I can hear the soft breathing
Of the girl that I love,
As she lies here beside me
Asleep with the night,
And her hair, in a fine mist
Floats on my pillow,
Reflecting the glow
Of the winter moonlight.
The calm voices of Simon and Garfunkel filled the room, while Lana stared at the cigarette-stained ceiling. How long had she been doing this, she had no clue.
What she did know, however, was that the sweet song on the radio had been released in 1964, the same year the journalist had gone to the asylum and consequently gotten trapped in. It was only after the brunette had shot Bloody Face and given Wendy a sad excuse of a tomb did she discover the song.
The lyrics used to remind her of Wendy; though she and Mary had already been in a relationship. But as time passed, the shadow of her dead lover gradually disappeared, leaving Lana alone with the toxic presence of the blonde nun. Lana wondered if this was how all love ends. People don't completely fall out of love, but they forget about their loved ones progressively, until they can't remember the faces of the people once they swore to protect with their lives.
Right now, the song still reminded her of the nun, with her silky blonde hair hidden underneath the coif. But there was no guarantee that someday, another person would replace the blonde, and the song would no longer be about her.
Perhaps that was the best option left for both of them. The morning after the brunette had come home drunk, Mary was acting rather strange in her presence. Although she couldn't remember anything, she could gather as much to guess something had happened.
Perhaps this was the end. If so, let it be.
Her mind came back to the reality when the radio started playing jazz. Her head hurt, probably from dehydration; she shouldn't have drunken so much coffee. Lana let out a sigh and stood up, dragging her feet to the kitchen to get more of the black beverage.
The feet stopped abruptly at the sight of the blonde, standing by the stove in a white apron. Their eyes locked for a second, before awkwardly looking away, brown eyes on the floor, and the blue ones on the pan of soup. The deafening silence was something they had gotten used to between them, but it didn't mean it was painless.
With an empty cup in her hands, Lana decided she'd be the one to break the stifling air.
"Something smells really great," she forced a smile and came closer to the taller woman. "Are you making the chicken soup?"
Mary gave her a small nod. "But I'm trying a different recipe," she answered in a whisper. "Do you, um, want to try it? I could use a second opinion."
"Oh, sure." Lana's smile got slightly bigger at the request. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other nervously as she closed the gap between the blonde.
The nun held a spoonful of the soup to the mouth of the shorter woman, her other hand below the spoon so it wouldn't spill on the floor. The ocean blue eyes were trained on the other's face, particularly on the mouth slightly open to welcome the incoming spoon. Mary swallowed hard, confused as to why such a simple action of the other could cause heat in her lower belly.
The plump lips took the spoon between them, and Lana relished the succulent savor on her tongue. Her eyes shut, she paid little to no attention to the sounds she was making. They sounded like moans, which went straight to Mary's core.
Before she knew what she was doing, the nun removed the spoon from her mouth and replaced it with her own lips. She kissed the brunette like she was the only source of life, her hands cupping Lana's cheeks. The warmth of her tongue, the taste of the soup, the nasal moans of her lover, everything was intoxicating, and Mary realized how much she had missed the woman.
The hands of the journalist gripped the other's slender waist, backing her against the dining table. She was as desperate for whatever this was as Mary was. It had been too long since the last time they had even kissed. The soapy scent of the nun remained unfamiliar to Lana, but somehow it was driving her crazy with desire. Lana's mouth travelled to her ear, kissing and sucking the skin below it frantically.
But Mary let out a whimper, and it broke the spell that neither of them noticed they were under.
The shorter woman pulled back, looking at the nun with slight confusion. The hooded eyes as shiny as the autumn sky were boring into the chocolate orbs. It was only a couple seconds, but to Lana, it felt like eternity until she finally realized it was just Mary. She felt ashamed, guilty, and angry all at the same time.
"Sorry," she mumbled, ripping their bodies apart.
"…Don't be," Mary whispered with an equal amount of disappointment. She breathed in carefully, attempting to get rid of the taste of the brunette on her lips. Turning her head around, she reached for the box placed on the table.
"This," the blonde held it out to Lana. "Take this."
"What is it?"
"Open it."
With an apprehensive look, the shorter woman reluctantly took the box before opening it to see the inside. Her lips parted, her eyes looking at the blonde and the earrings back and forth. "You kept them?" she asked quietly.
"The devil," Mary's voice hitched a little. A pathetic smile on her face. "The devil kept them." Her eyes watched Lana look down with shame and guilt. "They don't belong to me, so… You can throw them away, keep them, or give them away. They are yours now. You decide what you do with them."
The brunette bit her lip, taking air in from her nose before breathing it out. "Ok…" she nodded dejectedly.
Mary's eyes never left her lover as the shorter woman begun to go back to her office. Her vision was getting blurry by the second, and she could feel their souls growing apart at a rapid speed.
"Lana," she choked out. If this was the end, she might as well spit everything out.
The brunette span around, her eyes filled with despair and anger towards the fate. And Mary thought, she could see the same emotions in the blonde too.
"Did you- did you think Satan was capable of love? It was me who loved you. My hands might have been controlled by the devil, but it was me who said I love you every time I held you in these arms."
Neither of them spoke after that. The kitchen was simply filled with wrathful sorrow and Mary's occasional sniffling.
In Lana's office, the radio was playing a love song about two people who are destined to be together.
for those of you who wonder, the lyrics are of Wednesday Morning 3 A.M. by Simon and Garfunkel.
