8.28.18
It occurred to me that I haven't been posting my updates to my old FanFiction dot net account, so I'm rectifying that now. My primary account is now on Ao3 under the same moniker: AeschylusRex.
Enjoy~
10.
Anna isn't nearly so giggly or naive when it's just the two of them. She's always calmer, always clearer, clever eyes flashing every time she makes a witty remark, but that only makes it worse when Hans is around, the fake laughs, the fluttering lashes, the push up bras and gratuitous cleavage.
It's terrible.
Well, not the cleavage, just… who it's for.
Elsa can't help that she's disgusted. Her own pretenses were ripped away at a young age by abuse, neglect, and good old fashioned domestic violence. She knows guilty overcompensation when she sees it, and there isn't enough patience in the state of New York for Elsa to sit back and tolerate Anna's obnoxious Pollyanna act. Elsa's already spent far too much time in library stacks and bathroom stalls listening to Anna's ragged, breathy moans. Anna can't fake those orgasms like she can fake her innocence to Hans. Elsa knows that for a fact, just like she knows she and Anna are only really honest with each other when they're inside each other. The rest of it plays out like a game, half-truths and bright facades and loaded silences, Hans glancing at Elsa with more and more bewilderment each time he comes over. Elsa never stays long enough to find out what he thinks, always ducking out just in time to miss Anna's uncanny transformation into the perfect, perky girlfriend. The two of them together is a rare kind of torture. It makes her chest tight, makes her teeth grind, makes her fingers itch. She can't stay. Has to get out, can't understand how Anna can remain so two-faced with him, how Anna can stand to have them all together in the same room at the same time.
So, maybe she messed up. Maybe she's in too deep to climb out. She refuses to admit it to herself for the most part, just marvels that long walks and cold air don't clear her head anymore, that she can't focus on a single page of notes while she's in the library, that's she's begun to stage angry, impassioned confrontations with Anna in her head. She thinks indignantly of Jen's insinuations about love, and bristles at how wrong Jen is, all while comforting herself by recalling Anna's eyes at her moments of climax, the spark of connection that passes between them, unnamed, unspoken, salve for her salted wounds whenever Hans sweeps Anna away on another date.
Well, she is going home to Anna's for Thanksgiving, and Hans, the perfect, golden boyfriend, is not. That has to count for something.
Curiously, Anna suddenly seems more enamored with Hans than ever. After their late night chat in the cafe, there are no more stress relief calls, and when Anna returns to the dorm at night she keeps their conversations light, cursory, happily skimming across the surface of a deep lake of unanswered questions that she seems unwilling to dive into.
It doesn't occur to Elsa just how jealous she is until the third week of November when Hans rocks up at their dorm in a suit and tie, holding a velvet jewelry box for their three month anniversary.
Anna squeals with delight and Elsa thinks she may climb the walls.
She's in the middle of her history class the next day scribbling notes with a cramped hand when a thought occurs. Her pen falls against the wooden desk. Her notebook sits open and forgotten. The professor drones on with his lecture, but Elsa doesn't hear another word for the rest of class. Her mind is ticking, spinning, careening through a database of evidence, tagging, labeling, classifying, and connecting. It's all starting to come into focus now.
She feels more with Anna; more anger, more pain, more confusion, more envy, more lust, more pleasure, more...
She won't call it happiness, because she's not sure she knows what happiness feels like anymore, twisted and repressed as she is. Still, Elsa's never in her life felt as high as she does when she's inside Anna, and sure, every high comes with an equal and opposite low, but...well, she's been lower. It's not that bad. Nothing's perfect. Elsa's not in over her head. She can handle a little jealousy. She can handle a little casual sex. That what's college kids are supposed to do, right? And that's what she is, right? A normal college kid?
It doesn't have to become a thing.
It's not like it's already a thing.
It's just…not.
/-/-/-/-/
"If every porkchop were perfect we wouldn't have hot dogs," Sam says cheerfully, digging into the first of four topping-laden hot dogs.
It's the fourth week of November. They're sitting across from each other in the lunchroom like usual, watching snow flurries blanket a copse of fir trees through the cafeteria's panoramic windows. Elsa's head is spinning like it always is lately, but today she's feeling less tense, less withdrawn. Anna's been off staying with Hans again for a few days, and it's given her a little time to forget, to remember herself.
"That's from that show," Elsa says around her pizza, "the one you made me watch the other day. Steven... something."
"It is!" Sam beams at her. "Aw, see? I knew you were paying attention!"
"I should've been studying for my English test."
"Oh, whatever." Sam rolls her eyes. "Just admit that you liked it."
Elsa takes a bite of food to disguise the smile twisting her lips. "It was cute. For a kid's show."
"For like, the thousandth time, kids shows these days are made for adults, too." Sam crams the rest of her hotdog in her mouth, smearing ketchup on her chin. She chews quickly and swallows, immediately grabbing another. "They're too complex to just be kids shows, you know? There's a lot of philosophical junk in them."
Elsa does know, reluctant as she is to admit it, but she isn't about to give Sam the satisfaction. "Speaking of adults," she replies, gesturing coolly with her hand, "you have ketchup all over your face."
Sam grunts and reaches for a napkin. "Duh, it's hotdog day. Can't a woman scarf her hotdogs in peace? I swear you're as bad as Mari."
Elsa squints at her. "I feel like I should be offended?"
"Absolutely. Mari is a cruel taskmaster."
"I think the term you're looking for is 'type A'."
"Now you're just being redundant."
Elsa snorts, and smiles for a second, and Sam reacts to it rather oddly. She straightens up and wipes her mouth, eyes flickering brightly with what could only be excitement.
"You're smiling," Sam says, a little breathless, although Elsa's not sure if that's the results of pounding down hot dogs or pure, emotional joy. "God, it's good to see you smile again."
Stunned, Elsa sets her slice of pizza down, and sits back in her chair with wide eyes. "What?"
"And it's gone again." Sam snaps her fingers, face falling. "Bummer. You have such a pretty smile."
"I smile," Elsa says, frowning.
"Yeah, of course you do."
"I smile all the time."
"Well…" Sam's eyes return to her food.
Elsa's palms begin to sweat. "You don't think I smile enough?"
Sam shrugs. "I mean, I dunno, Elsa." She takes a bite of her hot dog and chews thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Lately you've just seemed really...down? Distracted? Distant? I dunno. I'm not saying you should like, force yourself to cheer up for my sake or anything, it's just nice to see you smile for once, is all. We've been a little worried about you."
Elsa blanches. Her hands stiffen in her lap. "What?"
"I mean, it's no big deal," Sam sputters, growing a little pink in the cheeks. Her eyes dart up to Elsa's very briefly, then flutter back down again. "Just, we're you're friends, and you've seemed upset lately."
"Friends. You mean...Mari?"
"Yeah." Sam scratches the back of her neck. "Mari considers you a friend."
Elsa stares blankly across the table, searching Sam's expression for some clue that this is a joke or a well-intentioned exaggeration, but Sam only grows redder in the face and fiddles with her fork.
Friends? Multiple friends? First Jen, then Sam, and now Mari? What does one even do with that many friends? How does one keep secrets from that many friends?
Elsa swallows slowly, swallows down her surprise, her fleeting moment of panic. If Sam's noticed her behavior is off, what else has she noticed? Better yet, what has Mari noticed? Mari's the shrewder of the two, has a better head for gossip, and even if Elsa sees her less, she could still have guessed it, right? Past conversations echo in her head. Past images flicker before her eyes. Her palms are slick now. Her heart rate is speeding up. She has to calm down. After all, it's probably nothing. Her secrets are probably safe, right? It's just paranoia, right?
Elsa curls her tongue and feels along the ridges on the roof of her mouth. The sensation is concrete and real. She focuses on that, and let's it bring her back. Time to change the topic. Elsa swallows her nerves, picks her slice of pizza back up off the plate, and forces herself to resume eating.
"Where is Mari, anyway?"
"Gone early for Thanksgiving." Sam shifts in her seat a little, eyes darting up to Elsa and then back to her food. She shakes her head. "I'm a lonely, lonely roommate right now."
"I can come over tonight and keep you company," Elsa offers, making sure to add a little smile at the end.
Sam breaks out into a grin and tugs at the collar of her sweatshirt. "Yes! We can watch the rest of Steven Universe."
"I think Mari's right. You're really just a big kid."
"I have the rest of my life to be an adult."
"True." Elsa smiles fondly. "When are you flying back to Minnesota?"
Sam bites into another hotdog and holds up a mustard stained finger while she takes a moment to chew and swallow. "Um...sorry. Um...Tuesday after class. You going home, Elce?"
Elsa bites the inside of her cheek. "Yeah."
"Is it just you and your Mom?"
She bites a little harder. "Yeah."
"Well, I hope you have fun. Tell your Mom 'hi' for me."
Elsa unclenches her teeth and licks along the welt left behind. "I'll be sure to pass along that thoughtful, personalized message."
Sam just laughs through another ambitious bite of food. "Shanks, Elsha."
Elsa remembers to give her one last wan smile before turning to watch the snow outside with hunched shoulders. She might be good at it, but lying still sucks.
/-/-/-/-/
She packs her things meticulously Tuesday night, and helps Anna frantically throw clothes into a duffle bag early Wednesday morning.
"Mom's thirty minutes away." Anna pivots, looking around helplessly at the halo of destruction surrounding her bed. "Aw, fuck. Where's that dress Nana gave me?"
Elsa pulls a gallon-sized freezer bag from her own neatly organized desk drawer and starts scooping Anna's toiletries into it. She lifts up a hair band covered with matted hair and wrinkles her nose, tossing it swiftly in the overflowing trashcan next to Anna's desk.
"What does it look like?"
"Um… Uh." Anna digs through a pile of detritus on her window ledge. "It's green and scoop-necked with these little fabric flower pattern thingies-"
"-In your closet," Elsa pads into the bathroom, adding Anna's toothbrush and toothpaste to the ziplock bag, "next to your pink raincoat."
"Oh my god, you're a lifesaver. How do you always know where my stuff is?"
Elsa examines Anna's rusting razor with a critical eye and unfastens the blade cartridge with a click. "I routinely pick it up off the floor."
"Seriously, what would I do without you?"
"Be late to everything, probably."
"Uhhh, I'm pretty much already late to everything."
"Maybe you'd be even later?" Elsa gives the bathroom one last sweep and wanders back into the room, depositing Anna's toiletries into her overflowing duffel bag. "That isn't going to close, by the way. You'll have to take some things out."
Anna flushes, brushing her messy bangs out of her face. She hasn't showered and she's still in her pajamas, an oversized t-shirt from a charity 5k, furry orange socks, and penguin patterned leggings. She never does a particularly good job of remembering to strip her makeup off at night, and now her mascara is ringed around her eyes, smeared in like bruises along with her gloriously smudged eyeliner and silver eyeshadow. She turns exasperated teal eyes on Elsa and pins her there, messy and magnetic.
"I assure you, Elsa, I need to bring everything in that bag."
"That can't be possible."
Anna crosses her arms. "It's absolutely possible."
Elsa eyes the bag suspiciously. "But we're only gonna be gone for five days."
"Exactly."
Elsa peels back a haphazard stack of shirts spilling out the top and rummages through the wadded up clothes beneath. "I'm pretty sure you don't need all these dresses."
"I need every single one," Anna retorts, and steps into Elsa's space, leaning in until she's brushing Elsa's cheek with her lips. "Do you have a problem with the way I dress?"
It's the first real contact they've had in almost two weeks and, predictably, Elsa's breath hitches. She fights the rash of heat flaring between her legs, the rush of blood pumping in her fingertips. It strikes an angry chord somewhere deep down. She knows this game by now. She's better at this game by now. She can give as good as she gets and she intends to, like flipping a switch in the dark, a power she never knew she had, control she relishes. Elsa leans into Anna's touch and slides along her cheek until she's exhaling into Anna's ear.
The curve of Elsa's mouth is cruel as she replies, "only when it takes me longer to undress you."
Anna flushes a brilliant red and Elsa can almost hear the goosebumps peaking on her freckled skin. For a split second, Elsa wonders if she has finally pushed things too far. Anna's eyes are wide, almost fearful, but who's to say that's not part of their game? The rules are as clear as mud, the board is always changing, and Elsa doesn't know when to stop. It's begun to change her, to make her aware of qualities that she never knew she had. It's one thing to demand supplication in a fit of quivering rage, to pull a trigger and watch hot, red blood spray out onto the snow. It's another entirely to be sultry, seductive, physically intuitive. The same, simmering aggression that once made her violent now makes her a desirable sexual partner. She hasn't come to terms with that yet, but it makes Anna tremble, regardless.
"Makes sense," Anna murmurs faintly, breath catching, ducking down with flaming red cheeks to pull another duffel bag out from under her bed. "We'd better hurry."
Elsa rolls her eyes, swallows down her arousal, and goes to pull more clothes from Anna's closet.
/-/-/-/-/
Kathy Sorenson is a whirlwind, like her daughter, but one that has calmed with age. It's an energy that doesn't scald, doesn't burn, isn't fleeting.
Elsa ponders on the difference as she watches them together, the way their movements are mirrored and aligned, like dancers running through an old routine, puzzle pieces meant to fit together. They bear a special mark of familiarity, of people who have spent a lifetime moving in each other's space, anticipating, responding, and complementing. It warms her. It fills her with a nameless hope, unsourced, uncertain, expanding in her chest to light the darkest corners and seal the cracks where the cold leaks in at night.
For a little while, Elsa's spirit is buoyed on hope alone. It's a relief just to bask in the light of love, to see a possibility, a way out, a lantern beckoning on the edge of a black forest. Maybe the future isn't so dark after all. Maybe the future holds promise. Maybe Elsa can escape this cycle of misery, really make something herself, really find this image of love that shines so radiantly right in front of her.
Her own dance, with her own father, no matter how synchronized, never burned like this. Ducking, weaving, dodging, disappearing. And with her mother, coaxing, soothing, protecting.
Theirs was a dance of fear and pain.
Theirs was despair.
But the light on the horizon burns bright with promise.
Maybe.
Elsa muses on it as they drive south across the snowy countryside, slipping through forests, gliding over fields, stealing past towns. Anna and her mother chat amiably in the front seat, and their mannerisms remind Elsa of the pair of red-breasted robins that used to live outside her window, chirping brightly at each other in the boughs of their birch tree each morning. Anna and Kathy both talk with their hands. Their smiles are mirror images. The conversation between them is smooth and unfaltering. The goodness of it aches, somewhere low and deep, somewhere high in Elsa's chest, behind her ribcage. It's a little slice of goodness in a bleak world, and maybe neither of them deserve the respite after what they've been up to, but Elsa still leans her head against the window and smiles while she listens.
/-/-/-/-/
The Sorensons live in a brownstone in New York City, one of several properties they apparently own and rent. Elsa gapes at the all too familiar gleaming skyscrapers as they roll into town. Her first visit to the crowded streets of New York will, unfortunately, be a short one.
"We're heading up to Nana's in the morning," Kathy says, as she backs the Land Rover into a narrow spot on the street. "So, make sure you don't stay up too late. I'm waking you up at seven."
"That means 8:30," Anna whispers, twisted around in the passenger seat to face Elsa in the back.
"Very funny."
"You know it's true, Mom. C'mon."
"You're making me look bad in front of our guest."
"Elsa's the sweetest person on Earth. She won't care that you sleep in," Anna nudges her mom playfully, "besides, you know dinner tonight is gonna be crazy. We're all gonna be exhausted in the morning."
Kathy smiles and catches Elsa's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Don't listen to anything she says. She's a dirty, no good liar."
Elsa feels the truth of it like a slap, and immediately tenses, but Anna seems to take all of it in stride, smiling loosely, red hair falling softly around her clean, freshly scrubbed face. As if she bears no weight for the implications of their infidelity. Elsa can't understand it. Some days she carries a load heavy enough to crush them both.
But maybe, what Mrs. Sorenson doesn't know...
"Messy, too," Elsa responds quietly, a bit too seriously, but Kathy just laughs and reaches for the door handle, sliding out onto the pavement with practiced ease.
"Yes, that's my daughter, alright."
Elsa climbs out behind them and watches Kathy catch Anna by the wrist, dragging her backward into yet another smothering hug. Kathy presses a kiss into her daughter's strawberry hair and rocks her until Anna's hands curl up over her mother's shoulders.
"I missed you, Anna Banana."
"I missed you, too, Mom."
"Oh, don't lie to me, you scoundrel."
"It's true!"
Anna laughs, warm and pure like Elsa's never heard. It brings a lump to the back of her throat. Anna's unburdened here, unfiltered, and Elsa looks away, uncertain why the realization stings as much as it does. Anna is beautiful.
Elsa wants to smother her.
Elsa wants to cry.
Instead she gathers her bag and climbs the two staircases behind Anna and her little brother. Ben is a slender boy with messy red hair, sharp elbows, and knobbly knees. He greets Elsa quickly with a shy hello, and then immediately begins to huff and complain over the weight of Anna's over packed duffle.
"He thinks you're pretty," Anna whispers in her ear, voice warm and syrupy with delight. "I totally can't blame him. So do I."
Elsa blushes a shade of red that is definitely unflattering
Anna's childhood bedroom has apparently been cannibalized by the younger siblings since her departure for school. The furniture has been redistributed among the rest of them and the vacant space has been given to the next in line, which, Madison proclaims proudly from the second floor hallway, is her. Madison is the second oldest at 17, Anna's Irish twin, only 20 months younger, and just as beautiful, in an entirely different way. She's taller than Anna by a good four inches, speckled with a much lighter, much sparser dusting of freckles. Rich, dark brown hair, silky and smooth, spills over her shoulders. Her eyes are green and bright, flecked with yellow specks that catch the light like gold leaf. Her chin is sharp, cheeks thinner than her sister's. Most of the likeness appears in their noses, in their toothy smiles, and in a myriad of other small, unnameable resemblances than Elsa marks with interest.
"Hi, again," Madison says easily, waving. "Elsa, right? Are you sick of Anna yet? She's a total pain in the ass."
Elsa stiffens, but Anna laughs, and then Ben and Madison join in, sniping back and forth at each other in a manner so familiar that Elsa is quietly envious, gaze swiveling between them to take it all in.
Entering seamlessly into the incessant sibling banter, Madison follows them, with Ben, up to the guest room situated on the third floor. It's immediately colder than the rest of the house. The walls are the color of old parchment and the molding is brown. Two double-paned windows look out over the street, and a queen sized bed that seems almost oversized in the long, narrow space, is pushed up against them. Wooden nightstands flank the bed on both sides, each with a beautiful, crystal lamp on top. The right one also bears a round-faced, silver alarm clock and a small stack of books. There's a narrow closet on the left wall near the door, and a moss-green chest of drawers with a few family photos littered on top. Otherwise, the room is bare.
Elsa's eyes fall on the lone bed, and a light shiver passes through her. Her fingers begin to twitch and throb.
"Elsa?"
She curls them into fists. "Yes?"
Anna and Madison are looking at her expectantly. Ben is pointedly not looking at her. Elsa adjusts the hem of her sweater and clears her throat.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
Madison smirks. "I said I'm gonna get some sandwiches from Sub City for lunch? You hungry?"
"Just get her what I'm having," Anna cuts in, brights eyes sliding over knowingly to Elsa's blank face. "Turkey's her favorite."
Madison glances between them. "Okay? Um," her eyes flick back to Elsa and look her quickly up and down, "you want a drink?"
"Er…" Elsa clears her throat again. "Just a coke, I guess."
"Okay, well…" Madison zips up the front of her hoodie, snaps her fingers, and starts in the direction of the door. "I'll back in a bit, then."
"Yay!" Anna grins and hops on the spot. "Sub City is so good. I'm stoked!" She turns to Elsa and reaches out to grip her hand. Elsa visibly flinches and Anna's grips tightens. "You're gonna love it, Elce! The turkey explosion is amazing!"
"Um, okay, sure!" Elsa smiles weakly.
Madison quirks a brow and shakes her head as she leaves the room. Anna immediately drops Elsa's hand, rushes over to close the door, and presses her back up against it. When she turns, her face is drawn, apprehensive. The abrupt change is actually startling.
"Elsa…" Anna's head thumps back against the dark wood. "Are you gonna be okay?"
"Okay? I- yeah. I'm fine."
"You're pale." Anna's eyes narrow. "I mean-" she shakes her head, "um, I guess you're always pale."
"Yes?"
"But you look like you're gonna have an aneurysm or something. Why do you have impending aneurysm written all over your face? What's wrong?"
Elsa huffs a weak laugh. "Nothing's wrong."
"Elsa."
"Well, I guess it's just weird."
Anna's frowns, like she's not sure she likes where this is going, like she's sorry she asked in the first place. "What's weird?" she ventures, cautiously.
Elsa hesitates. "I'm just… I'm meeting your family, and we- I mean, we have sex- mmph!"
Elsa stumbles backward with Anna's hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Anna's breath spreads hot across her cheeks and Elsa blushes in spite of herself, gaze dropping helplessly to Anna's parted lips. Anna's face is red, and her beautiful eyes are wide with panic, red hair pinned back tight today so that Elsa can count every single freckle on her pale skin. She wants to count, and she wants to touch. She wants to push Anna back against the wall and kiss her, to strip off every single item of clothing, to take her time, to admire. It just doesn't seem to matter where they are, what they're doing, what the stakes. It just doesn't seem to matter who will get hurt, whether it's her, or Hans, or Anna, or all three of them. The fire in her heart is burning, and it's hungry, and Elsa can't ignore the hunger anymore.
In an instant, she understands.
"Not so loud," Anna hisses, teal eyes connecting wildly with cool, startled blue. "Ben likes to eavesdrop."
Her hand falls away, and Elsa can't find it in herself to apologize. The urge to kiss Anna has grown so strong that she's struck momentarily dumb. Her stomach twists into knots, knots that never seem to come fully undone, and she wonders if she'll be sick. She can't tell the nerves from wanting anymore, she only feels the nauseating lurch and the gnawing of acid, the omnipresent tremor along her spine.
How has it gotten like this? Was it like this from the start?
"Fuck," she whispers.
Anna blinks. "What?"
"This is fucked."
"What is? What's fucked?"
"I shouldn't have come," Elsa says, in a sudden moment of clarity, and then laughs, high and clear, like a bell. "Anna, I shouldn't have come. This was a terrible idea."
"Elsa, what the hell are you talking about?" Anna's nostrils flare and her cheeks burn. She looks angry, but she sounds panicked. Her hands fly out to grip Elsa's shoulders and shake her. "Elce- Elsa, what the hell are you talking about?"
Elsa laughs again. "This is so fucked up, Anna!"
"What is?"
"What do you mean 'what'?" Elsa's laugh turns disbelieving, but she must look half crazy. She hasn't laughed like this in ages. "Are you fucking serious? Are you fucking kidding me right now?"
"Elsa-"
"-You're seriously going to play dumb with me?" Elsa snatches the front of Anna's jacket and hauls her in close, until their lips are just inches apart, until Anna's breath hitches and comes in quick gasps. "We've fucked, Anna, multiple times, and now you're introducing me to your family as your roommate. That doesn't seem completely fucked up to you?"
Elsa's eyes drop again to Anna's mouth, and this time Anna's tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. She's aroused. Elsa wants to throw her on the ground and scream, and laugh, and tear her shirt off her heaving chest.
This is making her so, so horny.
Unbelievable.
Anna hesitates, and, suddenly, Elsa just wants to sob. She releases the front of Anna's shirt and pushes her away, steps toward the windows, where the bright, silver sky presses down on them like a blank canvas.
"It's just sex, Elsa." Anna's voice is tremulous, thin. "It's just… it's just sex." She steps forward and seems to gather some of her strength. "Right?"
Elsa's chin drops.
"It's not a big deal. We just have fun. It's not like-" Anna's hand finds her arm, "it doesn't need to be some lofty moral dilemma. We don't need to put a label on it."
"But, your family-"
"-Doesn't need to know. It's none of their business. We're adults, right? We don't need their permission. We're just messing around."
Elsa sighs and tips her head back, stares up at a crack running across the ceiling and thinks of the last objection she should raise, the name she can't bring herself to say.
"You're not…" she swallows and tries again. "You're not exactly single."
"Let me worry about that."
"Anna-"
"-Elsa."
"Isn't this wrong? I mean," Elsa turns and catches Anna's gaze, "all this sneaking around is starting to feel…"
"God, Elsa, you're being too black and white. We're not sneaking, we're just being discrete. Other people wouldn't understand."
"Wouldn't understand what?" Anna purses her lips. Elsa cocks her head to the side, heart hammering, palms sweating. "Wouldn't understand what?" she repeats.
Anna gestures vaguely between them. "You know, us."
"I'm not even sure I understand us."
Anna turns away and stares at her duffel bags, piled haphazardly on the bed where Ben had left them. Her skin is still red, still inflamed with hot blood and stifled passion, but her eyes are cloudy, murky, unfocused. Her arms are crossed, fingertips digging into the fabric of her wool jacket, and Elsa notices that her nails have started to grow long.
"Maybe we should just be friends," Elsa offers.
Anna's expression grows hard. "I thought we already were friends."
"Just friends."
"Okay." Anna nods, and turns away. "Okay. If that's what you want."
"It is," Elsa confirms, but Jen's words immediately echo in her head.
She's sure she's never sounded less convincing in her life.
/-/-/-/-/
After lunch, Anna wanders off to spend the afternoon with Madison, and Elsa hangs back, citing a fake headache that has begun to make itself a reality. She studies at the kitchen table while Mrs. Sorenson knits and handles a myriad of phone calls from gossipy relatives, flicking her glasses up every so often to rub at her eyes, complaining of old age and "its many woes."
"Should've gone out in a blaze of glory at 35," she says, and smiles at Elsa roguishly. "I had a few ideas lined up. I was a bit wild back in the day, you know."
Elsa says she can't imagine it, when in reality she can't really imagine anything else. Charmed, Mrs. Sorenson just laughs, calls her a sweetheart, and asks her about school.
At five, Mr. Sorenson ("Mark, please, Elsa. Mr. Sorenson was my father.") comes home with Lea, Anna's youngest sister, and their perpetually visiting cousin Ryder, a towheaded third grader with a quiet disposition and a soft lisp. They play Mario Kart in the living room with Ben while Elsa helps Mrs. Sorenson ("Just Kathy, dear. You're making me feel ancient.") prepare dinner.
"You don't know how to cook?" Kathy asks, astonished. "Didn't you ever cook with your parents?"
Elsa shrugs. "They didn't really cook much. I can chop things and follow recipes, but that's it."
"What a shame. Look! You're a natural."
Elsa smiles. She likes Kathy a lot.
However, the Sorensons as a whole are...
Loud.
"-Hey, pass the potatoes!"
"-Lea, don't put your elbows on the-"
"-Dad, it's fine-"
"-A C+ in English is not fine-"
"-Mom-"
"-Madison, stop interrupting!"
"-Ben! Pass the friggin' potatoes!"
"-Alright, alright!"
"-Anna, no swearing at the table-"
"-'Frig' isn't a swear word-"
"-I swear to god-"
"-Oh, oh! Look who's taking the lord's name in vain-"
"-Doesn't count 'cause we're not religious-"
Though they end up seated across from each other, Anna jokes and argues with her siblings, avoiding Elsa's eyes like they'll turn her into stone, even taking care not to address her directly. It's a new kind of awful, being ignored, and in its own way, far worse than watching her suck up to Hans.
Elsa pushes her food around her plate, and sucks down glass after glass of wine, growing hazier and hazier each time Mark tops her up. Eventually, she makes no attempt whatsoever to follow the various threads of conversation, weaving and overlapping as they all laugh and interject, throwing in odd comments, talking over each other. She's never had much experience with loud, rambunctious families, and it's got her on edge for a few reasons, not excluding Anna's sudden cold shoulder or the general claustrophobia caused by the tight dining room, cramped further by the addition of extra chairs around the table. By the end of it, Elsa's head is nearly spinning. It doesn't help that Ben's elbow jostles hers every time he goes for refills of the chicken marsala, or that Anna's foot keeps brushing hers accidentally under the table
Or that Madison's clearly noticed that they're both acting weird.
It's all doing her head in.
Elsa only realizes she's drunk at the end when she goes to stand up. Anna has, of course, darted into the kitchen to help wash the dishes, and is safely insulated by the throng of people bustling about the tiny space cleaning up. It's only Madison who notices Elsa stumble and waver when her world suddenly tips to the left.
"Hey, Elsa," she says, weaving her way over between the chairs. "You okay?"
Elsa catches herself against the wall. Is this what it's like to be drunk? She's seen Anna in this state so many times without ever experiencing it for herself. It's kind of terrible. She brushes her fingers across her lips and frowns. They're completely numb.
"I think I need some air," she says, weakly.
"You didn't eat anything at dinner."
"You were watching me? Why were you watching me?"
Madison glances over her shoulder. "Here, let's go outside, and get you some of that air you wanted."
She takes Elsa by the arm, and leads her out of the dining room, and what happens next is a little hazy, but Elsa presently finds herself outside in front of the brownstone in her jacket, murmuring incoherently to the guardrail she's leaning up against.
"Maybe sit down?" Madison suggests, and Elsa sits down.
The world is still spinning, but at the least the ground isn't rolling so much.
Madison is different from Anna in a few very obvious ways. She's as beautiful as her sister, but her fashion sense is starker, and she's dispositionally direct. Her long, dark brown hair is bone-straight, falling out of a knit, grey cap onto the lapels of her leather coat. It's too dark to see her pale freckles, but her eyes catch the shine of passing headlights, and shimmer like green marbles. Where Anna is coy, Madison is forthcoming. Where Anna is bubbly, Madison is dry. She wastes no time getting to point once Elsa's settled.
"My sister was upset today, and now you're drunk. What happened?"
Elsa leans back against the steps and lets her eyes fall out of focus. "You're asking me? Why not ask her?"
"Because Anna never tells me what's bothering her," Madison replies, looking fairly bothered about it. "So, I'm asking you instead."
"I dunno what you want me to say." Elsa presses her hand against her cheek, fascinated when she can barely feel it. Her body is warm and light. "I don't even know why she invited me over."
"Why wouldn't she?"
"Well, she should've invited Hans. Would've made more sense."
"Hans?" Madison's brow furrows as she tries to connect the dots. "Wait, that guy she's seeing?"
"The one and only," Elsa says, bitterly. "Prince charming."
"He doesn't really sound like prince charming." Madison reaches out to steady Elsa again. "He sounds kind of controlling."
"I don't like him."
"Yeah, I got that much."
"He's a… a douchebag."
"Well, then, good thing you're here instead of him, right?"
"No."
"No?"
Elsa sighs. "No."
"Why no?"
"'Cause I'm no good either." Elsa rubs her eyes. "I'm a douchebag, too."
"You don't seem like a douchebag to me."
"I'm a stealthy douchebag. Like, a secret douchebag."
Madison chuckles. "Okay? Are you secretly in love with Hans or something?"
Elsa's stomach lurches and she breaks out in a cold sweat. "I think I'm gonna be sick."
"Oh, shit. Okay." Madison hustles to help her up. "Shit, here we go. Come on!"
"I'm not gonna make it inside."
"Yeah, you are. You can do it. Come on!"
Elsa shakes her head, and wavers on her feet. Her innards are twisting into sickly knots, and her mouth is filling with saliva, and something awful must pass across her face because Madison panics. She bends Elsa over just in time for her to vomit into the bushes.
It's mostly liquid.
"Okay. Okay, get it all out." Madison rubs soft circles into her back. Elsa retches again. "That's good. That's good. You're doing good."
Elsa coughs and spits. "Ugh."
"Better?"
Elsa spits again. Her mouth tastes like sour grapes. "I dunno."
"Wanna go inside?"
"I don't… Can we just sit down again?"
"Sure." Madison steers her back onto the steps and pulls out a packet of tissues. "Want one?"
Elsa accepts and wipes her mouth. She feels sluggish now, heavy. The edges of her vision are still blurry and her brain is still slow, but now there's something powerful pressing up from the deep places in her chest, pressing against her tongue and her teeth, aching to be released.
"I'm awful," she says, and it's the truth. It feels amazing to speak the truth. "I've done awful things to people because...I'm awful."
Madison rubs her hands together to ward off the chill. There isn't any snow in New York City, but the air is still frigid, and the sky is threatening.
"I don't think you're awful."
"You don't even know me."
"...True."
"Trust me. Trust me." Elsa wads up the tissue in her hand and wipes her nose on her sleeve. "Trust me, I'm not a good person."
"Okay, I'm listening."
"You can't tell her."
"I won't."
"You have to promise, Madison. Promise you won't."
"Okay," Madison reaches out and squeezes her knee, "I promise."
"Ugh…" Elsa shudders. "Is this what it feels like to be drunk? I want to laugh and cry at the same time." She laughs until her throat catches. She feels kind of unhinged. "I should be in prison right now. Can you imagine me in prison? I can't." Elsa shakes her head, and it's loose, the motion is exaggerated, like a puppet on strings. "I can't. I'd be someone's bitch on the first day. God, can you imagine? God, look at me!"
Madison snorts, turns her green eyes toward the headlights of a passing taxi. "You'd make a good prison wife."
"Do you watch Orange Is the New Black?"
"Of course!"
Elsa leans in and whispers, conspiratorially, "do you think it's really like that? Like in real life?"
Madison shrugs. "That's probably the most accurate representation there is on TV, yeah. Maybe. I don't know."
Elsa bites her fingertips and peers at the sludge in the gutter, at the whispy, white steam wafting from an iron grate in the street. "I wonder what Anna would say if she knew…"
"Knew what?"
"That I'm a criminal."
"Wait, are you for real?"
Elsa nods and nods and nods. She is. "I am."
"Like, you got arrested and everything?" Madison turns her head. She's starting to believe her.
"I mean, no, but-"
"So, you're not." Madison scoffs. "Elsa, you really are drunk."
Elsa rolls her shoulders and slouches back onto the damp porch steps. Normally she's so stiff, but now she feels positively languid, like she's floating in a pool.
"Thanks for reminding me," she snarks back. "I almost forgot."
"You're pretty chatty when you're drunk." Madison picks at her teeth with her nail. "You're normally so quiet."
"It's not a good thing, though. Listen to me." Elsa points to her mouth. "Listen to what I'm saying. Bad stuff. Stuff I shouldn't tell you."
"What'd you do that was so bad, anyway?"
Elsa tugs at Madison's sleeve until she turns to look at her. "I killed a man," she says, matter of factly, expression dark.
Madison's eyes widen imperceptibly, and for a second Elsa wonders if she almost buys it, but then she's shaking it off and laughing, like Elsa is some kind of comedian, like she always makes jokes like this.
She doesn't, does she?
It's harder to remember right now.
"Jeez, you scared me for a second!" Madison rubs her hands vigorously against her knees. "Elsa, your poker face is really good!"
"I've never played poker."
"Never?"
"Never." Elsa punctuates the word with the jab of her index finger.
"Well, you should. You'd clean up." Madison starts to laugh again, but Elsa just picks glumly at her fingers, and Madison finally sighs. "You know, Elsa, I don't know what kind of impression you have of my sister, but she's not some innocent angel."
Elsa snorts indelicately. "Oh, believe me. I know."
"'Kay, well," Madison gives her a weird look, "I'm just trying to point out that you're not like, some total weirdo that she won't be able to empathize with. Anna's gone through some pretty tough stuff. Whatever it is you're dealing with, I'm sure she'll understand."
"She never mentioned anything." Elsa turns her hands over, stares at her palms, then looks over to stare at Madison. "What kind of tough stuff?"
An uncomfortable expression suddenly crosses Madison's face, and she clears her throat, eyes darting away. "It's not really my story to tell."
"No hints?"
"She just...got mixed up in some things that were..." Madison rolls her tongue around in her mouth for a couple seconds. "Unsavory," she decides."
"Unsavory?"
"Yeah. Pretty much."
"That's about as vague as you could possibly be."
"Yeah, well, I shouldn't have even said anything in the first place, so you're gonna have to deal with it." Madison slaps her knees and stands. "C'mon, it's freezing out here. Let's go upstairs."
She extends a hand down to Elsa, and smiles, and it's remarkable how different it is from Anna's smile, one of Anna's many smiles. Madison's is calm and confident and cool. Madison's is open. There are no depths to plumb, no mysteries held back. Madison is an open book, and she's comfortable being read. Not at all like Anna, messy, beautiful, enigmatic Anna, whose smiles hold as many shades as the color wheel holds colors, whose unwavering optimism is belied by the weight of uncertainty that seems to drag her down.
Madison ushers her up the steps, holding out a steady arm for her to take.
Elsa wonders, who, or what, it was that first leaded Anna's wings.
/-/-/-/-/
She wakes with a start just as the old grandfather clock in the hallway chimes two.
At first, Elsa has absolutely no recollection of where she is, and it completely throws her for a loop, heart pounding, skin tingling, hair standing on end. It's not until several minutes after the clock has stopped chiming that she remembers, vaguely, how poorly her trip back up the stairs had gone. For her own safety (and the safety of Mrs. Sorenson's linens), Madison has deposited her in the bathtub with a blanket thrown over her torso and a pillow stuffed under her head.
Elsa groans and shifts against the cold, unyielding porcelain.
Her body aches in every imaginable place. Her mouth tastes like plaque and acid and rancid cotton balls. It takes a bit, but slowly, like knives being driven into her skin one inch at a time, her senses return.
And, oh, she's gonna be sick.
Elsa scrambles out of the tub in an instant, up and over the side, bleary eyes watering as her sluggish hands struggle to balance her weight. Her knees come down a little too hard against the tile floor. The toilet lid clangs a little too loudly against the back. She's there just in time to expel whatever's left in her wretched stomach, once, twice, and then three times. Her cheek finds the cool rim of the toilet seat, and she really doesn't care who's sat here recently. Everything is spinning again. She might pass out.
God, everything hurts. She kind of wants to die.
"Elsa?"
She jumps a little, cheek peeling away from damp porcelain with a sticky pop. She falls back against the cabinet and hits her head, and, there, standing in the doorway, illuminated by the dim glow of the plug-in nightlight next to the sink, is Anna. Her red hair is down, curling in loose waves around her neck and shoulders. Her teal irises twinkle out of the shadows in the hollows of her eyes. She looks sort of otherworldly in her long pink shirt and leggings. Elsa just stares at her for a couple seconds.
Anna crouches down so they're eye level. "Are you okay?"
Elsa blinks, slowly. She doesn't have any idea what to say.
"Are you sick?"
She shrugs, then shrugs again. "I guess."
Anna looks puzzled. "You guess?"
"Hungover, I think," Elsa croaks, and Anna's confusion finally clears.
"First time?" Anna asks, sympathetically.
Is it that obvious? "Yeah."
"Are you gonna throw up again?"
Elsa reaches back to the touch the sore spot on the base of her skull, gingerly probing for the lump that's already forming.
"Don't think so," she mutters.
Anna glances over at the pile of bedding in the tub, and then back to Elsa. For a few, tense seconds, her expression is all scrunched up like she's trying not to cry, but then she does something unexpected. She leans in to kiss Elsa's temple, and, after a breath, Elsa's cheek.
And, oh… that might be the closest Anna's mouth has ever been to hers.
Elsa's heart flutters. She breathes in sharply through her nose and gets a heady whiff of Anna's scent, a natural sweetness mixed with the smell of clean sheets, dish soap, and grapefruit flavored face wash. Elsa's skin flushes as Anna pulls away, and their eyes connect in the dim light.
They've been close, but never this close. This is a different kind of close entirely.
Anna's luminous eyes rove across her face. "I'm sorry."
Elsa opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. The moment is truly surreal. She begins to doubt that she's awake. It could all be a dream, and that makes twice as much sense as the alternative.
"Let's go to bed."
"Together?" Elsa asks, worried, and then trembles.
All of her apprehensions about this trip have just spilled out in a single word, and worst, still, is that Anna's eyes widen with recognition. Elsa wants to curl into a ball. She almost does, except that Anna is beginning to stand, picking Elsa up with her, slinging her arm over a steady, surprisingly strong shoulder.
"C'mon. Mom swore we're leaving at eight tomorrow."
Elsa's never seen Anna so practical or motherly before, but she's got a natural calm about her as she coaxes Elsa into taking a couple Aspirin, then finds some Listerine under the sink to get rid of the sour taste in her mouth. She fills up the plastic cup that Madison had left by the tub (spilled earlier in Elsa's race to the toilet) and makes Elsa drink the whole thing, before filling it up again, and taking it with them.
They bumble up the stairs together in the dark, slowly at first, a little more assuredly after they've managed to get halfway up without Elsa falling. In the room again, alone together for the first time since the morning, Elsa's heart clenches painfully in her chest. Anna closes the door softly behind her and flips the lock.
"Just in case," she whispers, which makes more sense than it ought to.
Whatever they're doing here, at least they're both on the same page for once.
The room is dark. It's cold and the windowpanes rattle in the wind. Outside, Elsa can just make out snowflakes floating through the streetlights.
The cold has followed her here.
But Anna's hands are surprisingly warm. Elsa jumps under her touch, startled as Anna's fingers brush her abdomen and strip away her sweater and shirt in one. Elsa covers her chest instinctively as Anna unclips her bra.
"W-what are you doing?"
"It's okay." A soft bundle of fabric thuds against her chest. "Here."
Elsa stares at it, soft and orange and unfamiliar. It's one of Anna's t-shirts. She brings it to her nose instinctively and inhales.
It smells… good.
Anna's fingers fumble with the button on her jeans, and Elsa's nerves return, but she doesn't have much time to dwell. Anna strips her pants off with the efficiency of a hospital nurse, pausing only briefly to brush reverent fingers over the lattice of scars on Elsa's thigh before turning away to grab another ball of fabric out of her bag. Dizzy, shivering, and still vaguely nauseous, Elsa finally relents. Her bra falls to the floor, and she slips the t-shirt on over her head. It catches on her messy braid and she smells the collar again as it slides past her nose. Anna helps her balance so she can step into the flannel pajama bottoms she's dug up, and then pulls back the covers of the bed. Elsa only has a split second to panic about the rather intimate sleeping arrangements before Anna is pushing her in, and crawling in behind her, wrapping her arm around Elsa's ribcage, pressing her torso all along the contours of Elsa's back. Anna nuzzles the base of Elsa's neck with her nose and sighs out with something that sounds suspiciously like relief.
"Get some sleep," she whispers, feather-light lips brushing over Elsa's skin. "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."
Elsa shifts back to press them closer together, and Anna tightens her holds, fingers curling into the front of Elsa's borrowed shirt.
She falls asleep much faster than she'd like.
/-/-/-/-/