It was really hard for me to finish this chapter for some reason... so sorry for the wait. Let me just say now that I have nothing personal against Emy Storey...


T:

I didn't know why I lazed around the parking lot even after Sara had left.

It had gone from sunny to overcast, and the change in weather had brought a steep drop in temperature; I found myself clutching my hoodie closer to me with each idle step around the parking lot.

I jumped through parking spaces.

I kicked the curb.

I ran my hands through my hair, replaying aimless conversations in my head as if I would suddenly have some kind of epiphany or realization and could piece back all the holes Sara and I had made. I cleared my throat as if someone was listening and grabbed my phone from my pocket.

I wanted desperately to call Sara, just to hear her voice, if anything, and my fingers hesitated over her name on my contacts list for at least a minute. My breath had unconsciously stalled under my ribcage, and when I let my phone drop back into my pocket, it broke free into the cold air.

I contemplated going to a bar and getting wasted out of my mind, but I figured I had already set a bad enough example for myself. I mean I did fuck Sara completely sober, I couldn't imagine what I'd do drunk-

"Shut up, shut up." I grumbled to no one in particular and without another word I pulled my hood up again took off at a jog on the sidewalk. My body wasn't used to the pace and I had to slow to a walk in only a few moments, and the sudden failure of my body made me feel utterly weak, like the cold air had sucked the life from me.

I had been to Montreal a few times to visit Sara, but never really made sure to memorize the roads or directions in my head. I had always been like that – unintentionally oblivious with the sole contentment of watching the world go by. I cursed that habit now, mumbling under by breath as I tried to trace the streets back to the apartment in my head. I had begun to call it the apartment instead of Sara's apartment, which still seemed strange even though I had been living there for nearly six months. Since my apartment in Vancouver had flooded and now resembled a condemned, abandoned building, I had reluctantly moved in with Sara.

I'll only be here a few weeks, I promise. I had assured her before I stuffed my suitcase into a room that wasn't mine and slept in sheets that smelt of her skin and sweet perfume. Weeks turned to months of me rendered homeless in my sister's world, being forced to sell my apartment and meander absently through the paper looking for a place, any place, to live in Vancouver. I had drawn a quick red circle around an apartment that was manageable, a haphazard reminder that I had a life on the other side of the country, that I had friends, streets I knew the name of, familiar places.

But that was months ago, and I had become so accustomed to Sara's presence and our apartment (pardon me, her apartment) that I could only shove the newspaper beneath my bed and pretend that it never existed. Sara would occasionally ask through a mouthful of cereal if I was going to move the fuck out, but I could tell by the mere timbre of her voice that she was reluctant to be alone again.

We both were.

So I stopped living out of my suitcase and pilled my clothes into dresser drawers that weren't mine.


It was dark by the time I had found my way to a familiar street. There was a hotel across the street, and it took me a moment to remember that Sara was still staying there. The thought made me sick, for I had regretted the decision the moment the words had slipped like honey from my lips.

I got you a hotel room.

I flinched at the sound of my own voice in my head, reminding me of how robotic I sounded, and how fast her face had fallen.

She's probably in her room now. I'll just go in and tell her to come home.

I anxiously twisted a strand of my hair and stuck it behind my ear. I looked up to cross the street and stopped in my tracks, nearly slipping off the curb and onto the concrete.

Sara was standing in front of the hotel doors, leaning back against the hood of a car parked on the curb. Her hand was twisted in the front of a girl's shirt, talking with a weary smile on her face, one that I prayed to be fake and forced. I didn't want to even consider the possibility that her and Emy were back together. There was no way in hell that Emy was now kissing her neck, painting an open mouth gasp on Sara's lips, making my toes squirm angrily in my shoes. Sara hadn't spoken a word about Emy that wasn't coated with scorn and pain, hell, she hardly mentioned her name anymore. She would never kiss her full on the mouth, she would never smile when Emy squeezed her hand and took off at a jog down the street.

I realized that I was shaking now, in either anger or shock or manic depression, I couldn't tell. Sara was still standing against the car, smiling coyly as if Emy was still with her. I suddenly had the urge to run to the nearest bar and drink myself into the ground; the thought made my hands shake violently and I quickly pushed the thought from my mind.

Sara had left her lonely spot by the car and I took off at a run in the direction of the hotel. I caught a glimpse of her sliding into the elevator and the blinking 3 above the closing door; I wanted patiently with tapping toes until the next ride came.

I caught her in the hall. She was fumbling for her keys with lazy hands, and it wouldn't have surprised me if she had left them on the street or in Emy's coat pocket or wherever the hell she was last. I crunched my teeth together at the bitterness in my voice; stop acting like she's yours, she's not.

"Hey, Sara-" Sara gave a yelp of surprise and dropped the key that she had finally wedged out from her purse pocket.

"Christ, Tegan, you fucking nearly gave me a heart attack." Her voice was softer than I expected, and it seemed as if our event in the parking lot had faded away. I would have prayed for that earlier in the day, but the thought of being replaced by Emy made me wish that my angry words were still squirming around in her head.

She leaned over to pick up her discarded keys and I tried to ignore the flash of her taunt stomach that the bend exposed.

"Are you okay?" She asked one she had straightened up, and a smile still played at her lips. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Her thoughts were still glued to Emily's full lips, pressed against her own.

"Come home. Please." My voice sounded more desperate than I thought possible; she noticed immediately. She shifted in her skin and cleared her throat, running her hand through her bangs that had grown too long for her liking, covering her eyes. I thought she looked good, but then again, she always did.

"Well I already made reservations for tonight-"

"It doesn't matter, we can cancel them." She was fishing for excuses and I was nearly begging. She stared at me for a moment too long before breaking into a small smile. She nodded and rushed into her room to grab her bags.

Sara led me back to the apartment with ease, and I made a mental note of which streets to take (take a left, then a right, then another right… or was it a left?). She threw her bags on the floor within moments of entering and sprawled on the couch with a sigh. I couldn't help but smile as I shut the door behind her.

"I fucking hate hotels. I missed our apartment." She mumbled into the couch pillow and I chuckled.

"You were only gone for a day-" I froze. She said our apartment. Ours as in two people living together, making coffee in the morning, sharing a couch while watching TV. I mentally screamed at myself that I was being completely ridiculous, that suddenly anytime Sara to referred to us as an us was a line for me to be loved again.

She doesn't want you. No one wants you.

She scoffed and pried the TV remote from the old couch pillows. "Whatever. It seemed longer."

I suddenly felt awkward and unwanted, standing in the foyer of her apartment, and I sent a quick glance in her direction as I walked towards my room.

"I'm going to bed." I mumbled and she grunted in response. I didn't even bother to change out of my jeans and slid into the bed that had been left undone all day due to laziness. I suffocated my face unto the pillow, I tossed and turned, I kicked off the sheets until I found myself lying on my back staring absently at the ceiling. I allowed myself a wary glance at the alarm clock.

It was 8:03 PM.

I was still too awake to sleep, and yet far too exhausted to move.

So I rolled over in my skin and let the static from the television and the evening light flickering in through the window soothe me into a night of insomnia.