Raise your hand if quarantine sucks for your creativity! I admit this would have taken me less time to get done if it weren't because I suffered from a writer's block that lasted a week... I hated this chapter at the beginning, then I really liked it so I hope you do too (not the hate part). Thank you to all of you who keep leaving comments, who keep reading, and who keep sending me goodies on Tumblr. I love you all... Please stay safe.
Kudos to my girlfriend for absolutely everything. She's helped me shape this story more than you guys think. And a special BIG thanks to Archie for providing endless amounts of pictures of the Victoria Tavern. You rock, little one.
Enjoy!
The heart has its own electrical system that allows it to keep beating even after it's separated from the human body. It is all based in a miniature-sized nod hidden away in one of its crevices, generating an electrical stimulus that occurs between sixty and a hundred times every minute, every hour and every day for the rest of someone's life.
Each heartbeat generates enough force to circulate blood to almost 100,000 miles of vessels. Elsa knows this, just as she knows that a heart attack occurs after a blockage in the artery keeps it from being able to obtain oxygen; a suddenness that feels like it's been cheated on; a tragedy that can befall a seemingly healthy heart. She knows, too, all about ventricular fibrillation and about how the heart can become so chaotic it is no longer able to sustain blood flow anymore. She knows about heart failures—has studied them too much, trying to understand something that is no longer useful in her mother's life—, and she can draw and identify the nooks of the heart, reciting every artery, every atrium and every ventricle from memory.
She has also known for a while that there is a certain kind of comfort in the consistency of a person's heart.
We rest our heads on the chest of a loved one in order to hear it. Its beating brings us solace; it means life to us. Yet, in its dichotomous nature it represents something more than just endurance. The heart is vulnerable, and it can also be unreliable. It failed her mother when she needed it the most, and it fails people every day despite the hardships it is designed to endure.
And what about the heart in all its poetical glory? How did people come to invent heartbreaks?
How did people come to describe dread or apprehension as two sensations solely related to the heart?
Elsa finds her answer the morning after waking up to a message from Anna stating that she had a drink with Hans the night before. It had not sit well with her. She'd read it while she was still in bed, just before uneasiness dropped to the pit of her stomach and rushed back up to constrict the walls around her heart. Would she have been able to explain this with medical accuracy? Perhaps, in the right state of mind, she would have attributed it to the chemicals in her brain, to the change of her pulse, to anything that could make more sense than the sensation she started off with.
But the poetical and the medical side of the heart never fully meshed and Elsa, swallowed by her frustration at not being able to understand either one, shut herself off to any thoughts relating the matter.
She gets out of the bed at 6:07 a.m. that day, the same way she has been doing so for the past three, almost four weeks. She puts on her black leggings and a gray hoodie, pulls her hair up in a ponytail and plugs in her headphones before tiptoeing out of the room she shares with a girl that barely speaks to her—she had soon realized that her roommate was more of an introvert than she was because she would faster walk out of the room to spend time at the library than spend time inside with another human being; even if said person had more in common with her than she had bothered to know—.
She pulls out her phone again, sends Anna a good morning text that is heartfelt despite the turmoil going on inside her mind and presses send, ignoring Anna's last statement. She is unable to comment on it at the moment.
It is chilly at this time of the day but the weather does it for Elsa just as much as if she'd splashed cold water on her face.
She walks past the Nando's that is right below the dorms and stretches her arms and legs just as she makes her way up Great Portland Street and turns left on Devonshire. The park she'd mentioned in her first postcard is The Regent's. A scenic place that she was quick to compare to Central Park until she came a few more times and convinced herself that albeit smaller, Regent's had more charm. The gardens that decorated the flat greenery of the park, as well as the edges of its boating lake were intricate and captivating. Their colors stood vibrantly against an otherwise gloomy sky, and each morning Elsa came to run by them it felt like an escape from the hectic reality that was starting to become her career.
She goes through the easy routine, covering the path that delineates the park only once because that is the amount of time she has before having to go back and get ready for another day of research. She runs steadily, with her feet hitting the concrete and her heart doing exactly what she expects it to do this time. The bitter irony is that her mind is the one playing the tricks now, and with every few meters she covers, it keeps coming back to that message and the image of Anna having casual drinks with her boss.
A rush of anxiety bloats her veins.
She can't tell if it is apprehension she keeps feeling at the easiness with which Anna has bonded with Hans, or if what she keeps feeling is jealousy, but the more she thinks about it, the harder it is for her to contain the bitterness growing towards herself. Because Anna deserves to have friends. She deserves to have a good time, and she deserves to enjoy every bit of her trip. Besides, the last thing both of them need to add to the distance is jealousy... But could she really trust Hans? He is nice, Anna has said so many times before. And she knows for a fact that if he were to ever flirt with Anna, she wouldn't keep it to herself. But what if last night was the first time? He probably knows Elsa is away—does he even know who Elsa is?
A feeling of impotence continues to gnaw at her insides faster than she can run away from it, no matter how hard she keeps trying to focus on nothing else but her breathing. She is powerless; unable to control this surge of emotions toppling over a pile of unwelcome insecurities. She shouldn't be feeling this way; this strange unease aimed not at Anna but... at what? At whom? In an instant, an outburst of energy fueled by frustration shoots through her veins.
She pushes herself to a limit her body is not ready for, and somewhere before the end of her first mile she pulls her right hamstring. The pain is sharp, a stiffness that causes her to come to a halt in a matter of seconds.
Elsa hops to the closest light pole, leaning on it as she catches her breath. So much for a run, she thinks with distaste.
There's a woman sitting on the bench to her left who observes her with sympathetic curiosity. "You alright, dearie?"
"Yes," she breathes, "Sorry."
Why are you apologizing?
"You should go back to your flat," the woman suggests, "Put some ice on there." Her accent is thick, a bit drawly. What was it again? Cockney—how did they come to put the v's where the th's go?
"I will, thank you," Elsa mumbles before flashing her with a polite smile.
She limps the rest of the way back to her starting point and back towards the dorms, fuming at her own recklessness, desperately wishing that Anna was awake right now so that they could talk; so that she could ease her troubling mind.
Back inside the room, her roommate is barely snoozing her alarm. The girl grumbles a greeting from her bed. Half of her face is covered by messy, dark blonde hair that she oftentimes wears in a braid (another similarity) and Elsa greets her back with the smallest Hi she can muster.
She gets ready distractedly, too caught up in her own mind to focus on the motions of her morning routine. She showers, then dresses in the room while her roommate is out. Her actions are erratic and her appetite is close to null, and she keeps checking her phone every other minute despite knowing that it is only past midnight in Los Angeles. Does she hope to find another message from Anna at this time? Not really—of course she wouldn't, it's Anna. Her girlfriend is drooling by now. But the impulse is there and the longer she goes alone with her thoughts the harder it is to contain it.
The Institute of Cardiovascular Science is only four blocks away from the dorms, but Elsa doesn't stride through the streets like a New Yorker this morning. She does so slowly, her nostrils flaring after every other step. There was no ice at my flat, m'am, she'd tell the Bench Lady, and I have seven hours of vascular physiology to get through before I can go out to get some.
It is another day at the institute.
She takes the elevator to the second floor and limps lightly to the office space they've been occupying for the past couple of weeks.
Upon entering, she donnes a short white coat on top of her black sweater and greets Sasha, her partner in their ongoing part of the research. He is tall and slender, with dark brown hair that curls like a crown atop his hairline. His cheekbones are so defined he can be considered striking while the eyes behind his round spectacles are crystal blue, bordering on gray; same eyes that light up every time he talks about the heart or about his heritage. "I'm half Siberian, half Mongolian," he'd told her the first time they met. "My dad's a surgeon and my mom's a pediatric cardiologist. What about yours?"
Elsa had stared at him, wide-eyed and slightly disturbed at the heaps of energy he seemed to have in every word he uttered. He'd get along with Anna better than me, she'd thought before mumbling: "Dad's an engineer and my mom's a psychologist."
"That's cool."
She'd nodded slowly.
In the end, Sasha had turned out to be a better partner than Elsa had expected. He was chatty before getting to work but was capable of focusing and staying dead silent for hours.
He had tagged along for lunch the first few days, much to her quiet dismay, but had soon perceived that Elsa was... an introvert, so he took it upon himself—without offense—to find a few people from their group with whom he could be his chatty self. And it wasn't that Elsa was not friendly with the others. In the following weeks since their arrival she had come to know them all by name and she'd found it easy to carry a short conversation with most of them. The thing was, Elsa liked her privacy, and between having a roommate, working with people and at times having to join group trips around the city, she found that her lunch breaks were the easiest way to decompress in the middle of her daily routine.
"What happened to your leg?" Sasha asks her when he notices her limping.
"I pulled a muscle this morning," she mumbles.
It still hurts, she needs to sit down. A brief thought passes through her mind as to whether she should mention this to Anna. Her girlfriend will ask why, naturally, and what will she say? Because I'm frustrated at myself? Because you have a right to have fun even if that includes having a drink with your boss, whom I don't know? Because I have no clue what's bothering me so I literally ran away from my problems instead?
"Elsa?"
"Yes?"
Sasha tilts his head at her. He offers her a vinyl padded stool. God bless him.
"I asked if you put ice on it," he tells her.
"I—I didn't," she mutters, hissing when she accidentally puts pressure on the back of her leg. There is a sharp pain followed by throbbing. "I didn't have time to check if we had ice."
He nods once before turning around.
"Where are you going?"
As he opens the door he says, "This is a medical institution, there has to be ice somewhere," and leaves.
A groan escapes her just as the door closes behind him.
Her eyes fall to an empty spot on the wall, her mind falling inward once more. How silly, she thinks with disdain, how idiotic to pull a muscle out of frustration. But how fitting, too, that the frustration had been aimed at herself all along.
Masochist much?
She sighs, shakes her head. Could she even discuss this with Anna? Could she bring herself to say: I am feeling kind of insecure and maybe even jealous but I don't know why. All I know is that I shouldn't be. A knot builds inside her throat. This aversion... it sticks out like a sharp stake pointing at herself; accusingly and wearily.
The door opens again and in comes Sasha trailing after Professor Park. It is her who is carrying an ice pack.
"I heard you pulled a muscle."
Let's just make a public announcement to the group.
"Yes," she says sheepishly. It strikes her in that moment just how exactly they're planning to put that ice pack on the back of her thigh. Is she supposed to lie down across the desk?
The question seems to cross both of their minds, too.
"You're going to have to work sitting down for a couple of hours today," the professor comments. She makes Elsa prop her thigh on another vinyl stool with the ice pack placed securely between the two.
Sasha is sitting down next to her now, looking at her with a small and sympathetic smile before he pats her knee twice. She feels like a child.
"Okay," Park says, giving her some space and stepping away to lean on the immaculate desk they've been lent along with the tiny research room. "How's your weekly report coming along?"
Sasha turns to look at her. He sees her as the leader when it comes to these reports; something that she tries not to take too seriously during the elaboration process. She prefers to work with him as an equal.
"We're turning in the results of the last ten evaluations we've had," she tells the professor. "The genetic and the environmental influences are there. We just need to finish up presenting the CV structures and functions of each case."
"You're focusing on atherosclerosis, correct?"
From her peripheral vision she can see Sasha nod. "Yes."
"Okay," she says, pushing herself away from the desk. "Make sure you don't turn in your report late this time."
With that she bids them goodbye with a smile. The two students look at each other. The first time they had to turn in their weekly report had been a disaster. They got lost trying to find Professor Park's office.
They set to work soon after she leaves. Thankfully, the rest of it requires more technical knowledge than practical so their movements are minimal. However, Elsa feels restrained. "I hate this," she mumbles for an hour before giving up on the ice pack. "Are you always this dramatic?" Sasha asks. She glares at him.
She spends the rest of the day balancing her mind between work and Anna, edging on self-imposed insanity. A talk is all they need, she thinks. Even if she doesn't bring herself to say out loud what is bothering her... yet—she really needs to keep working on that—just being able to hear Anna's voice and knowing that everything has remained perfectly normal is what she needs to appease her mind amidst this cursing distance.
A few minutes past 3 p.m. they're all but ready to hang their coats.
"You seemed really distracted today," Sasha points out. "It's very unlike you."
She feels her cheeks grow warm. "It was just a weird morning."
He chuckles. "Right. Well, if your leg is up for it, some of us are going out for drinks tonight to beat the weekend crowd... you should come. It'll distract you from your weird morning," he smiles.
She regards him for a couple of seconds before nodding. "I'll think about it," she says, unsure if she means it or not.
He gives her the bar's name as well as his cellphone, and walks with her until they reach the exit and her phone starts ringing in her pocket. He waves goodbye just as the name on the screen brings a smile to her face, like a reflex reserved only for Anna.
She answers. "Hi, sweetheart."
"Hey you," Anna breathes. It makes Elsa close her eyes for longer than a second, relishing the sound of her girlfriend's voice. "How are you? Are you done for the day?"
"I'm okay," she responds sincerely. She could be better. "I just finished, actually."
There is a pause. "Just okay?"
Elsa stops right outside the automatic doors of the institute and steps to the right, biting her lip. She hears what is probably Hans's voice in the background before Anna says Okay and returns to their conversation. "Sorry, we're about to head to the festival... Is everything okay?"
She inhales slowly through her nose in an attempt to keep herself in check and nods despite knowing that Anna can't see her. "It is," Elsa reassures her. "It was just a long day, and I pulled a muscle when I was running this morning."
"You pulled a muscle? That sounds like something I would do," Anna teases, drawing a reluctant smile out of the blonde. "Why did you pull it? Did you take care of it? You better not think of running again until you feel a hundred percent better, Elsa."
She begins walking after this, as slow as she can without giving way to limping. She presses the phone closer to her ear as though that would make the sound of Anna's voice clearer; closer to her. There is a struggle brewing inside of her, between frustration and longing. Yet, right now and under these circumstances, her longing wins, stripping her of everything that is not occupied with the wish that Anna were here with her.
"I pulled it because I wasn't very smart," she mumbles with sincerity. "But Sasha found me some ice."
Anna tsks and then: "Chit-chat Sasha?"
"Don't be mean," she scolds through a smile. It really does rhyme, it's awful. She reaches the main street on Maple, looks left just like the painted sign below her feet indicate and looks right just for the sake of it; the habit of a jaywalker.
The redhead giggles. "I'm not. It's a compliment. I'm sure we'd get along very well."
"That's exactly what I thought," she grins.
Her girlfriend hums—there's a smile there, she can tell. Another voice leaks in from the background, different from the one previously heard. "I'm serious, though," Anna tells her. "If I find out you've been running before you're fully recovered I'll fly straight to London and kick your ass."
There is something to consider. "Maybe I should start running tomorrow then," she whispers.
Anna goes silent for a bit, understanding the meaning behind her statement.
"God, I miss you," she says lowly. "I should have put the video on but I'm in the middle of the lobby, there's no privacy here."
"We can do that later, maybe?" She suggests. "I miss you, too..."
Part of her wishes to know more about last night, even if Anna seems to be acting normal, which should be a sign in and of itself that nothing out of the ordinary happened. But mostly, Elsa can't kid herself, she wants to see that freckled face smiling back at her.
"I... actually, that's why I called you right now." Anna sounds despondent all of the sudden. Elsa's shoulders deflate a little. "I don't know if I'll be able to call you later today. What with the festival going on for most of the day, and I think Hans wants me to go to this dinner with him and another agent or writer or something—I already forgot but don't tell him cause I'm the assistant and I'm supposed to know."
Elsa passes the Turkish restaurant that smells too good for its own good—the restaurant she keeps hoping to take Anna to if she happened to actually visit—and stops again at the corner, right next to a red post box with a crown and the initials E II R engraved on its front. Beneath that: Royal Mail. It escapes her why she loves that detail so much.
There's a pang of disappointment more so than anything else, but then again, Anna is on a work trip. She should have known better before opening her mouth.
"You're right," she says. "I'm sorry... It completely escaped my mind."
"It's okay," Anna reassures her. "I'm sorry, too." Her voice drops. Don't be, please, Elsa thinks with sadness.
Distance... How many thousands of miles are separating them right now?
"We can catch up properly when you get back from LA," she then suggests, and finds that she means it. There is something here, somewhere, that she knows she must accept. Life gets in the way sometimes; there is nothing more inevitable than that.
"That sounds good, my love."
She smiles tenderly at that old, red post box. Why hasn't she started walking again?
"Send me pictures, okay? And keep me updated... Oh, and send me a postcard, maybe?"
Anna chuckles. There is a change in the sounds of the background, as if she's outside on the street now rather than the lobby. "You know I'm sneaking away at some point just to find you a postcard."
Elsa laughs softly. Yes, she knows. Her heart—she may not fully understand it, but she knows when it feels lighter. Even if just a little.
They hang up a few moments later before Elsa covers the last few blocks back to the dorms. She takes in the city's surroundings. A red double-decker passes by, a handful of black cabs move sluggishly forward. There is something about the air in London that screams an invitation, and Elsa thinks that maybe a bar doesn't sound like such a bad idea after all.
There is a huge moment of hesitation in which she thinks maybe the bar is a really, really bad idea.
She is ready to go. She's put on her black jeans and the blue cashmere sweater that Kristoff and Eugene gave her for her birthday last year. A casual choice; easy at that. She's applied her make up, done her hair. But she remains sitting on her bed, looking at the map's route and texting with her cousin.
Why on earth would these people choose a bar that is 25 minutes away by train?
Why? Just why?
Just go, loser, says not her conscience but her cousin, wheres your sense of adventure
Hiding under the bed.
It is the distance, she tells herself. It is far for her standards. A 25 minute ride takes her to Coney Island and that's already near the tail end of Brooklyn. No that is not true. She is exaggerating. Elsa huffs, pats the coverlet over her bed for no reason, and stares at Rapunzel's message. Going to a bar is not exactly an adventure, people do it all the time. So it is the group then. She knows them, but not really. What if they have nothing in common? Maybe she could just stick to Sasha's side—like a leech—no, not a leech. God. Has this always been so hard? She's used to going places with people she's close with. That's the comfort; that is the guarantee that she will not turn out to be the only quiet one sulking in the background.
Right, you're just pushing it at this point.
She stands up from her bed with lukewarm decisiveness and texts Rapunzel the announcement that she is going, quickly enough that she doesn't give herself the time to take it back.
I'm so proud of you, you introverted little bean
Elsa rolls her eyes as she locks the door behind her. She shoots a quick text to her girlfriend, letting her know about her plans for the evening. Anna had told her to go since the beginning, providing her with a short list of pros and absolutely no cons, conscious that Elsa would have second thoughts. She knows her too well.
As soon as she exits the building she runs into a group of loud preteens loitering outside of Nando's. They smell like cigarettes and chicken. The girls are on their phones, gushing and squealing. The boys are pushing each other around, laughing. She dodges the group careful enough that she doesn't get sucked in on the pushing before she walks (slowly again, dammit) to the underground station.
Who is she kidding, this is an adventure.
Elsa takes the tube at Great Portland Station with a mixture of familiarity at having done this many times before and the unfamiliarity of doing so in a different city. The station is cleaner, less crowded. As she hears the train approaching she glances at the rails out of habit and finds no rats scurrying back and forth, searching for food and shelter. The train stops before the recording of a man's voice orders people to MIND THE GAP three times while the doors close behind her.
She transfers at King's Cross but takes her sweet time doing it because this is the first time she's at the station and the imposing nature of the arched glass roof is too enthralling to merely glance at. There is an easiness in London with which the old blends in with the new; where history gives way to the future. She dwells in this space: the architecture, the people. It is a rare solemnity, the way Londoners walk compared to New Yorkers, with a seriousness that doesn't border on the edge of ill-temper.
She takes a few pictures and sends them to her cousin and to Anna, who hasn't replied to her last text. She is busy, Elsa reminds herself.
It is close to 7 p.m. by the time she finally makes it to the bar. Its facade is covered in a dark aqua blue with a double door entrance painted scarlet red. Who chose the colors only God knows but they match perfectly somehow.
She takes a deep breath before entering the place by herself.
There are people everywhere she looks but it is not crammed to the point of it being overwhelming. Her eyes fall first on the arcade machines to the left, and she smiles a little at the way a couple of girls are loudly battling against one other. Anna would love this place. There are square tables scattered throughout the space and all kinds of sofas lining the walls painted the same color as the outside. Elsa notices a casual mood that is oftentimes missing in the bars she's visited around New York. In the city, people gravitate towards impressing—the question isn't a matter of who but of how—and while that may also be true in some parts of London, this tavern is utterly laid back. It is a nice change. It helps Elsa relax a little.
She spots Sasha soon enough, standing by the bar, towering over a few people she recognizes from their group. Her research partner is the first one to greet her, perhaps even more excited to see her here than she is. Still, she accepts the embrace with a smile before she greets everyone else with a shy wave of her hand.
"What are you drinking?" Sasha asks her. He's holding a cocktail in his hand but Elsa is far from being a connoisseur to tell what it is.
"I'll have wine," she says, fumbling inside her bag to look for her credit card.
Sasha stops her before she can pull it out. "No, no. First one's on me," he grins. "You finally came out with us."
With Gorillaz blasting from the speakers and voices coming from everywhere else she has to lean closer to talk to him.
"If you'd told me you would buy me the first drink I would have come sooner," she jokes. It's an attempt at least. Elsa knows she doesn't excel at it the way her cousin or Anna do—though her girlfriend thinks she can be hilarious but that's mostly bias speaking—so the fact that Sasha still laughs out loud is good enough to lift some of her spirits up.
She is... what did people call it?
Breaking the ice.
"How's your leg?" He asks as soon as he hands her a glass of Chardonnay.
"It's much better," she comments. Taking a sip after they cheer in silence.
They follow the rest of the group upstairs and Elsa feels as though she's following a herd that she doesn't quite fit in with just yet. They all seem to know each other closely by now, sharing inside jokes, catching up on their personal lives.
There is a minigolf on the second floor that throws Elsa off completely. It is covered by a handful of neon lights and psychedelic looking signs that make no sense to her whatsoever. The walls are fully covered by faux foliage, like a make-believe rain forest.
Elsa stands by watching a mini-golf match between two of her colleagues (she couldn't call them friends, unfortunately). She laughs at their bickering, cheers when the rest of the group does. She wasn't sure what she expected when she decided to come but a mini-golf was not included amongst her visions. The wine goes slowly, for every time she takes a sip she lets it linger in her mouth before letting it travel smoothly down her throat. The last time she had wine was with Anna, at Reggio, a week before leaving. When she thinks that for Anna the same could not be said she chugs the last of the Chardonnay, willing for something to keep her mind away from going down that path again.
"Come on," Sasha tells her as she pats her shoulder.
"Where are we going?"
"Downstairs. I need a refill and you need to get that—" he air quotes "—weird morning off your chest."
She narrows her eyes but follows him anyway. Whether it is out of a need to follow the only person with whom she gets along in this place, or because she probably, maybe does need to get this off her chest she doesn't know. She is tired of overthinking everything today.
Sasha offers to get them more drinks but Elsa insists that he at least use her card this time. "It's my turn," she says.
There is enough space in a chesterfield sofa made out of oxblood red leather. She sits on it, nearly sinks. The tavern is more crowded than when she first arrived. There is a guy and a girl playing at the arcade machines now, and Elsa's attention turns to the way they keep playfully shoving each other. The sight brings out a smile on her face. It reminds her of her own relationship with Anna.
A glass suddenly breaks somewhere behind the bar. The couple stops, turns around and joins in on the cheering that occurs all over. She frowns and looks on with curiosity.
"They do that here."
She turns her head towards the source of the voice and finds Tracy standing there, holding a pint of beer. Her long, dark hair falls over her shoulders with a carelessness that is not unappealing. She has a black leather jacket swung over the crook of her elbow and a tight white tank top tucked inside ripped black jeans.
"I'm surprised to see you here," the brunette smirks, stepping around the sofa to face Elsa but not sitting just yet. "Why are you by yourself?"
"I'm not," Elsa tells her.
As if on cue, Sasha comes to join them. His cocktail is held in one hand and a glass of Chardonnay in the other. He tells the blonde to pull the credit card out of the back pocket of his suit pants with so much ease that Elsa has to pause a moment before doing it. He then greets Tracy with a familial hug.
"What are you doing here?" Elsa asks the brunette as she tries to keep the edge off her voice.
"It was her idea," Sasha answers for her. "It'd be kinda weird if she didn't come." He places the drinks on the coffee table in front of her before stating that he needs to use the loo.
Tracy allows herself to take a seat on the sofa across from them.
"Are you even allowed to hang out with students at a bar?" Elsa asks her as soon as he's gone.
The brunette throws her head back with a throaty laugh.
"We're all consenting adults here, that's the beauty of it," she says.
"But still... a bar?"
Tracy leans forward, placing her elbows on her knees. Her hazel eyes look straight into Elsa's when she asks: "Is there ever a time where you just... relax?"
Elsa barely conceals her scoff. "I am relaxed."
"Right," she smirks and leans back. She pauses to take a sip of beer. "What's got you so upset then?"
"I'm not."
Tracy regards her for a moment and takes another large gulp of her beer. She's nowhere near done with it, but Elsa still goes through the thought process of whether she'll return to that seat when she has to get up for another one. "You know, Elsa, you're much easier to read than you think," she tells her.
The blonde cranes her neck in an attempt to see if Sasha is coming yet. He isn't.
"Let's diagnose you, doctor," Tracy adds. "I think this is a heart problem."
Elsa's spine gives in a little. She can feel herself slouching. "What makes you think I'm upset?" She asks defeatedly. Two people in a row couldn't be a coincidence.
"You had a huge frown on your face right before some dum-dum broke a glass."
Right when she was thinking about Anna.
"It's far from it," she states, straightening back up. "But even if it were don't think I'd be discussing it with you." She doesn't say this with any venom in her voice. It is perhaps the easiest thing she has said to Tracy at all. It is the truth.
The brunette smiles, nodding solemnly, accepting it. "Fair enough."
Sasha returns a few seconds later. He sits right next to Elsa, slumping against the cushions then sitting back up. He reaches for his cocktail. "What did I miss?"
Elsa doesn't know what to say so Tracy responds: "We were talking about the problems of the heart," she says with a smirk before risking a glance at the blonde. She is staring at her.
"Oh. Yes..." Sasha surges forward to the edge of the couch. "You know I was telling Elsa today that if people would just change their lifestyles half of their cardiovascular problems would just go away. I mean of course there's always the what ifs relating to family history, but exercise you know? You don't have to become an athlete. Or at least eat healthier stuff..." He looks around at the people filling up the tavern and exclaims, "Control your blood pressure, mates."
Elsa doesn't know whether to laugh or cover her face with her glass of wine. There's a group of bulky men staring at the two of them now.
Tracy begins laughing out loud. "You are so far off it shouldn't be this funny," she says. There is a change of beat; a steering in the conversation that Tracy provokes with her next words. "Now tell me Sasha, what do you do when a girl rejects you?"
Sasha lets the sip of his cocktail sit in his mouth while he regards her with a funny look. He swallows before stating, "I'm gay," as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
The brunette doesn't bat an eye. "A boy then."
"Well, I move on? Why would I force myself onto someone who's already rejected me? That makes no sense to me, and it baffles me that so many people insist on pushing it."
Elsa is having a hard time catching up. Sasha is gay. Anna was right. She owes her girlfriend ten dollars. Tracy is asking what to do in case of rejection and she has absolutely no clue if that is supposed to be about her. She has a feeling it is, but hates the fact that this makes her feel self-centered.
"Why are you asking? Did someone reject you?" He narrows his eyes, leaning forward. "Are you being pushy, Tracy?"
The conversation takes a break. Tracy is still leaning back with her legs crossed, taking more space than she needs to. Her index finger is tapping absentmindedly at the half empty glass of beer she is holding. Her eyes fall on Elsa for a brief moment but the blonde cannot decipher any of her thoughts, let alone her emotions.
She looks back at Sasha. "I'm just used to getting what I want," she says.
Elsa doesn't stop herself. "That's highly egocentric." From the corner of her eye she catches Sasha nod, lift his glass up and drink.
The brunette tilts her head. Slowly, she leans closer. "Well, aren't you?" She defies. "I mean, you study at Columbia—far from a community college if you ask me. You live in New York City... I won't assume you live in a condo but you must at least live in Manhattan, and all of us here know that is far from cheap... I'm sorry, Elsa, but I just don't peg you as somebody who has a hard time getting what they want."
Elsa forces herself to breathe. The chain around her heart has been yanked again, an event that has happened far too often today. Her nail scratches the wine glass that is sweaty from perspiration as she searches for any sort of leverage.
How can she possibly re-center herself in such a crowded place?
"You don't know me," she finally states. It feels like déjà vu.
Tracy flips her luscious hair over her shoulder, and it moves in a long fluid line. "Isn't it time that we fixed that?" She glances at her, then at Sasha. "Let's all get to know each other then. Sasha, what do you do?"
Elsa catches him looking at her right before he answers the question. "You know this," he laughs a little. "I mean that's the whole point of being in London."
"Okay, wrong question. When did you first know you were gay?"
He shrugs. "I always knew—"
"That's a bit too personal, don't you think?"
"I don't mind—"
"Only as personal as he wants to get." She cedes the spotlight to him with a raise of her glass. He takes it gladly.
He's always known, he tells them. Deep down he always felt something was different. Middle school was a nightmare because he wasn't masculine enough to fit in with the boys nor feminine enough to fit in with the girls. So he would often sit by the playground and chat his teacher's ear off instead. High school wasn't any better but at least he managed to find a group of boys that were into science as well. "I was the only gay one there," he laughs.
Elsa observes him as he speaks, comfortable in his own skin; outgoing, talkative. He retells his past—the good and the bad—without a trace of regret or nostalgia, accepting exactly who he is. She looks over at Tracy, enthralled by his story, sitting in a way that screams complete ownership of the space she occupies. Then, she looks inwards at herself: her upright spine, those shoulders that won't cease tensing up whenever she's not paying attention. Her hands on her lap nursing a glass of wine she's barely even sipped from.
Is there a magic trick she never learned as a child?
Was this tension just a part of being an introvert, or was this just... her?
"What about you?" Sasha asks, his knee going up to rest on the sofa in order to face her more fully.
Go and take a sip of that wine, she thinks. And she does.
Elsa retells her own story without giving away the details she is unwilling to share. And, of course, it isn't because of Sasha. She keeps finding herself growing fonder of him. Because in his extrovertedness, in the way he opens himself up and is unafraid to reach out, she thinks of Anna—always of Anna.
It is because of the girl sitting across from her. A girl whom Elsa no longer knows what she wants, but whom she cannot bring herself to fully trust. Yet, and regardless of it, she speaks, offering the people that are listening to her an olive branch. Perhaps it is that Elsa is getting tired of her own animosity; tired of the negativity that Tracy tends to bring along with her presence.
Or perhaps she is tired of the musings of her heart, so busy with missing Anna every day that there is no longer any room for anything else.
The postcard arrives two days later, and Elsa reads it at around the same time that Anna is flying over the Grand Canyon on her return to New York.
It is a sepia photo with a graphically designed Manhattan Bridge framing the Empire State Building in the far distance. There is a specific street from which this photo is always taken but Elsa can never recall the name. The postcard says New York City right at the bottom typed in vintage font. Elsa smiles as she flips it over to read its contents:
I MISS YOU—but that's only okay because you're in London doing great things for yourself
and for your future patients.
Coffee feels betrayed by your cheating with Tea but no worries, I'm drinking for the two of us.
Work is very busy (you know that because we talk very day)
but what you don't know is that I think of you from start to finish.
I keep wishing that I could teletransport myself all the way to London and fall right into your arms...
I'm desperate to go to the London Eye with you and eat biscuits until we can't breathe.
I adore you—always, forever and ever!
-A
Elsa reads it in the middle of the lobby after being unable to wait until she is back in her room. The smile that grows as her gaze traces over Anna's handwriting is inevitable; the bite of her lip, a sign of mere restrain. She can't help the flourish going on inside of her. Even after a year of knowing Anna. After almost a year of being her girlfriend, Anna's words never fail to get a physical reaction out of her. And it is the heart again the first telltale while it beats as though desperately trying to find a release; as though it wants to soar.
She places the postcard back inside the blue envelope it came in, and then inside her tote bag before she moves towards the entrance. The intention to go out for a walk remains—something she probably shouldn't do but can't help—and she soon finds herself heading south towards the Thames, eventually reaching the British Museum.
She refrains from going in, mostly because there's a visit scheduled with the group in the next few weeks, but also because she's not that reckless with her leg; the museum looks like a beast of a walk. She joins in on the sitting that many visitors are currently partaking in right between its front lawn and (yet another) Greek, majestic facade.
There is only a bit of sun to relish as it seeps brightly through an ashy sky but Elsa takes what she can get with gusto. It is rare that Elsa does this, either in London or New York, but the day calls for it somehow. She's felt so overwhelmed by people and emotions the past couple of days that today she's hard set on pursuing relative calm. She wills her mind to escape from the traps she's set for herself. The insecurities, the frustrations, the self-imposed guilt.
The distractions are there after all, helping her out a little.
A group of young tourists argue in Italian as they pass back and forth a map of the city of London. They're pointing at it, smacking it with the back of their hands, most likely arguing that what each of them is saying is right. The map is ripped by accident at some point, split almost in two. The group goes quiet. They stare at each other.
"Cazzo," one of them exclaims before succumbing to a fit of laughter.
And life goes on.
She spends the rest of the afternoon wandering the streets of London. Subtly looking for a favorite café still, observing the Londoners and the tourists blend in like water and oil—as utterly contrasting as they are in New York. She observes the buildings, the antique on one side of the road and the modern on the other. She closes her eyes at times, trying to decipher what the thickest of British accents are saying. Sometimes she's able to understand; sometimes she's not.
Her roommate is reading when she arrives from her walk, and remains in the same statue-like position for the rest of the time Elsa is there. She wonders if she's done or said something to deserve the cold shoulder but then again, she has never seen the girl hang out with anyone else.
She goes to the large common room in the first floor to wait for Anna's call. Being a Saturday evening, there is only four more people scattered around the space. A perfect set up for her if there ever was one.
She considers going to the cafeteria to buy a hot chocolate but just as she's about to make her decision a picture of Anna's freckled, grinning face appears on her laptop's screen.
Elsa accepts the call without a second thought.
The face that shows up is a living replica of the picture she once took of Anna in Central Park. The redhead is looking straight into the camera with an expression of delight adorning her features.
"Hi," Anna drawls in a tiny voice constricted by bursting excitement.
Elsa grins. "Hi, lovely."
"Long time no see, pretty lady."
"I should say the same thing about you," she smirks. "I've been waiting for your call like a damsel in distress."
Anna gives her a seductive gaze and lowers her voice to say: "Fear not, your knight in shiny armor is back from the City of Angels."
Elsa bites her lip. "And how did that go exactly?" She stops herself from leaning closer to the screen when Anna doesn't answer immediately like she expected she would. Her girlfriend glances down, straightens herself on the desk chair, and lifts her shoulders up in a half-done shrug.
"It was good," she finally says. "I loved the city... and it was flashy just like I expected." She pauses, gathers her thoughts. "I loved the festival too. I met a lot of people there, and I mean a lot. Hans kind of dragged me along to most meetings he had which was also fun. We even dined at the Chateau Marmont last night with a really famous editor, it was awesome."
An unexpected knot forms in her throat that she must swallow before speaking again. "Did you—were you able to make contacts then?"
"I'd like to think I did," Anna smiles. She glances down again as she props her leg up on the edge of the chair and rests her chin on her knee.
"That's good, love." Elsa is distracted by a student passing closely by before her eyes fall back on the girl she loves, sitting three thousand miles away from her. "How did... drinks go? With Hans." It is one of the most glaring questions in her mind, like a searing mark on her thoughts.
"Drink," Anna corrects her with a tiny smile that fades too soon. "It was okay, I guess... nothing..." She gets lost for a moment before shaking her head, "Nothing out of the ordinary."
Elsa nods distractedly, almost unconsciously. She is trying to decipher that answer.
"Are you okay?" She hears Anna ask.
Their eyes meet again, and Elsa finds a sight that tugs at her heart. There is concern in those teal blue pools of hers.
"I just miss you," she whispers. It is the only thing she can bring herself to say right now. Because in her inability to understand her own emotions she finds no other option but to remain silent.
A moment passes before Anna leans closer. Her gaze is deep and unwavering. "You have no idea how much I need you right now," she says. Something flashes across her eyes then; a fierce and determined look. "You are my biggest inspiration, Elsa."
"Don't say that when you're not here and I can't kiss you..."
The redhead smiles lovingly. "I can't help it. It's the truth."
Elsa slumps back in the chair at those words. Everything about this distance is taking a toll on her, no matter how much she tries to keep it in. A myriad of emotions bouncing off against each other. It is exhausting.
"Tell me something," Anna whispers. She is reaching out to her. Pulling her out of her own mind.
"I... Sasha is gay," is all she can come up with. They haven't had a proper talk since Thursday and this is the first news that must be shared it seems.
Anna claps once, high on success. "I knew it. You owe me fifteen dollars."
"It was ten."
"Fifteen."
"...Twelve. Take it or leave it."
"Twelve and a kiss."
"Fine."
The redhead giggles. She asks her about her leg and Elsa says it's fine but she went out for a walk today so it is not so fine again. Anna glares at her.
"Tell me something else before I get too mad at you for not listening to me," Anna says, and Elsa has to hesitate because there is only something else she had planned on telling her girlfriend.
"Well... Tracy was at the bar as well, and we kind of... talked?"
"Kind of," Anna drawls.
"Sasha was there, too, so it wasn't a one on one kind of thing." She doesn't think that would have happened anyway.
"And how did it go then?"
Okay is the first word that comes to mind. The three of them spoke about sexuality, or Sasha and Tracy did, with Elsa sporadically commenting and rarely opening up. Tracy left before she did, and she didn't stay that much longer afterwards. It wasn't exactly bad, nor was it incredible. It was just...
"Okay," she responds. "They both did most of the talking, honestly. You know I'm not..." She shakes her head. "I'm not very talkative sometimes."
Anna tilts her head. "Were you uncomfortable?"
"I just wasn't feeling it that night."
Her girlfriend nods, accepting the answer. "And Tracy?"
She shakes her head slowly. "I've given up on trying to figure out what she wants. She's not flirting with me anymore but she's... strange."
There is that look of determination in Anna's eyes. Elsa would be lying if she said she didn't find it attractive.
"Well," the redhead muses, "I might have to go to London and find out what she's up to."
Her chest swells at the thought. All of the sudden every image she's ever conjured of them together in London are brought to the forefront of her mind. All of the sudden everything seems possible.
"Please..." she says softly, "Please come."
CV - Cardiovascular
Atherosclerosis - a disease of the arteries where plaques of fatty material grow on their inner walls