Chapter 10- …It's An Arms Race

Imogen opened her eyes groggily, taking in her surroundings. It took a few seconds for her to remember where she was. The room was dark, with the exception of the light shining from the TV displaying the disc menu. To her left, her ex was sleeping peacefully against the cushions of the couch and Imogen could not help but admire how vulnerable the girl still looked when she slept. Quietly, she pulled off her blanket and searched her purse for her phone. The screen lit up to reveal it was a quarter past eleven at night and that she had received two more texts since she'd been asleep—one from her mother and one from Jack:

9:15 PM- Are you sleeping over at Fiona's?

10:06 PM- Well I'm going to bed…just call me tomorrow if you find the time.

Her head flooded with guilt as she stared at the second message for a few more seconds. She tried to think of a perfect excuse to reply with for why she had not been able to call, but the only reason that kept returning to her mind was the truth—that she had been with Fiona all evening watching movies while catching up and reminiscing, and that she was enjoying it so much that she completely lost track of time before passing out on her ex's couch. Thinking it over, she decided just to wait and talk to Jack the next day in hopes that she could figure out a way to avoid hurting her girlfriend more than she already had. Hitting reply on her mother's message, she typed a simple 'no' and hit send.

Imogen stood up and then glanced back down at Fiona who still lay undisturbed. She debated on if she should wake her up to tell her goodbye, but instead fixed the blanket on top of the dozing beauty and made her way into Fiona's bedroom to get her things. She found the box labeled "Immy's Stuff" sitting on the king sized bed. When she turned around she saw a packet of papers resting on top of the socialite's vanity in an envelope stamped with the large red words "First Class Mail". Letting her curiosity get the better of her, she picked up the packet and began to sift through the pages, discovering that Fiona had received a job offer at a fashion company in New York that she hadn't yet accepted. It struck her as odd that the girl hadn't mentioned this little detail during their night together whenever they were catching up. She replaced the packet and began to head towards the door with her box.

As Imogen's hand touched the doorknob to the loft's exit, her ex's voice called out from the living room. "Im? Are you leaving?"

She turned around to see Fiona rising from the couch, her hair slightly disheveled but still perfect by any normal person's standards. "Yeah, sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. It's past eleven."

"Oh, wow. Guess Olivia Wilde was a lot less sexy in the second movie than she was in the first one," the older girl laughed while softly rubbing her eyes. "You know you're welcome to stay if you want to? If it's too late-"
"Fiona," she breathed, "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Well one of us would sleep on the couch, obvi! Relax, Immy, I'm not trying to seduce you." Fiona rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying if you're too tired then you're welcome to stay. No pressure. No strings. No tickle-fights."

Imogen smiled, looking softly at her ex. "Well as long as there are no tickle-fights," she said before her brain reminded her that this could only make her situation with Jack worse. "Actually, I really need to go home. I'm not that tired and besides, I literally just told Natalie I would be going back tonight. I don't want her to get the wrong idea if I suddenly text her that I'm staying."

Fiona turned on a small lamp in the corner of the room and walked towards the door to stand closer to Imogen. "Suit yourself, Crazy. At least let me know when you make it back to your house? I have to make sure the Death-Eaters don't get ya."

Imogen beamed, overwhelmed with pride for the girl's Harry Potter reference. Before they had met, Fiona had never even seen any of the movies, let alone been able to reference any of them. "As you wish, muggle," she assured with a wink.

"Soooo," Fiona took a small step closer, "are we still the type of friends that hug?"

"Fiones!" Imogen turned and set her box down on the floor before returning her attention back to the other girl. "Hugging is not only allowed, but encouraged!" The younger girl outstretched her arms enthusiastically. Then it swiftly hit her—the last time she hugged Fiona was at graduation night whenever she was setting her free to go off into the world without a girlfriend tying her down. She remembered hugging the girl she loved so tightly and never wanting to let go, convinced that she would never find another hug that felt as safe and warm as a Fiona Coyne hug. Her nerves started to stir inside of her and every second that her ex grew closer was another second that her heart was skipping a beat. She was suddenly scared to hug Fiona—and scared of not wanting to let go.

Fiona pulled away from the hug after an appropriate amount of time to ensure that Imogen would not think she was trying to put the moves on her or anything. The socialite looked down perplexed when she saw a tan hand still resting above her waist. "Umm, Im?" She shifted her blue eyes up to meet the other girl's and then back down to signal towards the hand.

"Oh my god! I'm sorry!" Imogen blushed and then jerked her hand away feeling completely embarrassed. "I just… I have to go, Natalie is waiting for me to get home!" She picked up her box and fumbled at the doorknob until Fiona intervened and opened it for her. "Thanks…" she looked at the older girl then hurried out into the hall.

"Bye?" Fiona's hesitant voice trailed as the door closed in front of her.

Imogen's heart throbbed inside her chest as she tried to regain her composure. She leaned against the wall in the hall and then slowly slid down until she was sitting with her legs stretched out in front of her with the box resting on her lap. She could not get the hug out of her head—how it felt to have her ex's arms around her again; the curly hair that brushed past her cheek as her head moved across the girl's shoulder; the smell of the elegant girl leaving her even more inebriated than she had felt after guzzling whiskey the day before. She didn't know exactly when, and she didn't know exactly how, but at some point during the night that galaxy that held everything she ever felt for Fiona had exploded, sending a meteor shower of old feelings to rain back down on her.

Still sitting there, Imogen found herself craving so much more than just a hug. Every urge in her body wanted her to jump up and march right back into that loft to start from exactly where they had left off eight months ago. Clicking her phone, the time was revealed as well as her background picture of Jack—It was one of the first pictures she had ever taken of her girlfriend. They had gone on a hike in the woods and came across a small blue colored bird hopping on the ground with an injured wing. Jack picked it up and held it until they were able to find a box for the girl to put it in and bring home. Imogen smiled as she remembered seeing Jack and the bird through her camera lens. This is so stupid! I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND! A girlfriend that I really like and is sweet and caring and has never done anything wrong…pick yourself up and go home…just pick yourself up and go home. Just. Pick. Yourself. Up. And. Go. Home! She kept repeating this phrase to herself over and over, but the only thing she picked up was her hand as she gave a couple small barely-audible taps to the door of the loft. If she doesn't hear, it means she's already gone to bed and I can finally just leave.

The younger girl stayed waiting fretfully and forgetting to exhale. Five seconds passed. Then another. Then another. She let out a deep breath and stood up with her box. After exactly three steps towards the stairs, she heard the door creak open behind her and halted immediately in her tracks. She stood still for three more silent seconds until the box plunged from her hands to the floor and she turned around quickening her step towards Fiona. Before the baffled socialite could say anything, the younger girl's hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, and pulled her face in, crashing their lips together. Neither girl needed a reminder of how to kiss the other and after the door slammed, muscle memory continued to take over.