Chapter 10: Mirrors

First of all, a huge shout-out to everyone who has been reviewing this story. I particularly want to thank 'xhoffex' – normally I send a PM to everybody who reviews but you don't have an account so I can't! But thank you, lovely person : ) If you guys have any suggestions or questions about the story please let me know.

Also, if you like what you're reading, please tell people about this story on any Fringe-related tumblrs you have. I saw someone plug this story on a Fringe art tumblr the other day, so a huge thank you to whoever that was! If some tumblr art ever got made about Etta and Max I think I'd die.

Anyway, onto the story…

Etta felt like someone had taken her lungs and thrown them straight into a blender. The burn reverberated down into her thighs, her calves, as she forced herself forward. Thankfully the temperatures in Boston were starting to drop, with winter coming closer and closer, cooling the sweat on her skin. The thought brought a smile to her face – winter was coming. Winter meant hockey season, seeing her cousins, skating on Reiden Lake with her Dad. Her birthday. Christmas.

Around her, the guys on the team were panting, forcing themselves to run just as hard. These early morning runs were a staple in their training schedule. Their captain, Mike, always insisted that if they were going to train well on-ice, they had to spend time together off-ice too, whether that meant extra training, playing road hockey games just for fun, or just hanging out at one of their houses. Mike was a fun captain – everyone loved him – but he was also a tough leader. These morning runs weren't simply jogs. They were suicide runs.

They jogged around the school campus in a single file line. The person at the back of the line had to sprint all the way to the front, causing a new order in players. Then the next person would have to sprint to the front. This was a brutal drill at the best of times, bound to give you stitches, but at 7am in a Boston autumn, it was agony.

Jamal groaned as his turn came up. "You can do it, J," Etta panted to him. He patted her on the shoulder in thanks and sprinted to the front. Now it was Etta's turn. She felt the burn in her stomach as she forced herself to the front of the line, slowing down her pace as she fell back into a jogging position. Glancing back, she noticed that Ethan had fallen away from the rest of the group. He'd had an injury at training a couple weeks ago that he was still getting over. She turned to Mike, and panted "Ethan."

Mike turned his head as he ran, now seeing the slower player, and nodded to her. "Go check on him. We're almost done."

Etta broke away from the group, letting herself catch her breath as she jogged back to Ethan. "What's up, E? You alright?"

He forced a smile through gritted teeth as he slowed to a walk. "Yeah. Just my fucking quad's tight as a two-year-old."

Ethan was probably the only one of her friends that could get away with saying shit like that. She'd known him long enough that his dark sense of humour didn't even shock her anymore. He was the one who played in a band with Max, but he was far more into punk and metal than she was. He always said he'd start wearing colour when they invented a colour darker than black. His hair was shaved into a Mohawk. There was a piercing through his nose. His t-shirt read "The church isn't full of hypocrites – there's always room for more."

Etta liked that he looked scary, but he wasn't. So many people wouldn't talk to him because he looked dangerous or edgy, but he was actually one of the most honest, non-judgemental people she'd ever met. There was never any bullshit with him, and he'd do anything for his friends.

"Take it easy," she told him, slowing to a walk with him. Up ahead, the group had started to slow as they approached the change rooms. "How've you been since you got injured?"

"Not too bad. Every now and then the muscle still nags a bit, you know? I'll play next game for sure though."

"As long as you're ready. You don't want to push yourself too hard."

"Yes Mom," he teased, shoving her playfully.

She just laughed and shoved him back.

"You coming over to Jamal's later? It's his turn for pizza night."

"I can't. I told Max I'd go to her dance studio thing."

He smirked. "You've been hanging out with her a lot lately."

"Yeah, I guess," Etta replied, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. No one at school knew they were together. "She's cool. Thanks for introducing us."

"No problem. Just seems like you're not hanging out with us as much lately."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Mike's getting a little pissed. You know how he likes the team to spend time together and shit."

"I know, I know. We're hanging at yours next week though, right? I'll come then."

"Don't say it if you can't follow through, H."

"I'll be there."

"Good. We miss you round here, kiddo." He smirked, glancing up ahead at where the team had stopped to wait for them, particularly noticing how Jamal was looking back, waiting to talk to Etta. "Jamal misses you."

Etta sighed. "He still likes me, doesn't he?"

"Girl, I'll be honest – half the fucking team likes you."

This genuinely shocked Etta. "What?"

Ethan smirked at her wide eyes. "You're not in Kansas anymore, kid. This isn't like when we were playing back in middle school. These guys are 15 and 16 now. Hormones raging and shit. And let's face it, you don't exactly have the body of an 11-year-old anymore. What did you expect?"

Feeling her face heat up, Etta unconsciously crossed her arms over her chest as they kept walking. But if anything, that made her breasts stand out more, so she dropped them to her sides, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shorts in some useless attempt to make them cover more of her legs. "I didn't think it was that bad."

"Don't let it get to you, H. These guys still respect you – most of them anyway. Half of them would never be able to look at you like that in a million years. I mean, you're a pretty girl and all, but you're like a sister to us. Hell, I'd go for you if it wasn't so incestuous, but I could never see you like that coz we're family – no offence."

"None taken," she replied, unable to stop herself from cringing a bit, even though she knew Ethan didn't mean anything by it. That was just the way he talked. Direct. Unflinching.

"Just…be careful, kiddo," he said seriously. "Most of the guys on the team are great, but if anyone bothers you – tell me, alright?"

Noticing the change in his tone, she narrowed her eyes. "I can take care of myself."

"I know you can."

"I'm not interested in any of them, anyway. I mean, I used to like Jamal, but I don't anymore."

"I know."

When they got back to the change rooms, Etta just said a few quick words to the others (although deliberately avoiding Jamal), gathered her stuff, and left. She could change in the girl's bathroom near her first classroom instead. She knew what Ethan had said was true – she'd been sensing a new awkwardness between her and some of her teammates in the last year or so. The way they were suddenly uncomfortable around her in certain situations, how as soon as she'd come into the change rooms, they'd barely look at her out of an awkwardly-executed attempt to be respectful. But it didn't make her feel respected. Just ignored.

When she walked back across the sports fields towards the classrooms, her backpack hanging from her shoulder, part of her wanted to cry. She hadn't asked for this.

The first time she knew, really knew, that the guys saw her differently, was at the end of last season, when they were all 14. A guy on an opposing team had cornered her in a locker room after a game to ask her out. They used to be on the same team when they were younger, before he moved to another school, and now that they were suddenly playing each other again, he'd noticed that little Etta Bishop wasn't so little anymore. When she politely said no, he got insistent. As he'd tried to kiss her, he used one hand to corner her against the wall, the other to go on an exploration mission to discover exactly what was filling out little Etta Bishop's t-shirt differently these days.

Needless to say, it had taken her half a second to use a self-defence trick her mom had taught her, and the guy was on the ground crying. Afterwards, she'd gone to her teammates to laugh about kicking his ass the way they always laughed when one of the guys won a fight.

Except that none of them laughed. Jamal had blushed uncomfortably and looked away, as if just noticing her new body for the first time himself. Ezra had paced the room, face red in silent fury. Captain Mike asked if she was OK 20 times in 30 seconds. Ethan slammed his fist into a locker, and he and the others ranted about finding the guy and teaching him some respect.

That wasn't what she wanted when she went to them.

Her voice had wobbled when she tried to tell them that she'd already handled it, and no, she didn't need them to walk her back to her house. And when she went home crying to her mother (she could never tell her father about such a thing if she didn't want him in jail for murder), she cried not because of the way that jerk had treated her, but because her best friends didn't see her as one of them anymore.

Now, crossing the lawn, she felt the exact same loneliness catch in her throat. All she wanted was to go back to when they were kids, when they could all play together and change together and no one really cared or saw her as different. Feeling tears sting the edges of her eyes, she clumsily wrapped her hoody tighter around her chest, both out of a need to shield herself from the early morning cold and from a sudden sense of self-consciousness about her body. She wasn't exactly the most developed of 15 year olds, but Ethan was right - she definitely didn't look 11 anymore. She knew the guys had noticed, based on the way they couldn't even look her in the eyes in the change room these days, but she'd always thought it was just out of embarrassment. She didn't think any of them actually wanted her.

Nothing felt the same with them anymore.

Etta could barely focus on the music she was playing. She tried to glance at the keys every now and then, but that would mean tearing her eyes away from Max, who was currently dancing in the centre of the room, practicing her pirouettes, her arabesques, her jumps. Etta had never seen Maxine dance before – never knew the effortless way her body could bend and extend and defy gravity despite the pain it must cause to execute such movements.

Etta had only ever known Max with an edge – Max who hated her parents and wore The Clash t-shirts and painted her nails black. This Max was another animal altogether. This Max was all grace.

She looked like a doll – perfectly thin, with the elegance and lightness of a bird. Etta couldn't even count the number of revolutions she could do en pointe without losing her balance. The girl was probably born with those shoes on her feet. This room, lined with mirrors and bars and perfectly polished floors, seemed as familiar to her as the house she grew up in.

It seemed ironic – for a girl with Max's anger – to be so at home amongst mirrors.

But Etta could see, even now, that ballet was the only thing that made Max feel truly beautiful and free. Etta had never seen her so unguarded and raw – not even when she cried, or when they kissed, or when she laughed. Etta could see strength and vulnerability in her now, beauty and pain.

Suddenly Max stopped, catching her breath as she threw a smile over her shoulder back to Etta. "You alright?" she laughed.

Etta nodded, speechless.

"Why'd you stop playing?"

Looking down at her hands, Etta realised that, without her even knowing it, they had indeed gone still.

Max smirked. "Am I distracting you?"

Etta blushed, turning her face to the keys. "Sorry."

Laughing, Max jogged over to her, her steps remarkably light against the floor, and came to sit with Etta on the piano stool. "You're distracting too," she whispered. She bent her head, let her lips brush over the fluttering of Etta's pulse.

The girl melted at the touch, twisting to return a kiss to Max's lips. "Is this OK?" she asked.

"Yeah. We have the studio to ourselves for another hour, so we have some privacy. My mom always books this room out for me so I can practice."

"Jeez. And I thought hockey was an expensive sport."

"You have no idea," Max chuckled, taking Etta's hands in hers, palm to palm, so they were mirror images of each other. "There's booking the space, the private coaching, the training equipment. We even buy new shoes for every performance."

"That seems like a waste."

Max shrugged, kept quiet. Etta knew her wealth was embarrassing for her.

"What was the name of that piece?" Max asked instead, gesturing to the piano.

"I have no idea. My Dad's been playing it a lot at home lately when he needs to clear his head."

"It's beautiful. Do you have the sheet music for it?"

"No, I learned it by ear. I first learned piano by copying my Dad, so I still find it easier to memorise pieces off-paper."

"God, you're smart," Max praised her, quickly kissing her cheek.

"You're a beautiful dancer, you know. I had no idea."

"Thank you. You're a beautiful pianist."

"Thanks. But seriously, you'd make a good figure skater."

Max laughed. "I can't even skate."

"I could teach you. Winter will be here in a couple of months, and they always do skating on the pond down at the Common."

"It's a date."

With a final kiss on the cheek, Max got up and went over to the bars against the wall. She took a drink of water and began to warm down, lifting a leg onto the bar and stretching. She was incredibly flexible, Etta realised. When she finished on the bars and stretched on the floor, her legs formed a straight line. She was wearing tights and a tank top, the clothing accentuating the slim curves of her body as she folded in on herself, extended, bent her body in all different directions.

Etta watched her as if she was watching an animal in the wild, afraid to disturb her and break the reverie she was in. She got up from the piano stool and gently crept over to join Max on the floor, wishing she could be half as graceful and light-footed as the girl before her. Max smiled. "Hey."

"Hey," Etta replied.

She reached out gently and took one of Max's dainty feet reverently in her hands, starting to undo the straps on her pointe shoe. Max pulled away.

"What?" Etta asked.

Max curled her feet under her body. "Don't. I hate my feet."

"Why?"

"They're all bruised and blistered and shit."

Etta shook her head, reached out her hands again. "I love your feet."

It took a moment, but Max softened, stretching out a leg to allow Etta to take off her shoe. Max hadn't been wrong – her feet were marred with fresh blisters, as well as scars and callouses from old ones. Her toes were individually wrapped in tape, and as Etta carefully peeled each one free, she noticed that a couple of the nails were cracked and bloody.

Ballet, for all its elegance, was apparently as brutal as hockey.

Max turned her face away as Etta wet a cloth and wiped her feet clean. She couldn't bare the ugliness of this part of her body. But Etta meant what she said when she told Max she loved her feet. Despite their dainty size and slender arches, the scarring proved they were the only part of Max that was actually as tough as she tried to be on the outside. The only part of her to show her as she really was – beautiful, but battered.

When Etta was done, she massaged Max's sore feet in comfort, then, daring to go further, inched her ¾ tights a little further up, shifting to kiss up the girl's leg. Max shuddered, continued to lay back and pulled Etta over her to kiss her on the mouth.

They'd been making out more and more lately, inching closer and closer to that line every time. It wasn't always like that – they were often entirely content swapping mostly-chaste kisses throughout the night as they watched a movie or cooked together at Etta's house. But the making out had caused Etta to discover new things about herself, and her partner. It felt like a door cracking open, and maybe one day she would be ready to welcome in everything that was waiting on the other side.

Etta continued to kiss Max deep, slow, committing to memory all the little touches that caused moans to roll into her mouth like drops of honey. She adored the rush that went through her whenever she did something to make Max tremble, to make her back arch against the hardwood floor or press her hands against the mirror behind them to ground herself. After a few minutes, Max gently grazed Etta's bottom lip between her teeth, kissing her way to her ear as she ran her hands down the girl's back. "You're being cheeky," she whispered against the shell of her ear.

Etta sat back a bit, straddling Max's waist. "What do you mean?"

Max laughed, sitting up and cupping the girls cheek in her palm. She rubbed their noses together. "You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you?"

Not quite knowing what Max was getting at, Etta shook her head.

Max took her face in both palms, kissed her, long and languid. Etta couldn't help the way her back arched and hips rolled into the girl's body. It was like her body knew more about how to do this than she did. Max slid her hands down to the small of her back, holding her close. In this position, every part of them was connected – their hips, their stomachs, their breasts, their lips. Etta shocked herself when she internally wished that neither of them were wearing clothes. She wanted all of Max – closer, closer, closer. She gasped out a moan in a voice she couldn't recognise to be her own. Max gripped her, pulled her back down to the floor, and before Etta could tell what was going on, she was being gently rolled onto her back.

How Max had learned to be so good at this, to handle another body so effortlessly, was a mystery to her – one she didn't really want to know the answer to all that much. She knew Max had done things with other people, but still hadn't found the courage to learn the details.

Her breath caught as Max shifted to lie between her legs, covering Etta's body with hers and kissing down her neck. Max's treble clef necklace dangled between them as they kissed, and Etta noticed her gaze flick down to where Etta's base clef rose and fell with her heaving chest. Etta's eyes fluttered closed, her hands shaking, body lifting to meet Max's in any way possible. She didn't want this to end. Never. Never.

And then one of Max's hands was sliding beneath her shirt.

Etta froze. As the hand stopped just below her bra, she couldn't tell if Max was suggesting all-out sex or just stretching the boundaries of their making out. All they'd done so far was kiss. And even that, Etta still felt a little new to sometimes.

The fingers curved around her ribs, gently filling the cracks between her bones. The sensation, the new skin on skin, wasn't altogether unpleasant. In fact, Etta liked it. But it scared her that she liked it. It was too much, too soon.

Continuing the kiss so she didn't ruin anything, Etta reached to pull Max's hand away. Max listened, retracting her hand just as smoothly as she'd put it there. But within a few more minutes of kissing, her hand was back under again, this time going further to tease, just slightly, the edge of Etta's bra.

Etta trembled, her breath catching, but somehow she managed to choke out, "Max."

"Yeah, baby?" the girl murmured against her neck.

Her lips brushed over Etta's favourite spot on her neck, causing anything she was about to say to collapse into a whimper. Suddenly the studio they were in, mirrors on every wall reflecting them a million times over, felt incredibly claustrophobic. The cool floor at her back felt trapping.

"Max, I -"

"It's OK," Max breathed, continuing to kiss her neck where she knew the girl would melt. Her hand was still, for now. "It's just me."

"No more," Etta stuttered. "Please."

"Don't you want to?"

I do, she thought. So much.

Almost every part of her wanted to just go for it. To just give in to her pleasure and be with Max, this girl she liked more than anyone else, in the closest possible way she could.

But the other part of her, the part that was saying no, was too big to ignore.

She wasn't ready for this. She knew it in her belly. It wasn't right.

"Max, stop."

The hand moved down a little bit, but still hovered over her lower stomach, as if not committing to the exit altogether.

She's not getting it, Etta realised.

Her torso went rigid, her hands scrambling to get Max's out from under her shirt. "Max, stop."

Just as she said that final word, the lights went out.

"Shit," Max muttered. She sat back, pulling her hand away as she did so, and scrambled through her bag to find the lighter she used to burn the soles of her ballet shoes for better grip.

Flick. Flick.

A tiny flame burst from her hand, illuminating the room.

"Are you OK?"

Etta nodded.

"Etta?"

"Yes. I'm…"

But she couldn't complete the sentence. A fist was tightening around her brain.

Hearing her whimper, Max called out again. "Etta? What's wrong?"

The girl wiped a bead of sweat from her temple. "Can I have some of your water?"

"Sure."

Max handed her the bottle. The water was a cool relief.

"Etta?"

"God, just give me a second," Etta snapped, sending her quiet.

Her head was pounding. Another headache. She never used to get headaches like these, but it seemed like she'd gotten them a few times recently. And the lights, the car shorting out…

No, she thought to herself. That's ridiculous. There's no way those things are related.

Just breathe, Etta. Just breathe.

Everything's OK. It's just a headache. Everything's fine.

She told herself this over and over until she began to feel safe again. When she was finally calm, the lights began to flicker back on.

Etta glanced up. Well that was creepy.

"Are you feeling OK?" Max asked.

Etta nodded, handing back the water. "Yeah. Sorry I snapped at you."

Max shook her head. "I'm sorry. I swear, Etta, I didn't mean to get carried away like that. That was such a stupid thing for me to do. I'm so sorry."

"It's OK."

"No, it's not. Nothing the other person doesn't want, that's what we agreed. I wasn't wanting to have sex or anything, I just…I thought you wanted to take things a little further. But I shouldn't have assumed…"

"It's OK. Let's just…keep it slow for now, OK?"

"OK." Max reached out at took her hand. "I'd never want to hurt you, Etta."

"I know."

Wanting to change the subject, Etta held onto Max's hand and leaned her foggy head against her shoulder. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Max's other hand going to stroke Etta's hair as the pain subsided.

Etta felt unsettled by what had just happened between them, even though she knew Max never meant to scare her. Things could have turned out very differently if she had simply refused to stop. But she did. Thank God. Though there was a part of Etta - a larger part than she'd like to admit - that hadn't wanted her to.

She wanted to think about something else. Finally, when Etta felt a little better, she asked, "Can you hang out at all next weekend?"

"I can't, sorry. I have a tonne of assignments and then band practice."

"Speaking of which, I think Ethan knows about us," Etta said.

"What? No way. We've been so discreet."

Etta made a face. "You think he hasn't figured it out? He's our only mutual friend. I haven't been hanging out with the team as much and you've missed band practice a couple of times. I don't think it's slipped past him that we suddenly spend every second day together."

"I guess so," Max agreed, chewing her lip.

"Would it be such a big deal if he knew? He can keep a secret."

"I know, I just…"

"You're not ready."

Max nodded, staring at her feet as she flexed her toes. For a split second, it looked as if she could cry. Etta immediately regretted bringing it up, gently hooking her hand around Max's elbow to bring her back to her. "Hey," she murmured. "I'm sorry."

"It's OK."

"I just like you so much," Etta continued, trying to make her understand her frustration. "Not telling them is really strange. I'm not used to keeping secrets from my friends."

"What about keeping secrets for your friends? Will you do that for me?"

I'd do anything for you, she wanted to say. But the words sounded so desperate in her mind that they felt too stupid to let out. So she just nodded.

"I'm sorry, OK?" Max continued, taking her silence as a cue. "I know it would feel more real if we were telling our friends. And I know Ethan's trustworthy and he's the kind of guy who couldn't care less anyway. I want to tell him too. Just…not now, OK?"

Not ever, Etta thought. Is that what you're saying?

Etta brought her hands into a prayer-like position in front of her face as she closed her eyes and exhaled. According to her father, it was a pose of deep thought she'd inherited from her mother.

Stop being such a brat, Etta. She's doing her best.

But it's not enough. This isn't enough.

"Etta?"

When she opened her eyes, she found Max hugging herself, her eyes begging Etta for some kind of response. She looked so small.

"Etta…" The girl swallowed, blinking quickly as if to force away tears. "Etta, please say something."

But Etta was close to tears herself.

This is just going to keep happening, she thought. Max will never like you enough to want people to know.

She's using you.

Etta kept her hands in front of her face, knowing that if she reached out and touched Max, she'd give in. She could feel the confusion in her body, in her soul – half leaning into Max, half pulling away.

"Is it going to be like this the whole time?" she finally asked.

Max exhaled. "Etta…"

"I want to tell people about us."

"You can't. If we start telling people at school, everyone will hear about it. If it gets back to my parents…"

"Is it really just about that? Or are you just ashamed of me in general?"

"Of course I'm not ashamed of you. I just don't have a family like yours."

"So what happened to you not caring what anyone thinks? You act like you're so fucking tough, Max. You pretend you don't care about anything but you do. You're so scared of what people will think, you won't let me hold your hand in public or even be seen outside with me unless we're on the other side of the fucking river."

"Etta-"

"You're ready to fool around with me, possibly even have sex with me, behind closed doors but as soon as there's people around it's like I'm nothing to you."

Those final words came out as a sob, but even if they were unintelligible, Max understood the hurt behind them. Etta wiped her eyes, feeling her chest tighten each time she tried to swallow back her tears. Every part of her hurt.

"Etta, you know it isn't like that."

Max tried to reach out to her, but Etta jerked away. "Don't," she choked. She stumbled to her feet, hands shaking. "I won't be your fucking experiment, Max."

"You're not a fucking experiment – I wouldn't do that to you."

"Then what am I to you? Some way for you to secretly rebel against your parents until it blows up in your face? Do you get some sort of sick thrill out of having me as your dirty little secret?"

"Stop, Etta! You know it's more than that."

"Well why the hell did you even ask me out if you were going to keep it such a secret?"

"Because I fucking love you, OK?"

Those cried words bounced off every mirror in the room, echoing and hanging in the air until they died into a whisper.

Etta wanted more than anything for that to be true. But she couldn't believe her. Not like this.

So she shook her head, so hard tears flung from her face. "You don't mean that."

"Yes I do," Max wept. "I love you. I never meant to fall for you. It would be easier if I didn't, but I did. I liked you the moment I met you, Etta."

Max tried to step a little closer, but Etta backed away, gripping the bar behind her for support. "This isn't how you treat someone you love, Max," she muttered, wiping her face. She felt so stupid. "Max, I like you so much. I want to tell everyone I know about you. I want to tell the whole fucking world about how amazing you are and how incredible I feel whenever I'm with you, but you won't do the same for me. I mean, think about it – does a single person in your life know that you're with me? I can understand you not telling your parents but…does your best friend know?"

"You're my best friend."

"I mean it, Max. Does anyone know?"

Max looked away.

"One person. Give me one fucking name, Max."

But again, the girl was all silence.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Etta muttered, gathering her things.

"Etta, please, don't do this."

Etta only stopped at the door to say, "Don't follow me." Then she was gone.

Etta's shoulders shook with silent sobs the whole bus ride home. She didn't care that people on the bus were giving her weird looks, or that the old lady sitting behind her tried to cheer her up by telling her Jesus loved her. She didn't care about anything. The only thing she could feel was hurt and anger, towards Max but mostly towards herself.

She could still taste Max on her tongue.

She'd let herself believe that what they had was real. But maybe she was only seeing what she wanted to see. Maybe Max had just been using her the entire time. She let it go on for so long. How could she have been so stupid?

Thank God they didn't sleep together in the ballet studio. That would have been a huge mistake.

She furiously wiped away whatever lip gloss was still left on her mouth with her sleeve. She hated the way she looked. Her male friends wanted her too much, and her girlfriend didn't want her enough. She was all alone.

A buzzing jarred her from her thoughts, and she wiped her face before answering her phone. "Hello?"

"Hey baby girl. We're just having a dinner break at the lab and I wanted to check in on you," her mom was saying. "Are you still at the studio with Max?"

"No." Her voice came out thick, and she hoped her mom wouldn't notice – but it was her mom.

"Etta, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

"Henrietta Elizabeth, tell me."

Etta felt her face crumple, trying to keep herself from crying as she finally found her voice again. "Max and I had a fight. I think - " She choked on her own words, letting out a sob. "I think we might have broken up."

"Oh no. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Do you want to talk about it?"

Before she could answer, she heard her father in the background asking what was going on. When her mother told him, she heard him take the phone.

"What did she do?" her father asked furiously.

She couldn't help but chuckle sardonically at his anger – at the way he automatically assumed she was not to blame. "It's nothing, Dad," she tried to tell him. "I'm the one who's the idiot."

"Honey, don't talk about yourself like that. Tell us what happened."

"Don't worry, guys, OK? I'm fine. If you guys are working, can I call Ella and see if I can hang out at her place tonight? I just feel like shit right now."

"Sure, sweetheart." Her mother was back on the phone now. "Let us know what she says. If not, we can come and pick you up and take you home."

"No, don't leave work because of me. It's not that big a deal."

"You're upset. That's a big enough deal for us."

Etta felt, even over the phone, like her mother had just wrapped her in a giant hug.

"I'll be OK," she replied. "I'm going to call Ella now. I'll let you know what happens."

"OK, sweetheart. I'll call to check on you later. We love you."

"I love you too."

Etta hung up and called Ella, who said she was absolutely happy to have her hang out for the night. Ella was 24 and doing her masters in social work at Harvard, and she lived in an apartment on campus with her long-term boyfriend Mark. On the walk through campus, Etta had never felt more alone. It seemed like every hand she saw had a warm twin that fit. Couples traded goodbye kisses at the bus stop, got ice cream together at the gelato store by the subway. Everyone was with somebody else, except her.

When she reached the apartment, her cousin was already waiting outside. "Hey babe," she greeted her, pulling her into a hug. "What's wrong? You sounded upset on the phone."

"Nothing… Just Max problems."

"Oh no. You didn't get her pregnant, did you?"

Etta could help but laugh at her cousin's terrible joke, but the laughter just brought on a fresh wave of tears.

"Woah, honey, what happened? I'm sorry, I had no idea it was so serious. What did she do to you? I swear to God, if she hurt my baby cousin she will not be able to run fast enough to get away from me."

She shook her head, wiped her face. "I don't need you to put her head on a spike. Just…maybe we can go for a walk around campus and talk about it? Grab some dinner?"

"Of course, babe," Ella replied, hooking her arm around Etta's elbow so their arms were linked as they walked down the street.

It was a public sign of affection her own girlfriend had never shown her.

Maybe the whole thing was never real after all.

But halfway through dinner, Etta received a text.

"Is it from Max?" Ella asked.

"No. Ethan."

She opened the message.

Max just told me. I don't care. Please call her, H. She's at my house bawling her eyes out and I'd prefer it if my violinist didn't die of dehydration. E.

"Wow."

"What?"

"She told him," Etta breathed. "She told Ethan."

"OK, so…that's good, right?"

"Well, that depends on if she's doing it because she wants to or just to make me feel bad and come back."

Ella reached for her younger cousin's hand. "Trust your gut, babe. If it feels wrong, it probably is. Take a few days to think about it."

The younger girl exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "I want to believe her."

"But…?"

Etta snapped the phone shut, put it back in her pocket. "I don't know if I can. At least not right now."

Her cousin nodded in understanding, taking a bite of pasta.

"El…"

"Hmm?"

Etta bit her lip. "How do you know if you're in love with someone?"

Ella chuckled wryly, smiling at the younger girl as she took a sip of wine. "Trust me, babe," she said. "If you have to ask, you're not."

OK, I'm sorry the chap was sad, but please review! It makes me smile : )

Also, that last line was borrowed from One Week. Cool little Joshua Jackson movie. Check it out.