time with purpose: she wanted to hurt Miranda. Angry hands found purchase on the editor's gown. A rough mouth claimed lips open in shock; Andy was pleased she could taste only vodka on the Miranda's tongue. The kiss was hard, meant to possess and claim.
Strong arms pushed against the Andy's shoulders once before gripping them tightly and holding on as they fell onto the bed.
Tearing her lips away from Miranda's mouth, Andy trailed her mouth down an alabaster neck. She wasn't gentle. She marked the soft skin beneath her.
Miranda whimpered, her hands gripping strong shoulders tightly. She wasn't fighting Andy, just hanging on.
The loud tearing of fabric brought Andy slamming down to reality. She looked down in horror. Miranda's dress was ripped down the middle, her hands holding the ends of the shredded fabric.
"Fuck." Shame gripped her. She looked away from what she'd done. "Fuck."
"That did seem to be the ultimate goal," Miranda's voice was rough but not quite angry. She was flushed and her gaze, heavy with intent, pierced Andy.
"Shit," Andy's voice shook. She was still so angry but she wouldn't become this. She wouldn't allow Miranda to make her a monster. "I'm leaving." Andy started crying, her emotions finally breaking through the damn of her control.
She moved to rise, but Miranda didn't let her go. Andy looked down into stormy blue eyes. Miranda was now pointedly angry.
"You want a divorce?" Miranda's voice was cold but her eyes flashed with something frantic, something like desperation.
Andy really did want a divorce but she shook her head.
"So what do you want?" The fingers pressed to Andy's shoulders dug in painfully.
"Nothing." Andy stopped struggling against Miranda's grasp. "I want nothing from you." Unexpected sobs erupted from somewhere she had locked away deep inside her heart. Her throat ached at the sudden expression of all her grief, hurt, and anger. She closed her eyes. Her tears fell from her eyes and rolled down Miranda's cheeks. "I want to get as far from you as possible as fast as I can," Andy's words were interspersed with choked breaths, "but I won't divorce you because I love you too fucking much to put you and the girls through that public scandal." Her eyes opened slowly, tears pooling in them. "How pathetic is that?"
Miranda surged up and captured Andy's lips with bruising force. The touch burned through Andy, setting her on fire. She hated what Miranda had done, but she loved the woman herself. And she wanted her. So damn much.
Frantic hands pulled Andy's robe open, jamming unceremoniously into her underwear. Andy wasn't quite ready for Miranda, but she wanted her so badly she didn't protest. Miranda was just the wrong side of rough, but Andy welcomed the painfully pleasant burn, it reminded her that things were different.
Moving to reciprocate, Andy unerringly found Miranda's center. Slipping into her with more force than necessary, Andy remembered her anger. Remembered why this hurt between them now. "Did she fuck you like this?" The whisper was almost sensual against Miranda's ear.
Miranda grunted and put her thigh behind her thrusts. Andy gasped and brought her thumb roughly against Miranda's clit. They moved together and trembled. All heat. And, all passion. Everything an amalgam of too much intensity, pain, hatred, love. They didn't do anything by halves.
Andy was still crying; her tears falling like hot pinpricks against Miranda's skin. But they pushed each other closer to release. The pain and roughness deliciously mixing with the pleasure. In an effort to quiet her release, Andy bit into a tensed shoulder as she bucked against the Miranda's hand. The added stimulus tipped Miranda over the edge. Both women strained against each other, riding out their orgasm together. Neither cried out the other's name. It was a most unhappy release.
"Why did you marry me if it wasn't forever for you?"
Andy didn't really expect an answer. She wasn't even sure why she had asked.
Andy moved off Miranda and covered herself. She didn't look at Miranda and all the marks she'd left on her. Shame burned in her belly at what they had both just done.
"I didn't sleep with her," Miranda confessed into the punctuated silence.
"It's a bit too late to lie now," Andy sounded almost casual, "I saw you." The memory unwittingly replayed itself in her mind, and it made her sick with betrayal. Again.
"What you saw was a contrived scene," Miranda said slowly. She sat up on the bed; she didn't bother to cover herself up.
The silence was immediate and pronounced. Alive. Suffocating.
"What do…you…" Andy felt lost. Her head felt like it was going to explode. "What?"
"I was trying to get your attention." There was no inflection that indicated Miranda's emotions. It was just matter of fact. A manipulation, a feint, so she could get the response she desired. Andy was just a thing to her; a thing that could be coerced and manipulated to fit into Miranda's life as an object and not a person.
"Why didn't you…talk to me?" Bile rose in Andy's stomach. It was worse to think Miranda would use such devastating emotional pain consciously instead of in the heat of passion. Miranda was willing to callously injure her to get her way instead of simply attempting to communicate with her. She was going to be sick. "I…can't…I can't," Andy sounded like she was in physical pain, she pulled away as Miranda tried to approach. "It hurts to be near you."
"Andrea," Miranda plead, reaching for her, "let me explain."
But Andy was already fumbling with the doorknob; she fled their bedroom without looking back.
Miranda didn't know if she imagined the lock clicking into place in the guest bedroom. But, the looming realization that she had made several grievous errors didn't let her sleep.
Guilt gnawed at her.
She had been wrong. So very, very wrong.
Miranda paced like a caged lion, her mind going over everything she could have, should have done differently.
When the sun lighted her bedroom windows, she forced her mind to stop. She went to the bathroom to try and wash away the long night. She stared at her sunken eyes in her pale, tired face. Her eyes slipped to the marks Andrea had left in her anger and hurt. And for the first time in a long time, Miranda allowed herself to cry.
We weren't supposed to be this. I'm so sorry I broke us.
She washed away the traces of tears but her eyes stayed red rimmed and tired. She moved through the house without purpose. Every place reminded her of Andrea, of their life together, of all the happiness they had shared in the walls of their home. Miranda swallowed against the sting of tears. She was the one at fault. She was the one that hurt Andrea. She was the one that wrecked them.
She moved to the kitchen to busy herself with doing something before she gave in to the desire to wallow in self-loathing. Even though she deserved it, it wouldn't do anyone any good.
The coffee was percolating in the pot when her girls quietly entered the kitchen. Miranda knew it was entirely too early for them to be awake on any given day, but it was especially early for a Saturday. The only indication of her surprise was a raised eyebrow, which they promptly ignored.
They didn't seem surprised to see Miranda making coffee, even though it was usually exclusively Andrea in the kitchen. They exchanged quiet good mornings. And Miranda was struck by the realization that they knew something was wrong and were trying to make their presence as small as possible.
She turned from them and wiped her eyes. Miranda had hurt them too, without thought, without realization.
When she turned back, guilt spiked through her again, sharp and painful. Andrea was standing at the threshold of the kitchen, hesitating, unsure. The guilt hardened and stabbed painfully at heart when she saw Andrea in the bright light of the kitchen. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen with dark circles underneath them. She looked pale and wan—like she hadn't slept, either.
"You're still here." The twins seemed surprised but happy at the young woman's appearance.
Miranda swallowed against the lump that suddenly lodged itself in her throat at her daughters' words.
"I promised," Andrea said through a thin, but genuine, smile. She hugged and kissed each girl before looking up.
Her eyes held Miranda's gaze.
Miranda didn't speak but handed over a cup of coffee in tiny appeasement. She didn't miss the misting of brown eyes.
Andrea shook herself and took a long sip of her coffee. "I'm going to visit my mom for a little while." She mostly addressed the twins but her eyes bounced to Miranda's.
"Are you coming back?" Miranda was never more grateful for the bravery and innocence of youth. The young were never afraid to ask the hardest questions.
Brown eyes locked with blue at the question. Andrea was measuring if Miranda was worth coming back to. Her eyes were so full of pain and longing. Miranda wanted to flinch away from the probing stare, but she wanted her wife to come back even more, so she didn't look away.
She let her look, tried to let her see. She tried to convey the only thought that had been going through her mind for hours: I'm so sorry, please give me another chance.
Miranda dug in her pocket and closed her hand around two discarded rings. She placed them in front of Andrea, her blue eyes saying it did mean forever to me.
She saw Andrea's throat bob harshly as she looked at the rings. Miranda watched in relief and trepidation as Andrea picked up the rings. She didn't slip them back on. But, she didn't put them down either. She clutched them tightly in her fist.
"Just give me some time," Andrea said slowly.
"Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift." -Mary Oliver