There was an emergency strip on the Henry Hudson parkway for drivers who were experiencing car problems, offering them a safe place to stop and wait for help. Trish was confused when her mother ordered their chauffeur to pull over there when the car seemed to be in perfectly good working order. Speaking with her usual harsh tone, Mrs. Walker explained that she needed to make a call from the car phone and the driver needed to wait outside. He obeyed without question, and standing outside the tinted windows, he couldn't see that Mrs. Walker's hand went nowhere near the car phone.

Instead, she slapped her daughter across the face.

"Ow! Mom, what the—"

"Sleeping with her?! You're sleeping with her?! What the hell are you thinking, Patricia?!"

"H-how—"

"The help saw you! Roseanne was snooping around on Sunday morning, she must've been—she told me she went to get Jessica's trashcan to empty it, and saw the two of you lying in bed together like you were…!" She seemed too disgusted to even know how to finish the sentence, gesturing uselessly. "She's demanded an outrageous pay raise to keep from spreading the news that Patsy Walker is a dyke!"

"I'm not!" Trish retorted. "She's lying!"

"You think I don't know you'd do anything to try and undermine me? Don't lie to me, Patricia. I didn't raise you to be a liar." (No clarification came as to what, exactly, she had raised Trish to be.) "I will pay off Roseanne, and you will stop this deviant behavior. For God's sake—I know you must think this is a real lark, getting at me like this, but what are you thinking?! Do you have any idea the kind of scrutiny you will receive if anyone ever caught word of this? You'd never work again. You could never show your face in public again. Do you understand that? If you have to act out—do anything else, do whatever you want, I don't care! Drink more, snort cocaine, drive under the influence—those are things that people are willing to forgive; the people who came before you have shown us that! But this? This is unforgivable, Patsy. Don't be an idiot. Don't be a dyke. Don't you dare be a dyke. Because even if it's all a joke to you, if the public ever finds out, they will never forget it."

"Yeah?" Trish muttered. "I thought no press was bad press."

"Whoever said that clearly never had to deal with anything as sick as this." Mrs. Walker shivered, her expression still similar to one she might've worn if a skunk had just walked by. "Patsy, try to think what people would say. Not only is she a girl, she's your adopted sister!"

"Right, you've made that clear to her," Trish said heavily.

"The point is, the rest of the world thinks she is," said Mrs. Walker, looking ready to slap her daughter again.

"Woody Allen married his 19-year-old stepdaughter and his career is as good as ever!"

"So?" Mrs. Walker laughed. "Darling, I love you and you're talented, but you're not Woody Allen. But, Jesus. If he'd tried to shack up with a stepson, you can bet he'd be out on his ass. Men will be able to get away with a lot more than you, but even this is something they wouldn't dare try and get away with. Now." She took a deep breath, trying to encourage Trish to do the same. "I'm going to fix this. Obviously for image's sake I can't just throw Jessica out, so you will need to make it obvious to her that—whatever you've done is over." Her tone made it clear this was not negotiable. "I don't care how strong she is; I won't let her ruin your life and your career just because she's got a perverse infatuation with you."

"Don't call it that!" Trish snarled. "Perverse infatuation—you know what's a perverse infatuation? The drawings that men send to me in the mail! The way those guys on the crew talk about my cleavage and how you don't do anything about it! At least Jessica cares about me, and I care about her! What's so horrible about that?"

Any maternal tone Mrs. Walker had tried putting on vanished in that instant. "Grow up, honey. Boys will be boys—they're not doing anything to you, you're not being harmed in any way! Whatever Jessica's doing is incredibly damaging! Maybe we shouldn't be surprised, given those disturbing powers of hers. Never would've taken her in if I'd known she was one of those freaks."

"Don't call her that!"

"And on top of everything else, she's turning you against me! Patsy, sweetheart, how could you let her do that?"

Trish's mouth fell open, but she was lost for words. For someone so self-absorbed, her mother's lack of self-awareness was sometimes stunning. There were too many ways Trish could respond to that tone-deaf question, to the point that she was overwhelmed and had no idea where to start. Jessica had turned her against no one. If anything, Jessica had helped Trish turn to herself – to trust her voice, use her voice, even just in quiet conversation.

"You don't know a damn thing about me, you old bitch."

Mrs. Walker's jaw dropped. Trish had never sworn in front of her, much less at her, even on her TV show. Her reaction was almost immediate: she was ready to slap Trish again, but Trish had suspected it was coming and was able to grab her wrist to stop her.

"You can't slap me again. If you do, it's more likely to leave a mark, and it won't go away by the time we get to set. And furthermore, if Jess finds out what you've done, she'll break your arm off."

Mrs. Walker yanked herself free. "Jessica won't always be around to protect you, Patricia."

"I know that. I won't need her to. That was just a warning."

They sat in tense silence for a few moments, with Trish hoping that her stand was sinking in while her mother wondered if Jessica could be convinced to threaten Roseanne and keep her from talking. Eventually, Mrs. Walker changed the subject by saying, "Daniel has been talking with Jonny Driscoll's publicist, and they think it could be a productive idea to set the two of you up."

"Set us up?"

"Yes. You know Jonny's going to be launching a new show on the network in the time slot after yours, and it'd be ideal publicity. And furthermore, it'll help quash any disgusting rumors about you and Jessica that might come out."

Trish folded her arms. "You're not whoring me out. I won't do it."

"You will. We're meeting with them during your lunch break today."

"Jessie."

Jessica jumped, startled, when she walked into the Walkers' house and saw its matriarch sitting on one of the living room couches. She'd done a pretty good job of not having to look at the woman's face ever since ejecting her out of the bathroom. She wasn't fond of the smirk on Mrs. Walker's face, radiating the impression that she was pleased to have caught Jessica so off guard. Jessica adjusted the collar of her denim jacket and straightened up.

"Don't fuckin' call me that."

"Excuse me?"

"Jessie. It's like Patsy. You and your gross, cutesy little names. Don't pull that shit on me."

"Is that really the first thing you'd like to say today to the woman who took you in, has fed and clothed you, and given you a roof over your head—in the wealthiest town in the state, by the way?"

"Hm. Actually, the first thing I'd have said is that you're lucky I've been too lazy to change the batteries in my Walkman, or else I wouldn't have heard you and probably wouldn't have seen you just now."

Appearing unruffled, Mrs. Walker ignored the comment and said, "I'd like to have a little chat with you."

Jessica threw her backpack heavily down onto the floor. She folded her arms, feet apart. It wasn't an insolent move of childish defiance like Trish's cross behavior in the car; this struck Mrs. Walker more as a pose of someone who was ready to launch herself into a fight. "Yeah? I figured, given that you're here right when I got home from school. Is this the first time you've left Trish alone on set?"

Mrs. Walker just laughed. "Talk tough all you want, Jessica Jones. I know you think you have the superpowers to back it all up. But don't underestimate my powers. I could bury you if I wanted to. I could have you thrown in jail for the rest of your life if you touch me again—and you'll rot in a cell by yourself till you die, and nobody will care, and nobody will visit you."

Jessica yawned. "Why don't we leave the talking tough to me, you old cow? You're no good at it."

"I've taken the liberty of installing security cameras around this house," Mrs. Walker said, and she noted Jessica's gaze swiveling to the ceiling corners. "You won't see any of them, though. That's one of the many perks of being in show business," she said with a chuckle that made Jessica's lip curl. "Access to all the newest, showiest gadgets. Don't worry—I haven't put any of them in your bedroom, or the bathrooms. Just in places where I'll be. Where you might be tempted to follow and harm me."

"I'd never harm you unless you were posing some kind of threat to Trish."

"Yes, about that. It's come to my attention that you've developed something of a crush on my daughter."

Jessica scowled. "A crush? Look, lady, I know you think your daughter is hot shit just because she's a TV star, but—"

"Patricia confessed to it already," Mrs. Walker said, effectively shutting Jessica up. "Maybe you're too blinded by your own deviant obsession to realize it, but she was only trying to upset me by doing whatever it was she did with you. It was her attempt to rebel against me. You're just a pawn, Jessica, and she finally realized how disgusting it all was when her adopted sister come onto her with such unwanted attention."

She'd had more to say, but it was lost under Jessica's laughter. "Adopted sister? Come on. You've made it pretty damn clear to me—not to mention Trish—that I'm anything but a member of this family. And furthermore, you must be stupider than I thought if you think I'd believe anything you say about Trish." She scoffed. "I know her a hell of a lot better than you ever did."

"Oh, really? When you've known her less than a year and I've known her for her entire life?"

"It's the quality of time, Dottie. Not quantity."

Mrs. Walker set her jaw and switched tactics again. "Regardless, Patricia owned up to your deviant behavior. I know you care about her a great deal, even if you'd like to think you have this huge chip on your shoulder and make people think you don't care about anyone. And I'm also sure that you're doing whatever it is you're doing with her partly to spite me. But let me be clear: the only one you're hurting here is Patricia. Do you want to know how I learned about you two? Our maid saw you. With a significant pay raise, she'll agree not to say anything. But if you're ever caught again, you'll ruin Patsy. She'll never be able to find work as an actor again. She'll be raked over the coals by every gossip columnist and celebrity magazine in the country. She'll be mocked, derided, vilified by the whole world—especially because, even if you don't feel this way, the world considers you to be sisters." She paused to make sure the weight of what she was saying sank in. "Don't act out to get back at me. Think of Patricia."

"I am thinking of her," Jessica snapped. "You fret about her career. That's all you think about. I'm the one who always thinks about her."

Mrs. Walker stood and walked over, and it at least gave Jessica a modicum of satisfaction to see that there was apprehension behind her would-be calm exterior. "Then, ah, perhaps we could agree that it would be best for all those involved if you were to… suddenly find an independent streak, perhaps? Decide to move out, of your own volition?" When Jessica did nothing but stare at her, she pulled a checkbook from her purse. "Name your price."

Jessica took the checkbook and ripped it in half. "Don't forget I could tear a phone book just as easily—or your spine, if I was so tempted. At the moment, I kind of feel like reaching down your throat and yanking out your vocal chords for trying to buy me off. Nope, I'm sorry. You took me in, and you're stuck with me until Trish turns 18 and can legally be free of you forever. Until then, there's only one thing you need to know about me and Trish." With a casual sigh, she stooped to pick up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. "I wouldn't leave her."

It was a little before midnight when Jessica noticed a note slid under her door. She took off her headphones and went over to read it, recognizing Trish's handwriting right away:

Looks like mom got to both of us. If you want to talk, come meet me in the backyard.

Trish was a little surprised when Jessica actually came outside to join her. Neither of them brought this up as Jessica lay down next to her on the grass.

"Your door was closed," Trish said.

"Yep."

When no elaboration came, Trish asked, "Is it always gonna be closed from now on?"

A lump rose in Jessica's throat at the anxiety in Trish's voice. She swallowed it down best she could. "It doesn't have to be. We just… kinda need to shake up our routine a bit, y'know?"

"You want to stop what we've been doing?"

"No, I don't want to, it's just…" Jessica sighed in frustration. "You are so much bigger than us, whatever 'us' even is. If we got caught again, it could ruin you. Ruin your career, ruin your life."

"I don't care. Maybe that's what I'd like! Maybe I'm sick of Patsy and wouldn't care if it all ended!"

"Trish, you're just gonna get remembered as some child star who became a—an incestuous lesbo!" Jessica said, almost laughing. "I'm not gonna let that be your legacy! Look, Trish. People listen when you say stuff. I've seen you on talk shows and I've read your print interviews. I know there's a lot of BS your publicist and producers make you say, but the stuff that's you? It's important and it deserves to be listened to."

"Have you really watched and read all my interviews?" Trish asked, as if this were the most romantic thing she had ever heard.

Jessica snorted. "Yeah, whatever. Look, don't throw all that away, all your influence for good and that crap, just because I—we…"

"Just because we might be more than friends?" Trish offered quietly.

Jessica wondered what the symptoms of cardiac arrest were. She put a hand over her heart before curling her fingers into a fist. "Jesus, Trish, get real! You're my best friend, that was our baseline, remember? Don't get carried away."

"My mom—"

"Your mom sucks, but this isn't about her. It's about you taking care of yourself. It's about dealing with intense scrutiny regarding a very personal issue. Maybe you're used to that, but not something like this. And I know I'm sure as hell not. It was bad enough being questioned about the accident after your mom adopted me; I can't imagine people trying to horn in on something like this."

Trish bit her lip, and they deliberated in silence. On the one hand, she was accustomed to being harassed by paparazzi just walking down a street. But that didn't mean she liked it. She tried to imagine being asked about this new facet of her love life, the slurs that would be hurled her way. How people might take it out on Jessica if her name or face was revealed. Obviously she could take care of herself physically if someone ever got in her face with a camera (and Trish smirked, picturing it)… but she'd never forgive herself if Jessica was dealt even more emotional and psychological pain because of her. It simply wasn't right or fair.

So, to both of them it seemed that the best route for the other's well-being was to stop fooling around.

"Maybe you should be my bodyguard," Trish mused aloud, earning a loud laugh. "Hey, I'm serious!" she said, although she too was giggling. "I might really need one soon. My mom and my publicist want to set me up with Jonny Driscoll."

That put an immediate end to Jessica's laughter. "Jonny Driscoll? They're intentionally setting you up with that ass clown? What the hell?"

"He's got a new show that's gonna be airing after Patsy," Trish said, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "So it's synergy for the network, or whatever. And they also thought dating me might soften up his image a bit."

"Uh, yeah! 'Cause he needs it! That guy's a trainwreck, Trish!"

Trish couldn't help smiling. "You know that, huh? I would've thought keeping up with celebrity exploits would be beneath you."

"It is, which is why it's big friggin' deal if even I know the guy is bad news. Big, hulking, steroid-taking—"

"Don't worry," Trish sighed. "We're not gonnabe dating for real. It's all publicity, we'll never actually be alone together. We'll be on very public dates and at very public events. Awards shows and stuff."

"Awards shows, huh?" Jessica asked, sneering. "What, is he expecting an Oscar for Butt Farts Booger Brain III?"

"Uh, it's Fart Butts Booger Brain, and there are four of them," Trish deadpanned back, and that at least got a chuckle out of Jessica. "And also, I'll have you know, Jonny's won nothing but I've gotten two Kids' Choice Awards. So clearly, I'm the breadwinner here."

Jessica didn't say anything for a while, just staring up at the stars and waiting for Trish to say something else she could react to. When nothing came, Jessica said, "So do you wanna do it? Date Big McLarge Huge?"

"No, I don't want to. But maybe it's for the best."

"Yeah," Jessica muttered. She blindly groped for Trish's hand, and when she found it, kept it in only the gentlest grasp. Casual. As if she wouldn't care at all if Trish ever let go. "You'll be careful though, right?"

"Careful? What do you think I'm going to do?"

"Nothing! I don't mean after-school-special careful, I just mean…be safe. You know if something ever happened, like—like he got drunk and crashed his car while you were in it, or he tried to take advantage of you or something—"

Trish's voice was patient: "I already told you, we won't be alone together."

But Jessica spoke over her: "—I will kick his ass. I don't care. I'll destroy him." When this garnered no response, she added, "I mean it. He even looks at you funny, or says something creepy, or makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, you tell me. I'll teach him."

"Are you jealous?" Trish asked, fighting to keep her voice neutral.

"Please," Jessica scoffed. "I just want you to keep safe is all."

(She could not help wondering about things, though. Would your mom care about what we were doing if I was a boy? Probably not. But maybe, since I'm not famous. Maybe, since I'd still be your adopted sibling. Maybe she wouldn't have adopted me if I'd been a boy. She probably thought an orphaned girl was sadder and more sympathetic. But none of this matters because I'm glad I'm a girl. And I'm glad she took me in. I'm so glad I met you. It'd be easier if we hadn't started something else, though…)

"We're friends," Jessica finally said. "Best friends, Trish. We can stay that way, right? That's enough. That's all I need."

"Okay," Trish agreed. "Do you know what might help?"

"What?" Jessica asked, desperate for anything.

"We should spend time together. Outside your bedroom, I mean. We don't even really have to go out, if that's not your style. We could play tennis or go swimming here on the grounds. We've got a pool and courts and everything."

Neither of those options appealed much to Jessica, but she wasn't about to shoot down the hope in Trish's voice. "Yeah, um, I could chill on one of those floaty pool things and draw while you swim or whatever."

"And we should get you a pass for the train," Trish went on. "Then, if you wanted to, you could come hang out on set! I have lots of down time in between takes while they set up shots, so if that's something you'd ever be interested in…"

She was almost certain Jessica's reply would be sardonic, but: "Yeah, sure. That sounds like it'd be fun."

Trish rolled onto her side and gave Jessica's cheek a swift kiss. "Good."

Before Trish could roll away, Jess snuck an arm around her and pulled her in close. They held that position for some time, this one-armed embrace, with Trish on her side and Jessica on her back, starting to shiver. Trish brought her free arm up to rest across Jessica's chest, her fingers touching Jessica's shoulder.

"Shit," Jessica whispered. "I've gotten really used to this. I like this."

Me too. Me too, me too. Trish all but ground her teeth to hold the words back. "One more time?"

They were young enough to be naïve, to hope that saying it'd be the last time would mean it'd be the last time, just like that.

Jessica slid her grip to the back of Trish's neck and turned her head to meet her in a kiss. It was a strange feeling: there was something wonderfully familiar and comforting about kissing Trish, but it was also exciting and made her stomach flip every time. Trish always did something different whenever they kissed. Nothing monumental, but tiny things that Jessica noticed and could react to, be it a different breathing pattern, or the intensity of her grip. Tonight, Trish's fingers gently caressed Jessica's cheek in a way that somehow felt like one of the most intimate things she'd ever done. Even with Trish now lying on top of her, it felt like they couldn't get close enough to each other.

"Is…this safe?" Jessica managed between kisses. "I mean—will someone see us?"

"Mm-mm," Trish murmured, nursing the pulse point on Jessica's neck.

"Wait, did you say 'mm-mm' or 'mm-hm?'" Jessica asked, and Trish sat up a little with an exasperated, but affectionate, sigh. "What? Isn't that the concern, that we'll be caught?"

"None of the staff is in the main house anymore. They're all in their cabins on the grounds. If any of them try to get to the main house, a.k.a. what we're lying outside of right now, they'll trip the security alarm. Unless Roseanne is already lying in wait in the bushes, we're fine."

"Are we sure she's not?" Jessica asked. She raised her voice a little. "Because if she is, it's gonna be pretty uncomfortable for her when I find her and yank her heart out like that dude from Indiana Jones."

"Shhh!" Trish laughed. "You'll wake up my mom."

"Shit, she's even scarier than the dude from Indiana Jones."

Trish chuckled again, then in answer to Jessica's unasked question: "After what happened with Roseanne seeing us, my mom said she's going to up security to make sure nobody gets in or out of the house before she wants them to. I think she's gonna actually hire someone to stand where we are right now, just like keeping watch with a taser or something. She was screening guys today; I'm sure she'll have one here by tomorrow."

"Geez."

"I know." Trish bit her lip, resting her hand on Jessica's cheek again. She loved the way that Jess looked at her. It wasn't with bright eyes and a wide grin; in fact, there was barely a smile there at all. It was calm. Calm, and happy. It was quiet when so much of Trish's life was filled with noise and chatter and flashbulbs going off. This felt real. This was reassuring. "Jess? If this really is the last time we… we do anything, is there anything you want?"

"Huh?"

She wasn't as shy as she'd have thought—or maybe, because the idea had only just come to her, she hadn't had the time to get properly nervous. "I mean, is there anything you want us to do that you've wanted to?"

"Um…" Jessica's breath hitch as Trish's hand wandered down to her hip, traveling slowly up her side. "Stop," she whispered, taking gentle hold of Trish's wrist. You could just tell her that you think going any further now would just make it harder to stop. Which is true. Don't be a moron. But you could also maybe tell her… it's nothing to be ashamed of… "I've been felt up on the subway a couple times," she said, and Trish instantly removed her hand from where it had strayed near Jessica's breast. "I'm sorry, it just feels weird to have your hand right there. Like, on purpose."

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you told me. I won't do it."

"Thanks."

"Is there anything else? Anything I could or shouldn't do?"

Yeah, we shouldn't be doing this. We should be stopping. It's gonna get harder, not easier.

But I thought I had more time with you.

"M…maybe you could put your mouth there?"

Trish's jaw dropped. "On your boob?"

"Ugh, it sounds so not sexy when you say it like that," Jessica groaned. "Forget it."

"No, no, I'm sorry—I just wouldn't have thought… although, I guess nobody would ever try getting away with that on a subway," she mused aloud.

A moment ago Trish's wandering hands had noticed the lack of a bra strap – which made sense, given that Jessica had been in bed. She was surprised by the boldness of this new request, but was eager to do her best to accommodate it. Trish pulled her hair up into a bun so it wouldn't get in the way, then planted her hands on either side of Jessica and leaned down, giving the tip of Jessica's breast a very light kiss through a thin shirt. A shirt so thin it might as well have not been there – at least, that was her thought as she kissed the spot again, more purposefully this time, and felt it starting to harden.

Oh, holy shit. Holy shit, Jessica thought, tensing and grabbing fistfuls of grass to keep her hands from latching onto Trish's head and holding it in place. Trish's tongue slid over her. HOLY SHIIIIIII—

There was a muffled smacking sound as Trish looked up, having felt Jessica tense all over. "Sorry, was that too much?"

—IIIIIIIIIIIT.

"Not too much," Jessica gasped. "Too real. Shit's too real."

She grabbed Trish, pulling her upwards for a rough kiss. One of Trish's legs was brought up hard between Jessica's, and with a moan, Jessica's hands found Trish's hips and pulled them into a thrusting motion. They maintained the kiss until Jessica seized up, and limply fell back onto the grass.

Sarcasm escaped her.

"Whoa," she gasped. "You're a little hellcat, aren't ya?" They both laughed a little, still breathless. "Uh. Okay. That was a hell of a way to end that part of our, uh, relationship, I guess."

Of course they both soon discovered that ending such intimacies was easier said than done; that you couldn't just shake hands and leave it at that and still try to remain best friends. They never quite neared the level they had in the backyard, or the time Trish had sought relief for herself while Jessica lay next to her.

It came in moments when they were watching TV together, when there were no staff in the room. Jessica's arm would somehow wind up over Trish's shoulder, and they might kiss during a commercial break if they were certain no one was around and they had a brief window. One time Mrs. Walker had been so sick she couldn't accompany Trish to the set, and Jessica had gone in her stead in the car. With the partition up between themselves and the driver, Trish had again rested in Jessica's arms, indulging in kissing her every so often.

Jessica finally had a moment of clarity when she saw a trade magazine with a photo of Trish and Jonny Driscoll on the cover, holding hands and smiling. The headline was gushing all over the new cute couple, and Jessica was uncomfortable with the confusing mixture of emotions swelling in her chest at the sight of it. Trish deserved more than stolen moments. And they were still risking too much.

The next morning, Trish saw a note that had been slipped under her door:

I think we should be more careful about spending time alone together. This hurts bad enough already and it's just going to be harder if we try to maintain all that other stuff. I've been having the shittiest year and I'm not religious or anything but you have felt like you're heaven-sent. And I don't mean because of the kissing. I just mean because of you. You're so amazing and if you'd still like to be friends, I want that so badly too. It's the only thing left in my life that I really cherish right now. Please don't hate me. I want us to be okay. To do that, I think we need to rip off the Band-Aid and for real just be friends. "Just"? That makes it sound like it's some kind of consolation prize. It's not. You're an incredible friend. I never thought I'd have a friend like you. It's more than enough for me. It has to be.

That was the closest Jessica ever got to an "I love you." Trish crumpled up the letter, bitter tears stinging at her eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to throw it out. She stashed it in a drawer and tried to will her sudden stomachache to go away.

Sitting on opposite ends of Jessica's bed, not touching one another, felt akin to a special brand of torture. They might as well have been divided by a gulf. At least once, Trish glanced over to see that Jessica's eyes looked red, but she didn't press it.

Their nights alone together were fewer and farther between, especially as Trish's publicist pushed her to go out more often with Jonny. She and Jessica established a habit of leaving notes under each other's doors (innocent, friendly ones, in case they fell into the wrong hands), and that became a salve to the wounds they had inflicted by repressing themselves. After Jessica had been visiting the set for a while, a cameraman's son – who would also visit after school – asked her out. He was cute and very nice, and she decided to go for it. She didn't stop to consider that it was selfish of her to use him as a distraction, but it worked, and he seemed to like it for what it was.

It took them the better part of a year, but Jessica and Trish eventually learned how to get back to being friends. Secrets were shared, jokes exchanged, and stories told late into the night – but never while lying next to each other under the covers. Trish threw herself into work to distract herself, and that did it for her for a while. A sort of dull ache resonated within them both during these times spent together, sometimes sharper than others as they mourned what they'd once shared and wondered how long it would take to get over it.

What was always worst was when Trish would go back to her room at the end of the night. She was always exhausted and would fall right asleep, but Jessica's insomnia struck her frequently in Trish's absence. She had become dependent on having someone by her side to hold, and to hold her.

Jessica never told Trish how many pillows she had inadvertently destroyed by squeezing them too hard in the middle of the night, aching for something to embrace her back.

A/N: Thanks for reading! This'll wrap up the teenage portion of this story.