"You're gone, and I gotta stay high all the time to keep you off my mind."

Nicky leaves the visitation room shaking. Her hands quiver; she balls them into fists at her side, wishing she wasn't giving the COs the satisfaction of seeing her like this. Chest heaving, she blinks back the tears from her eyes before they can fall down her cheeks. The inside of her mouth tastes like iron, but she doesn't even feel the pain of her teeth digging into the soft flesh on the inside of her lip.

She's beginning to understand the meaning of the phrase "seeing red"—the anger burning up inside her is all-consuming. But lashing out has never really been Nicky's style. Marka had been right about that, at least; there is something deeply, deeply fucked up about her. Something irredeemable, unfixable. She wants to hurt something so bad, but all she can think about is the drugs. All she can think to do is self-destruct, the way she always does.

Fuck it, she thinks. Because what's left now? What was the purpose of Luschek coming to visit other than to remind her, once again, that this is all her fault? Everything she's ever lost in her life… well, if it hadn't been for that self-destructive itch always tugging at her heart, none of this would have ever happened. She's not like the other women in Litchfield. It's not like she was set up to fail from the start. Nicky knows that she has been so lucky, that she had had everything—the fancy private schools and the exotic vacations and the dollar bills she threw at drug dealers and pole-dancing women in an effort to fill the hole inside her heart. Because yes, she'd had everything. Everything but what she'd really wanted, which was simply for her parents to pay some fucking attention to her. To act like maybe, just maybe, they gave a shit about the curly-haired little girl they'd brought into the world.

Nicky doesn't understand it, not to this day. Why even have children if you only intend to throw them to the side, cast them off when you find something better to do with your life? It's why Nicky has never wanted them herself—she's certain she'd fuck up just as bad as Marka had done with her. Maybe worse. No, Nicky's not destined to have a happily-ever-after; she'd probably find some way to self-sabotage even if the opportunity ever did come along, she thinks bitterly.

That night is when she finally breaks. She knows where to get the heroin. Like she'd said to Luschek, drugs aren't exactly in short supply in this place. And hey, it isn't like she even has to suck a dick to do it. She says a tiny, ironic prayer to a deity she's not sure she believes in—thank god for morally-grey female COs with lesbian tendencies. Heroin and women—Nicky's two addictions, colliding in a perfect tsunami that threatens to pull her under for the last time.

Neither action gives her any pleasure, just relief. The heroin is good enough as a chaser for the sex—if it can even be called sex. Nicky prefers to think of it as a transaction.

Before long, with the heroin in her system, she doesn't think of it at all.

"Does it fucking matter, Morello?" Nicky was pacing back and forth, hands thrown up in frustration. "I just don't see why—"

"No, you don't!" A judgmental glare from one of the other inmates passing by made Lorna lower her voice into a quiet but still venomous hiss. "You don't get to tell me what my fiancé is thinking because you don't know him!"

"That's rich. Sure, I may not know your daaarling Christopher," Nicky drawled, "but I do know that he never even visits you. I mean, come on, even you're not batshit enough to believe that he's still gonna be around when you get out!"

"I'm the love of his life, I know he'll wait." Lorna was trying to keep her voice calm, but Nicky could hear her tone teetering on the edge of panic. "Maybe you just don't understand what true love is like."

"True love's for suckers," Nicky spat. "You're just too fucking blind to see what's right in front of you."

"You're just sore because you don't wanna stop having sex with me!"

Lorna had tears in the corners of her eyes, but Nicky couldn't bring herself to back down now.

"You really think that's what this is about?" She snorted. "Don't flatter yourself. I could have any girl in here I wanted, you're not that good of a lay."

"Yeah? Well, then, why don't you?!" Lorna gave Nicky a pathetic shove, all five-feet-zero-inches of her boiling with indignation.

"Maybe I will!"

"Fine!"

Lorna was sitting across from her at the dinner table; she didn't raise her eyes from her food as she spoke, preferring instead to arch an eyebrow at the unappetizing mush on her plate.

"So how many women you slept with today, Nichols?" The question was innocent, but Lorna's tone was clearly a challenge.

Nicky scoffed. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"That's code for exactly Z-E-R-O," Big Boo butted in, elbowing Nicky in the side.

Nicky scowled. "Yeah, which is the same number of fucks I give about what you think."

Lorna was still studiously refusing to make eye contact as she trailed the tines of her fork across her tray. "I thought you said you could have any woman you wanted."

Except you, Nicky thought, and then internally slapped herself across the face for thinking it. "Well, maybe I don't want any women today."

"Pfft." Boo burst out laughing, then schooled her expression into one of exaggerated surprise. "Nicky Nichols giving up on dykedom? What alien planet are we living on?"

"You can both go fuck yourselves," Nicky muttered, pushing her tray back and standing up. "I'm outta here."

"Hey, I think you're the one that's gonna need to fuck yourself!" Boo called after her, clearly pleased at her own cleverness. Turning back to the table, she shrugged her shoulders. "You not gonna go after her, Morello?"

"What Nichols does is none of my business," Lorna said primly.

"Bullshit. It's only a matter of time before you two are going at it again."

At the other end of the cafeteria, Nicky dumped her tray and sauntered out through the doors. She could feel Lorna's eyes on her back; taking a deep breath in, she forced herself to keep her head firmly facing forward. No looking back.

She marched her way right down to the chapel. It wasn't like she was religious, exactly. More spiritual, if she had to put a label on it. The point was, the chapel was generally abandoned during the day, except for her frequent trysts with Lorna. Although those were over now, she thought bitterly, probably for good. She could go down to the chapel and hide underneath the pulpit and finally find some peace and quiet in this godforsaken place.

Pushing the door open, Nicky was grateful to find the chapel empty. She crossed the room and huddled up behind the pulpit, closing her eyes and letting the colored light stream through the stained-glass windows onto her cheeks. Several deep breaths in and out later—she could attribute that skill to Yoga Jones—she felt much calmer.

And then she heard the door open. Whoever came in did so quietly—and there was none of the telltale giggling that signified a couple coming to get it on—but Nicky still cursed under her breath. She really, really wasn't in the mood.

The footsteps approached slowly, cautiously, and then Lorna's head was poking around the corner of the pulpit.

Nicky couldn't help the irritation in her voice. "The fuck are you doing here." It wasn't even a question.

"Oh, don't be like that."

"Like what?" Nicky growled.

"Nicky, baby…"

"Don't you dare 'baby' me right now, Lorna."

Lorna nodded, biting her lip, then gestured to the floor beside Nicky. "Can I sit?"

She took Nicky's non-committal shrug as an invitation. With a little sigh, Lorna sat down next to Nicky, close beside her the way they usually sat. But Nicky flinched away; she couldn't touch Lorna right now. Their closeness always had to be on Lorna's terms, and Nicky was tired of it. She was tired of the fact that it was somehow okay for her to fuck Lorna, to see her most intimate places, but she couldn't so much as hold her hand without Lorna fleeing the scene.

God, and she'd known this was a bad idea from the very start. Even before the first time they'd slept together, Nicky had known her feelings for Lorna were dangerous. She'd known that having sex with her would only seal the deal. Of course Lorna would never reciprocate, not the way she wanted, anyway. But Nicky had let herself do it regardless. And now look at her… it had been a full two weeks since Lorna had ended things, and Nicky was still a fucking mess.

"Can we just talk?" Lorna's voice was quiet, pleading. Her big brown eyes were fixed on Nicky's with something close to desperation. "I miss you."

"Oh, really?" There was a cruel edge to Nicky's tone.

"Yes, really."

"How much?"

Lorna frowned. "What?"

"How much did you miss me?"

"I don't—" Lorna began to say, but Nicky cut her off.

Turning to face her, Nicky aggressively pulled Lorna's mouth against her own. The kiss was feverish, desperate. Lorna gave a little yelp of surprise as Nicky's fingers twisted roughly through her hair, but then she leaned into the kiss, moaning into Nicky's mouth as she opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. Nicky could taste the waxy flavor of Lorna's lipstick, feel the way Lorna's breathing quickened. She pulled back, dragging her teeth across Lorna's bottom lip and leaving the brunette panting.

"I said, how much did you miss me?"

Nicky could see something primal flickering in Lorna's eyes and felt a stab of satisfaction when Lorna whispered, "So much."

"Prove it," Nicky murmured, capturing Lorna's lips again. She felt Lorna's hands come up to cup her cheek; the gesture felt almost romantic, so Nicky pulled away. If all Lorna wanted was the sex, then that was all she would get.

"Nicky…" The way Lorna whimpered her name was enough to make Nicky want to let out a moan of her own, but she resisted the urge.

"Tell me what you want."

"You," Lorna gasped.

It was manipulative. Nicky knew it was, and yet she couldn't help herself. She slid her hand down the front of Lorna's body and into her pants. "Say it again."

"You, Nicky." Lorna's breath was ragged already. "I want you."

It didn't take Nicky long to bring her to climax. She'd had a lot of practice, after all; it wasn't like these last two weeks had made her any less in tune with Lorna's body.

"Sounds like you missed me a lot," she said as soon as Lorna had regained her breath.

The brunette didn't respond. There was a thoughtful, faraway look in her eyes; Nicky just watched her for a long moment. She didn't know if what she felt for Lorna was tenderness or hatred, whether she wanted to kiss her again or to watch those perfect, pouty lips screw up into a pathetic little grimace as the tears fell freely down her cheeks. The knot in Nicky's chest wound itself up even tighter, twisting as painfully and restlessly as heartburn.

Then Lorna shifted, straightening herself up against the pulpit and turning to face Nicky. "Do you blame me?"

"What?"

"For wanting a real relationship."

The air in the room felt suddenly hollow, every last molecule of oxygen sucked out of Nicky's lungs. She wanted to be angry, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she found that the rage burning through her body had been extinguished. Only sorrow, twisting like acrid smoke, was left behind. She could feel it sting her eyes, but she refused to let herself tear up.

It was just so fucking unfair, wasn't it? Nicky had made all these gestures—the lipstick, the days spent cuddled up with her in the common room, even the fucking Valentine's Day picnic—and yet Lorna couldn't see it. She would never be able to see it the way Nicky did.

Maybe she really was just that oblivious. That was what Nicky wanted to think, but she was sure even Lorna Morello couldn't be that blind. Funny, wasn't it, how Lorna could believe in fairytales and still think that what she and Nicky had together wasn't fucking real.

Nicky wanted to shout it at her. At least then she'd know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lorna knew what she felt, knew how much of a hold she had on Nicky's heart and still didn't give a fuck. Maybe it would be better that way. At least then there wouldn't be hope.

But Nicky was weak. If she said anything, Lorna would run. And if Lorna ran… well, the last two weeks had been as close to hell on earth as anything she'd experienced, short of withdrawal. Saying anything real would only mean wasting her breath and losing even the little part of Lorna she was still holding onto.

So instead, Nicky just chuckled, her breath stirring up the tendrils of Lorna's brown bob as she lied through her teeth. "Of course I don't blame you, kid."

"Hey, there," Lorna says, and Nicky forces herself to look up at her. "You're really being a bit of a downer."

Oh, and isn't that rich? "I'm sorry," Nicky says, trying to keep her voice level, "is my mood not up to your standards? No one asked you to plop yourself down right in front of me."

She has no patience for this, not anymore. Everything has finally begun to sink in. Nothing is the way it had been before. Before they'd taken her to Max, she'd had a family. She'd had her sobriety, her sanity, her confidence. She'd had Lorna—maybe not in all the ways she'd wanted, but even so. They had been together.

And then Lorna had had to go and get married while she'd been gone.

"I'm sitting here 'cause we're all friends," Lorna is saying with maybe a touch of impatience in her tone, and Nicky can't help but scoff.

"O-kaay, is that what we are now?"

As though Lorna hadn't shouted that 'I love you, too' when they'd been hauling Nicky down to Max. It had been a shitty situation, but hearing those words had given Nicky so much comfort during those lonely nights. There had been some dark days, but she could always talk herself down from the ledge. Just survive until the end of your sentence, then you can find Lorna. Then everything will be alright. And now—what? Three months and one generic Italian man later and all that has been erased? They're just fucking friends again, the way Lorna has always wanted.

Lorna is looking at her with something akin to sympathy. "You need to stop blaming me for finding someone, hon."

And god, if that little term of endearment doesn't just burn. She can't even formulate a proper response. "Mm-hmm."

"It's not like my feelings for you just went away."

Nicky's head is whirling; she's not sure if it's the drugs or the fact that Lorna has actually used the word "feelings" in reference to their relationship, because that's gotta be a first. But she can't bring herself to feel the little glow of triumph she should feel at hearing Lorna say it. Instead, Nicky lets her anger take the reins.

"But I didn't just jump into the first pair of Mookee pants that came along."

"I have no idea what you did, but you sure as fuck did something," Lorna says, "because you can't keep your head up right now."

"Don't try to change the subject, okay?" Nicky makes a little sound of disgust. She's trying to understand, but her brain isn't working right and she's so furious and betrayed and heartbroken and—"It's been, like, months, and how do you even meet someone, let alone get married—"

"Okay, stop. Stop it! Stop it." The look in Lorna's eyes is wild; her voice betrays her anger, and Nicky gets a little swell of satisfaction at the reaction she's finally getting. "You left. You were the one who left, alright? I didn't know if you were coming back. And it's your fault, because you love heroin more than you love me!"

That one hits Nicky where it hurts. "For your information, I was clean at the time," she grinds out through gritted teeth, "you peanut-brained, fickle-hearted whore."

Lorna's shocked, slightly hurt expression doesn't give her any pleasure. And then Red's there, hovering over the table, and Nicky doesn't know what to do with herself. She rolls her eyes, sticks her tongue out, hardly aware of her own emotions and even less aware of her physical body.

And then Lorna stands up and says, "She's on drugs, Red," and Nicky rolls her eyes and says, "Oh, God," because really, what should Lorna care? Why should any of them care? Nicky has come back and Lorna's married and Piper's suddenly a white supremacist and Red's pretending like she can't see that Nicky's about to go under for the last time, and really, why does it matter? Fuck all this shit. She's done.

"What, are we all gonna pretend this isn't happening?" Lorna asks.

Nicky stands. She doesn't even pick up her tray, just turns and walks aimlessly out of the cafeteria without another word.

She wanders for a while before she ends up in the chapel. She doesn't go to sit behind the pulpit this time; there are too many memories there to haunt her, and what Nicky wants to do right now is forget. Instead, she takes a seat in the third row, closes her eyes, and lets everything wash over her.

It's strange. She should feel good—that's what the drugs are supposed to do, after all—but all she feels is empty. And isn't it ironic. Her mind is hazy, and yet everything is so much clearer than it used to be.

It's not like my feelings for you just went away.

Lorna knows. She knows Nicky loves her and at least some part of her loves Nicky back. And now it's just too late because of Max and the heroin and Vincent-fucking-Muccio, and Nicky knows she's fucked up but doesn't know how she can fix anything because it's too damn late for that. She drops her head into her hands and wishes she could cry because she knows why Lorna can admit it now when she couldn't before. It should feel like a victory, but it doesn't.

Lorna can finally admit that her feelings are real because she won't have to follow through anymore. Because she's fucking married. So even if she says she loves Nicky now, it will be hollow. It won't count. I-love-you-too isn't a promise anymore because Lorna's given herself to Vinnie, and somehow that erases all her history with Nicky, makes her into Lorna's first-and-only-girl-crush, nothing more. She's a footnote in Lorna's sexual playbook now. But it's not about the sex—with Lorna, it never had been just about the sex, and that's what stings the most.

You're really telling me you didn't miss me at all?

Nicky remembers the first time she'd asked that question, the way she'd made Lorna answer it. Lorna had given in so easily back then.

Of course I missed you. But that was because I was worried about you.

This time it hadn't worked. This time, Nicky had leaned in and told her she was there, she was the one who could touch her, she was the one who could make her feel good. And Lorna had turned away.

Vinnie and I, we have a future.

As though it's not just the same fairytale bullshit as Christopher all over again. God, it's always like this, it always has been like this. Nicky imagines Vincent swaggering into the visitation room. She imagines the way Lorna's face lights up when she sees him for the first time, the way those brown eyes fill with a kind of curious hope. She watches Lorna fall into his arms, closes her eyes and pictures their wedding-day kiss. She hopes it was as romantic as Lorna had always dreamed it would be.

Lorna can't have met him more than a handful of times. And yet somehow, it's Vinnie she has a future with. Not Nicky—not the person who had held her on the stairs that day after Christopher had come to visit, the person who had made her Valentine's Day dreams come true, the person who had been there for her from the very beginning. It's Nicky who knows Lorna better than anyone else, the only person who knows all the twists of her beautiful, crazy mind and has never once held it against her. And Lorna has seen Nicky at her worst and still managed to stay at her side. They're all kinds of fucked up together, but at least they're not as fucked up as they are when they're on their own.

Nicky has told Lorna so many times, in so many ways, that she loves her. But no, none of that is fucking real enough for Lorna Morello to imagine they could ever have a future together.

Nicky can feel the tears at the corner of her eyes, and she lets them fall this time. There's no one here to see. Lorna's married, and Nicky doesn't want it to feel real. So she does what she has always done best: she leaves the chapel in search of her next high.