"Now it begins, now we start: one hand, one heart."
It's like a dream. Lorna had known she was back—well, Maritza had spread the word—but to see Nicky—to really see her again, standing in the common room as though she'd never left—well, it's beyond her imagination. She can feel her kneels buckle under her; it's like the whole room is blurring, her vision collapsing to a single point: Nicky Nichols, face lighting up as she turns and sees Lorna.
And then they're rushing toward each other and Lorna's in her arms, and Nicky picks her up and spins her around, so carefree, and it's almost like she's been there all along. There are no words, nothing but pure feeling. She wraps her arms around Nicky's neck and buries her face in those curls and she can feel her eyes filling with tears because my god, it's so good to have her back.
"I never thought I'd see you again," Lorna says breathlessly when CO Dixon clears his throat at them and they have to step apart.
"Guess you can't get rid of me, kid."
Something deep in Lorna's chest twists at the casual term of endearment. She hadn't even realized how much she'd missed Nicky—not just the obvious things, like how they'd spent every waking moment together or yes, the way she could always make Lorna feel mind-shatteringly wonderful—but these little things: Nicky's smile, the way she runs her hands through her hair, the way she calls Lorna kid. Lorna had tried to block it out, to convince herself she didn't need Nicky, but she can't pretend anymore that losing Nicky hadn't felt like a punch straight to her gut—so many days of weeping and despair and the violent fear of never seeing Nicky again buzzing through her nightmares. Now she's hit with the emotion all over again, and it's all she can do to keep her teary eyes from overflowing.
Lorna can't keep her hands off her. She clings to Nicky, magnetized to her body, all the while trying to pretend she's not falling back into Nicky's orbit the way she always has. She nuzzles her head against Nicky's shoulder, swirls circles onto her bicep, traces the black ink of her tattoos. The conversation around her drifts in and out of focus; even CO Dixon's reprimands (she thinks she hears him mutter something about 'an orgy of touching') can't keep her away.
Nicky's talking animatedly to everyone else, gesticulating and posturing the way she always does, but every once in a while she sneaks a look at Lorna out of the corner of her eye. Those eyes tell Lorna the real story, more than her outward façade ever could: she's just as happy to see Lorna again, just as desperate to be close to her as ever. Even those small glances set Lorna on fire, burning with a desire she's quick to push to the back of her mind. She's with Vince now. She made vows; this isn't the same as it was with Christopher.
Lorna knows this feeling all too well; it's something she's been through before, that time Nicky had been sent to the SHU. Although that had been days instead of months, Lorna remembered vividly the pain in her chest when Nicky had been dragged away. She'd cried for a while, thinking of how unbearable prison life would be without her. Then she'd thrown herself into planning her wedding with fresh vigor; she'd been thinking of it less and less before, but without Nicky, what else was left? Once again, dreaming of Christopher had become her only comfort.
And then Nicky had come back and Lorna had clutched onto her like a lifeline. They'd hooked up all over every vaguely horizontal surface in Litchfield (and some vertical ones, too), so desperate to feel each other's bodies again that they didn't even care who saw. Before, they'd been careful—careful to stifle Lorna's moans, careful to avoid being seen together, careful to play off their little love affair as a casual thing. But after… well, that was when everything had changed. That was when Lorna had bailed, that day in the chapel when she'd realized that if she didn't stop it then, she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to.
Because there's something about Nicky that terrifies Lorna: she's like a storm. She blows into and out of Lorna's life with startling swiftness. While she's there, it's electrifying and petrifying all at once, a whirlwind of wild sex and deep conversations and romantic gestures that they both write off as meaningless. But when she's gone…
Lorna doesn't know how to say it aloud, but she knows how lost she felt without Nicky by her side. And that, more than anything, is why they can't be together. Because what does that mean for the future? She can convince herself that it's only because she's still in prison that she needs Nicky—that Litchfield has always been a scary place for a diminutive girl like herself—but she knows it's not the truth. She has always floated through life looking for someone to protect her, and she had felt no less unmoored in the real world than she does here in prison.
Vinnie is a replacement, a way to fill the void that Nicky had left behind. Lorna knows it's true, and Nicky probably will as well, once Lorna gets around to actually telling her. But he's the only option she can take, because now that Nicky's back and Lorna's thinking she can never let her go again, she knows she has to. Nicky cannot be a necessary, permanent part of her life because Nicky has never been the sort of person to make promises that last a lifetime. She doesn't understand what family means, not like Lorna does.
Because Nicky can have any girl she chooses, and she usually does. She chews them up and spits them out and walks away without a care in the world. Someday—in two weeks or two months or two years—she'll fall back into the drugs and the sex, and she will leave Lorna alone to pick up the pieces.
Lorna's sure it would be like that in the real world: good until Nicky spots another, prettier mark or a little bag of heroin and walks out the door. And why shouldn't she? There are girls out in the real world who are far smarter, far more beautiful than Lorna. And Nicky has already risked it all for the drugs once. Maybe it's unfair, but Lorna can't let herself need someone like Nicky. Not when Nicky lives her life with one foot out the door at all times.
Lorna has always craved stability. Nicky had been her rock for a while, but she'd left. She'd left again, all for some stupid drug, and so Lorna had had no choice but to find Vinnie. Stability isn't something Nicky will ever be able to give her. But Vinnie can. And that's why Lorna has to choose him, this time and every time.
But right now, wrapped up in their closeness, she lets herself hold Nicky and think about what could have been.
It had been a spectacularly bad day.
The water in the showers had been cold, breakfast and lunch were even more disgusting than usual (no offense to Red, of course), and the van had somehow sprung a flat tire and she'd gotten told off by one of the COs even though it wasn't her fault. And to top things off, it was fucking Valentine's Day. Her first one in this godforsaken place, and naturally, she couldn't get her mind off Christopher. God, it was pathetic.
Lorna hadn't even joined in on the festivities in the common room. She hadn't felt like looking at all those frilly paper hearts and white toilet-paper streamers; how could she, when she was feeling like this? So instead she'd decided to go take a shower—which had been supremely unsatisfying given the water temperature—before returning to her bunk to feel sorry for herself.
Wrapped in her towel, she rounded the corner and headed into the Suburbs, grateful that no one was in sight. They all must still be enjoying their little party. At least this way no one would see how pitiful she looked. Lorna hadn't even bothered to wash off her makeup before getting in the shower; her mascara had run all down her cheeks, and she had just let it, feeling like some ingenue out of an old film. Oh, well. She'd fix it before dinnertime. No one had to know what a mess she was.
Entering her block, she dropped her towel and then let out a squeal, grabbing frantically at the white fabric and pulling it back over herself as she spotted someone sitting on her bed. Nicky was sprawled out as comfortably as though it were her own bunk, flipping through one of Lorna's myriad wedding magazines; Lorna supposed she certainly spent enough time there to be this nonchalant. Boo teased them mercilessly about it, telling them to get a fucking room, lovebirds. You're making me wanna hurl.
"What the fuck, Nichols?!" Lorna wasn't usually one to swear—at least not in comparison to Nicky—but she felt the occasion called for it.
"Whoa there, kid." Nicky laughed. "Now, I know I'm no supermodel, but I didn't think I was that ugly."
"No, no, you're fine." Lorna was still pulling at the towel, wrapping it back around her body self-consciously.
"Wooow," Nicky drawled. "Really not doing anything for my self-esteem here."
"Sorry."
"Hey." Nicky threw the magazine down on the bed, standing up and walking over to Lorna. She put her arm around the brunette's shoulders, guiding her over to the bed and pulling her down so they were sitting side by side. "You gonna tell me what's wrong? 'Cause I'd guess, but I'm no mind reader."
Lorna sniffled, trying to hold back the tears. "It's really no big deal. I don't wanna bother you."
She'd cried into Nicky's shoulder so many times. She felt bad about that—Nicky had always been there for her, but Lorna had never reciprocated. It was just that Nicky always seemed so strong, so invulnerable. Lorna couldn't remember ever seeing her cry. And she was somehow—inexplicably—always willing to listen, sitting there next to Lorna with a sort of calm wisdom that never lost its comfort.
"Hey, hey, look at me, kid." Nicky took her chin, turning Lorna's face so she couldn't help but stare into Nicky's eyes. "If it matters to you, it matters to me. Alright?"
Lorna couldn't do anything but nod, feeling a single tear slip down her cheek. She felt Nicky's thumb brush over the moisture, wiping it away, and let herself sink into the protection of Nicky's arms without saying another word.
She didn't know when it had started feeling that way, but Nicky's embrace always felt like home to Lorna. Maybe that was because Nicky was New York City embodied in a person, from the roughness of her accent to the give-no-fucks attitude to the way she swaggered around Litchfield like she owned the place. She had the same beating heart of the city, the same fierce, loud, brash exterior that hid an internal complexity you could spend a lifetime studying without really understanding. You could take the girl out of the city, but clearly there was no taking the city out of this girl.
Maybe it was just that Nicky reminded Lorna of family—of her mother's exaggerated Brooklyn accent, of days spent wandering grimy sidewalks and avoiding all the crazies on the subway when they came to New York to visit her grandparents and cousins, the whole family cozied up together in a tiny apartment. Whatever it was, Lorna realized she didn't care. She'd never understood just what it was about Nicky that made her feel like the endpoint to every journey, and maybe she never would. Maybe it was enough to be here, the warm strength of Nicky's arms allowing her to forget about the harshness of her prison reality just for a little while.
They spent an immeasurable number of minutes like that, with Nicky petting the top of Lorna's head in a way that could've felt patronizing but instead felt tender. Then Lorna sat up suddenly, a thought occurring to her.
"Why are you here?"
Nicky snorted. "Sheesh, I didn't think you'd ever ask. I, uh…" She trailed off, looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself. "You've been down all day, so I wanted to do something to cheer you up."
Lorna couldn't help the hint of a smile that curled at the edges of her mouth. "You didn't have to do that, Nicky."
"Sure I did." She didn't explain any further, just bent down and dragged something out from under the bed. It was a picnic basket, the old-fashioned wicker kind with a red-and-white checkered lining that flashed as she flipped back the lid to reveal a full picnic spread.
"But… how did you…?" Lorna's jaw fell open as she gawked.
"Red has her ways," Nicky said with one of her signature roguish grins. "And you're family now, kid."
"I—wow, Nichols, you really… thank you."
Nicky simply ducked her head in acknowledgement, beginning to pull items out of the basket. "You should probably get dressed. Not that I'm not usually all for dinner in the buff, but it's not exactly the mood I was going for this time."
Lorna nodded. "Turn around."
Nicky snorted. "Not like I haven't seen it all before." When Lorna shot her a dirty look, she heaved out an exaggerated sigh, turning her back. "Fine, fine."
Making sure Nicky wasn't sneaking a peek out of the corner of her eye, Lorna changed quickly, smoothing down the rumpled khakis in an effort to make herself look halfway presentable. "Done."
Nicky turned back around, eyes raking up and down Lorna's form affectionately. "Aren't you just a vision."
"Oh, stop it," Lorna said, blushing just a little bit. Walking over to the opposite end of her cubicle, she quickly used a cloth to wipe away the mascara streaks on her cheeks, then pulled out her homemade lip tint, swiping a bit of the color onto her lips. Her hair was still wet and stringy, but at least she felt a little more like herself.
Turning back, she sauntered toward Nicky with an exaggerated swing to her hips. "Now you can flatter me, Nichols."
"Gladly, my lady." Nicky caught her by the hand, twirling her in until she was flush against Nicky's body before dipping her down like they were one of those couples on Dancing with the Stars.
Lorna giggled, feeling secure in Nicky's arms and lighter than she had all day. Heart beating fast, she realized just how close they were, how easy it would be for her to wrap her arms around Nicky's neck and pull her head down until their mouths met. She didn't, of course; they hadn't kissed since that first time in the chapel. Even when they were having sex—which had somehow become a common occurrence these days—Nicky always stopped just short of kissing her mouth. She'd plant kisses on Lorna's cheek, on her breasts, on certain other areas, but never right on the mouth. There had been times when Lorna had considered just laying one on her, but some part of her always hesitated, wishing Nicky would do it without her having to ask. Then Lorna wondered why it was so important to her, anyway; she told herself she liked sex with a side of intimacy, that was all. It was only part of the ritual. That was the only reason she wanted Nicky to kiss her.
In that moment, Nicky looked to be having the same sort of thoughts. Lorna could feel the blonde's breath hitch, and for a moment she closed her eyes, half-expecting Nicky's lips to meet hers. But then Nicky was pulling away, standing her back up on her feet, where Lorna swayed unsteadily in the sudden absence of Nicky's soft hold.
"Anyway." Nicky cleared her throat, gesturing at the little spread she'd made in the middle of the floor. "We should eat."
"Yeah, o'course." Lorna settled herself down on the hard concrete floor across from Nicky, unable to resist letting out a little hum of contentment.
"I know it's not anything fancy," Nicky was saying, passing Lorna a can of Minute Maid lemonade, "but, you know, I just thought—"
"It's perfect," Lorna interrupted, letting her hand linger over Nicky's on the can. "I still don't know how you managed to pull this off, but Nicky… it really is perfect."
"It's nothing." Nicky still managed to look rather pleased with herself, although Lorna could tell she was trying to downplay her satisfaction. "Just, you know. Something I'd do for any of my friends."
Lorna wasn't sure whether that meant actual friends or friends-with-benefits or lovers or even girlfriends, and which one were they, after all? It wasn't the first time she'd wondered what this was all supposed to mean; she might have been oblivious sometimes, but Lorna certainly wasn't stupid. When Nicky did these things for her, what did she expect? And an even more unanswerable question—what did Lorna want?
She couldn't think about that, not now; not with Christopher and Valentine's and the rotten day she'd been having. She didn't have the answers to any of her problems. What she did know was that this moment was theirs—fuck Christopher. He wasn't here, was he? It was Nicky in front of her, Nicky with those untamed curls and those earnest eyes and those cuffed shirtsleeves on the khaki shirt Lorna really shouldn't have been thinking of stripping off her.
So she didn't ask for clarification. Instead, setting down the lemonade, Lorna leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Nicky's cheek. The little lipstick smudge she left behind nearly matched the blush highlighting Nicky's face as the curly-haired woman ducked her head, looking absolutely bashful for the first time Lorna could remember.
"Don't you go getting all sappy on me here, Morello." Nicky's voice was still full of swagger, but her eyes betrayed her true feelings. "Come on, you gonna eat or what?"
They talked and laughed as they ate, the conversation flowing as naturally between them as it always did. Lorna could feel the weight being lifted from her shoulders as she relaxed into the banter; suddenly all of the day's little tragedies didn't seem so important anymore. For a moment, she felt a wave of gratitude wash over her—prison sucked, it was just a fact, but without it she'd never have had this moment. Without it, she'd never have met Nicky.
"So…" Nicky said after they'd absolutely demolished the little plate of food. "I wanted to give you something."
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a little pink paper in the shape of a heart. It was folded in half and edged with fake paper lace, and Lorna's name was scrawled across it in Nicky's handwriting.
"It's silly," she said, handing it to Lorna, "but they were making them in the common room, so, you know, I figured why not."
"You're a regular hopeless romantic, Nicky Nichols," Lorna declared, taking the card.
Hands raised in mock surrender, Nicky looked everywhere but straight at Lorna's face. "I plead the fifth."
Lorna made as if to open the card, but Nicky reached out, stopping her before she could unfold it. "Read it later, alright?"
"Sure, okay." Lorna nodded, slipping it underneath her pillow and out of sight. "So, what'd you wanna do now?"
"Well…" Nicky had a crafty little smile on her face. "Close your eyes."
Doing as she was told, Lorna closed her eyes and felt Nicky's hand come up to cup her cheek, brushing her still-damp hair back behind her ear. Butterflies swarmed her stomach; she thought—well, hoped might've been a better word—the next sensation she'd feel was the warmth of Nicky's lips, but instead she felt Nicky slip an earbud into her ear.
"Make of our hands one hand, make of our hearts one heart…"
Lorna's eyes popped open. "It's West Side Story!"
Nicky had the other earbud in, still kneeling with her hand on Lorna's cheek; letting it trail down the side of her face, she tipped Lorna's chin up towards her. "May I have this dance, Miss Morello?"
"Of course."
Nicky reached out, taking Lorna's hand and pulling her to her feet. She drew Lorna in close, mumbling something about how the cord wasn't that long. It was a blatant excuse, but Lorna didn't mind; wrapping her arms around Nicky's neck, she laid her head against Nicky's chest and swayed with her slowly. There was no space between them now; Nicky's hands were on Lorna's hips, drawing them flush against each other.
Shifting her head, Lorna leaned back so she could look Nicky in the eyes. They smiled at each other for a long moment, and then Lorna stood up on her toes and pressed another kiss to the very corner of Nicky's mouth, just missing her lips. She could feel Nicky's body react, feel the short little breath she inhaled and the way her thumb slipped under Lorna's shirt just below her waist to draw hypnotizing strokes against the skin there. It was intoxicating, knowing she had this effect on Nicky.
"Lorna…"
Lorna could hear the need in Nicky's voice, and she almost gave in. She wanted it too, that was the thing. But not now. Right now, she knew that skin-on-skin contact would only make Nicky more distant. They would be laid bare in a physical way, but Nicky's eyes would be guarded; her kisses would land everywhere but where Lorna most wanted. Right now, all Lorna craved was this innocent closeness, this quiet intimacy between them.
"Later," she said. "I promise."
Nicky just nodded.
Lorna closed her eyes and let the music sweep her away, her head filling with a million dreams she knew would never come true. But why not imagine?
She was a princess—she was Belle from Beauty and the Beast, dancing in a magical castle. Lorna remembered when that movie had come out. She hadn't even been ten years old, and she'd been to see it with Franny and then loved it so much she'd begged for her mother to let her see it all over again. That Halloween, she'd dressed up as Belle in a yellow gown her mother had sewn for her, a dollar store plastic tiara perched on top of her carefully curled brown hair. She'd been so excited, prancing around the halls and down the streets until stupid Bianca Fontana from school had wrinkled up her nose at the homemade costume. Lorna had ripped it off and thrown it down on the floor the minute she got home, then sobbed into Franny's arms while her sister said it was gonna be alright, Lo, those bitches don't know what they're talking ab—here their mother had interjected—language, Francine!
Dancing with Nicky, she felt the magic of that day all over again, only this time there were no spiteful schoolgirls to ruin it for her. Her gown swished around her high-heeled feet, her steps skimming gracefully over the polished floors of the ballroom as she twirled around. Stars glittered through the delicate glass of the vaulted ceiling, shining their light on the happy couple down below.
And Nicky—oh, Nicky looked absolutely radiant. She was dressed in a classic suit, complete with a starched white shirt and a tux tailored to hug all her curves. As they danced, Lorna reached up to straighten her slightly off-kilter bowtie. Her hair was swept up into a bun on top of her head, and her lapel was adorned with a single red rose.
A gold wedding band glistened on Nicky's left hand where their fingers intertwined as she led them through a waltz; Lorna couldn't see her own, obscured beneath her long gloves, but she smiled, knowing it was there. She felt like Belle all over again, dancing with this wonderful, miraculous creature who was nothing like what she'd expected and yet—somehow—everything she'd never known she needed.
And then the song was over, and Lorna let out a dreamy sigh, reluctantly opening her eyes. The cinderblock walls faded back in around her, but she still felt grounded by Nicky's hands on her waist, tempting her to slip back into fantasy again.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Lorna just hummed happily, tracing a little heart into the skin on the back of Nicky's neck and enjoying the feeling of being so close to her.
When Nicky's hands fell away from her waist, Lorna had to keep herself from audibly expressing disappointment at the loss of contact. But Nicky was bending down now, shuffling around in the bottom of the picnic basket before pulling out a long-stemmed red rose and presenting it to Lorna with a flourish.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Lorna."
Lorna wanted so badly to kiss her in that moment. She couldn't think of a thing to say, so she settled for taking the rose and then throwing herself into Nicky's arms, bowling into her so hard that they both stumbled back a step.
"What did I ever do to deserve you?" she mumbled against Nicky's shoulder.
"What?"
"Nothing." Lorna stepped backward, releasing Nicky from her tight embrace.
Nicky stood there for a long second, just looking at her as though she wanted to say something more. Then she cleared her throat, running a hand through her mop of hair and pushing it back from her face. "Well, uh, I promised Red I'd help her out with something in the kitchen."
"Oh. Yeah, sure," Lorna said, feeling like she wanted to do something, but not quite sure where to start. "I'll see you later?"
"Naw, I think I'll plan a jailbreak," Nicky joked as she closed the gap between them. Taking Lorna's head gently in her hands, she planted a kiss in the middle of her forehead. "See ya around, kid."
And then she was picking up the picnic basket, gone in a flurry of wayward curls before Lorna could say another word. The cube felt empty without her, almost like the air had been sucked out; Lorna sat down on her bunk, wondering when Nicky had begun feeling so necessary to her.
Shifting to lay down, she pulled out Nicky's note from under her pillow. She stared up at the drab ceiling for a minute, rose in one hand, opposite thumb tracing around the edges of the pink paper. For some reason, she couldn't quite bring herself to open it. Lorna didn't know exactly what she was so afraid of, but her mind was whirling just thinking about it, trying to untangle all the twisted threads of her emotions buried somewhere deep down inside.
She'd always wanted a Valentine's Day like this. She'd always wanted someone to buy her flowers, take her to a romantic dinner, slow dance with her to all their favorite songs. All through high school she'd hoped and dreamed and cut out pictures from magazines, pasting them in her journal and imagining the perfect prince to sweep her off her feet.
None of this was anything like she'd imagined. For one thing, she was in prison, which wasn't exactly a rom-com-worthy setting. For another, Nicky wasn't exactly a prince charming in any sense of the word. This wasn't a fairytale.
Christopher… well, Christopher was the fairytale. He was everything Lorna had ever fantasized about. Christopher was the sort of person she could take home to her parents, the sort of person she could walk down the aisle with and exchange vows with and live a long, happy, uncomplicated life with. He was the Tony to her Maria, only hopefully with less dying and gangs involved.
Who would she and Nicky even be? Ellen and Portia? But they weren't even a fairytale, they were real, and there was nothing romantic about that. Every movie Lorna had ever seen had been the same: boy meets girl, boy flirts with girl, boy falls in love with girl. They live happily-ever-after. There was no 'girl meets girl,' not in Lorna's Italian Catholic family.
Lorna knew, though, that what she and Nicky had was good. Girl had met girl; girl had flirted with girl, and now it was feeling uncomfortably as if girl was beginning to fall in love with girl. And that terrified Lorna. Because how could this be so good when it was so wrong?
She almost couldn't admit to herself that this had probably been the most romantic Valentine's Day she'd ever had, and she'd spent it with a woman. Because whatever Nicky said, Lorna knew this wasn't some spur-of-the moment plan designed to cheer her up. Between the picnic and the rose and the card and music, Nicky must have been planning this day for weeks.
Was Nicky in love with her?
Was Lorna in lo—but no, she couldn't be.
Dropping the rose on her chest, Lorna finally opened the card.
Dear Lorna,
I'm not exactly a poet, so I just wanted to say: prison really is a shithole, but it's better when you have someone to share it with.
Happy Valentine's Day, kid.
Love,
Nicky
Somehow, despite herself, Lorna couldn't stop herself from smiling at that one little word, signed so casually: love.
"Oh no, what're they doing here?" Lorna says, catching sight of the meth-heads across the room. She and Nicky are standing next to the foosball table as the party goes on around them; Lorna's still trying to pretend she's not doing everything in her power to keep touching Nicky at every moment. Her hands are hooked in Nicky's waistband, anchoring them together; it's all too easy for them to slip back into the same sort of intimacy they had before Nicky left.
"It's the common room," Nicky says. "Now, you can't keep out the commoners."
"Well, we don't have to give 'em cake." The results of Lorna and Suzanne's recent shower investigation aren't far from her mind. "Dirty shower pooper."
When Sister Ingalls and Gloria walk over, Lorna is quick to drop her hands from Nicky's waist, instead toying with the grey sweatshirt tied around her shoulders. These touches are only for them—no need to get the rest of the prison talking about something that's not even true. Because she and Nicky are not back together; they never will be. Lorna's married. Why does it seem like such an effort to keep reminding herself of that?
The other two are here to discuss Sophia, of course, and while Lorna's certainly concerned about her—all ingrained prejudices aside, she knows as well as the next woman that Burset isn't at fault for what's happened to her—she's more worried about Nicky. She doesn't want her thinking any more about her time at Max.
"Okay, come on," Lorna says, taking her hand and dragging Nicky away. "Come dance with me."
It can be just like before, she thinks. Just like that Valentine's Day over a year ago when we held each other and danced and I thought my heart might explode from how much I wanted you. She can't say any of that aloud.
But Nicky drops her hand, pulls away. "Just give me one second, alright? I'll be right back."
And how many times has she said that? How many times will Nicky walk out of her life without even glancing over her shoulder? First the SHU, then Max. All those other girls she'd fucked in that stupid fucking contest with Boo. Each one had felt like a shot right to Lorna's heart. It's no different this time as Nicky leaves the party with Angie—that meth-head shower pooper, of all people!—and Lorna is helpless to do anything but watch her disappear again.