They had a sleepover routine and, as drunk as she was, Karma still clung to it.
They couldn't sleep apart, not when they could be together, the closer the better (and yes, Karma saw now how glaringly obvious that should have been) and, most importantly, no one slept before night-noon.
That was what Amy had called it, at eight-years-old, when the 'middle of the night' actually meant the middle and she informed Farrah in no uncertain terms that the two of them would be staying up as late as they wanted.
"That's the rule, mom," she said. "No one sleeps before night noon. Or gets up before real noon."
So say we all.
It became their rule and their challenge, almost a competition. No sleep till night noon (which, as the years went on, changed to one then two then three in the morning) and no waking before real noon. Except on school days. Or if Farrah bought doughnuts for breakfast.
"On doughnut days," Amy said, "sleep can go fuck itself."
And so it went, for hundreds of sleepovers, maybe even thousands (Karma had tried to do the math once but it only made her head hurt) and no matter the challenge and no matter how much she hated to lose (and she so did), Karma fell first every time.
Except, she supposed, the one time (and in the one way) that actually mattered.
Sleepovers always ended the same, with the two of them cuddled on the bed, sharing the one blanket or, in the summer heat, the one thin sheet. Karma's head would rest on Amy's chest with the blonde's laptop between them, playing House Hunters or Dance Moms or whatever nightmare inducing documentary Amy had finally convinced her to watch.
Karma always fall asleep first and then always (always) found herself awake first, sometime in the real middle of the night, long past night noon but too early for the sun or the rooster (and fuck how they'd giggled the one time Farrah called it a 'cock') and beyond too early for Amy. Her best friend, Karma had discovered, slept the sleep of the dead and that left her alone in the dark, with her thoughts.
Like that could end well.
Karma never slept well, not ever. Her mind… it was always going, always digging at something, always working one of the million things that whirled around in it during the day. Then, she had things to distract her, things she could focus on to keep the worry-hounds at bay. But in the middle of the night, with night noon well behind her and the sun far from near?
The middle of the night wasn't Karma's friend. And college and moving away and starting her own life had done nothing to change that.
By the time Amy came to visit her that weekend (and it would always be that weekend in her mind, forever and ever, amen) Karma hadn't had a decent night's sleep since… well… since the last time Amy came to visit. And it wasn't like Amy being there made her sleep (nothing did that) but there was something… something about Amy being there that just made it… easier.
So many nights Karma had woken up before Amy and just stayed there, cuddled against her, just staring at her She'd spent hundreds of hours on hundreds of nights staring at the vague shadowy outline of her best friend's face in the dark. Staring and studying and memorizing (and yes, she should have fucking seen it or at least not ignored it) and talking. She had entire conversations with Amy that the blonde never heard, but it didn't matter.
More sleep or not, Karma never felt even half as refreshed as she did after a night with Amy.
That night (and it only stayed that night for twenty-four hours or so, until it was replaced by THAT night), the night of the touches and the 'missed you's' and that fucking rock, was no different. Amy helped her to make the long walk (and it seemed so fucking long, the longest walk Karma could ever remember) from bathroom to bed. She got Karma settled safely under the blanket and then turned, her intention to give Karma room, to sleep in Ashlyn's empty bed.
"No," Karma croaked. She held up the blanket. "Under," she said. Amy resisted, briefly, but Karma held fast (mostly because she was almost asleep already) and the blonde finally gave in and scooted under the blanket. Karma slid closer, almost on instinct, letting Amy's embrace swallow her up, their legs tangling under the blankets and hands slipping together.
Karma was out in moments.
And awake again in hours.
That night was no different than so many others, except maybe darker (no ceiling stars and Ash's blackout drapes brought new meaning to pitch black) but that didn't matter, not to Karma. She didn't need the light to see (to know) every inch of Amy's face. And she didn't need to see Amy to feel her there, wrapped around her, protecting her from the world.
But that night was different, so very different. It was the first night Karma didn't run from it, that she didn't pretend it wasn't happening, that she didn't (for the sake of their friendship, of course) wish it away.
It was the first night she said it.
"This is what I want," she whispered in the dark. "This is what I always want."
There's that saying about the truth and it setting you free. Karma didn't feel much freer (not with that fucking rock so close by) but she felt… less. Less burdened. Less weighed down. Less exhausted. It was tiring work, she could finally admit, holding that all in, lying so long. Letting it out, admitting it… it felt good. It felt right. It felt like… like…
The end.
Fuck.
Just… fuck.
She knew it then, knew it for what it was. That moment, that night, that fucking rock, they were all screaming the same thing at her. This was it. She'd thought it in the cab earlier that night, that this was it, the moment she could never take back.
This was that moment. Even if Amy never heard a word.
Karma knew then the most simple of truths. She could go right on feeling what she was feeling, she could go right on wishing for it, she could pine after Amy every single day for the rest of her life (and she so would) but it didn't matter.
Amy wouldn't be doing it with her.
This… this wasn't like before. This wasn't like the other times. There would be no secretive longing looks, there would be no band-aids over her real feelings. Amy was done.
Done.
Karma could hear her breathing. Slow. Steady. The sleep of the dead. And maybe (not maybe) that was what gave her the strength.
"It killed me," she said. "When Reagan came along. It fucking killed me."
She looked down in the dark, down to where their joined hands rested between them. Karma remembered once, as a kid, trying to pull away in the night, but Amy wouldn't let go and fuck why couldn't that still be true?
"It wasn't… I wasn't like that. Not at first," she said. "I was happy for you. I had Liam and you had someone who could give you what I…"
Couldn't. Wouldn't.
"And then there was Communal and you said it. I was in love with you." Karma squeezed her eyes shut, trading one darkness for another. "It makes me sound so horrible and selfish and maybe I was. But when you said that… I hated her. I fucking hated Reagan and I still fucking hate her and I always will and I know it wasn't her fault but I don't care."
Karma rolled, settling onto her back and staring up at her dark and starless sky. "I always knew," she said. "I always knew how I felt about you, really."
Just say the fucking words.
"I knew the moment you told me at the wedding," Karma said. "Maybe even before. But… it was the moment he said it. That was when I knew just how fucking screwed…"
Wake up. Please, Amy.
Tears pooled in her eyes and Karma blinked them away. "Liam Booker said he loved me. In front of everyone. And that was the dream, right? That was the moment I'd waited my whole life for." Her grip tightened on Amy's hand. "I'd changed him. I'd changed the biggest player in school with my love and he loved me back and everyone heard it and it was all exactly how it should have been, it was fucking perfect except all I could think was why they fuck wasn't he you?"
She let out a long shuddering breath and (somehow) slipped her hand from Amy's.
"I wanted you to be in love with me," she said. "Then. Now. Always. Even if I could never say it back, even if I could never show you." Her hand felt cold. "You have to believe me, you have to," she said. "I wanted it, Amy. I wanted you."
Karma untangled their legs and slid herself across the bed, unable to bear touching Amy for one more second that wasn't her touching Amy.
"I didn't want to be alone in it," she said. "I didn't want to love someone who didn't love me. So instead I made you think you were alone in it and then I acted like a jealous brat when you found Reagan and then Maisie and now… "
Now I'm alone in it. Forever.
Karma turned, slipping her legs off the bed and letting her feel hit the floor. "I promise," she said softly. "I promise this time I'll be better. This time I won't make you feel guilty or like you're hurting me and I won't kiss you in any pools or run trains over your heart."
She stood, wobbling slightly, bracing herself against the bed until the room stopped spinning around her.
"I promise," Karma said. "I promise I'll be happy for you. I'll be the best friend you deserve and help you plan the wedding and… hell… I'll make Maisie like me. Somehow."
Karma took one step and paused. This was it. Her last chance and it didn't matter and it wouldn't change a thing but she had to. She couldn't not say it.
"I promise, Amy. I promised that I'll love you till the day I die. But you will never know."
She padded off into the bathroom, the night and the room far too dark for her to see in, far too dark for her to see Amy's eyes.
The ones that had been open the whole fucking time.