Delphine had decided to take her out to dinner.
Sarah sprawled along the edge of the hotel room bed, her body propped up on one elbow. The light came through from the bathroom, casting its yellow tinge across her toes. Through the open door, she watched Delphine make herself up in the mirror. Sarah couldn't care less about the final product. In fact, she preferred Delphine without the special effects. She was the raw drama that made you shake in your boots even without 3D glasses or CGI enhancements. But Sarah had to admit, she'd developed an infatuation with the process. Each brush stroke through the hair. The mumbled curses when the eyeliner pencil slipped through her fingers. The jaw that hung open in concentration while the eyelashes crushed in the curler.
Sarah breathed softly, calmed by the rhythm of Delphine's involuntary humming. She wondered if it was some French tune that Delphine had learned while growing up. Maybe from her mother. Maybe from the other kids at school. She'd have to remember to ask her at dinner. But for now, nothing was going to interrupt the pleasure of the process.
Sarah had never had nice things in her life. She never stuck around long enough for anything to ferment, never kept money in a bank long enough for it to build interest. Even Kira was a flower she only saw blossom in separate stages. But Delphine was a nice thing. Maybe the most beautiful she'd ever seen. And while, at that moment, Sarah would've offered the blood from her own veins in place of the bright red liquid Delphine was applying to her lips, in the back of her mind, she knew how it always ended - Sarah and those nice things. The saddest part was, she was sure Delphine knew, too.
Together, they were two women who were trained to trust one thing: no one. They were secure in the knowledge that, at any moment Sarah might flip out on Delphine again, or Delphine might reveal her grand scheme. That Sarah was next. That she was 34B22, just a number, a lab rat that fell into the snare of its doctor. And yet, they were human. The illusion of normality, the bold attempts at honesty, and the reality of amazing sex were still worth the risk. Not to mention this stupid stage play of Sarah's toes dancing in the dim light while she watched Delphine comb through her knotless locks. It was all too delicious not to savor, even if it was temporary.
And so they kissed, but not for too long - careful of the lipstick! - and went to dinner.
— — — — —
Once seated at their table, Sarah looked around at the dance of the waiters performing for their customers. Her ears tingled from the clinks of the forks and the swoosh of the coats. Everyone was putting on a show, and Sarah was still merely a spectator.
She turned her neck and placed her focus on Delphine. "This is a nice restaurant, innit?"
It only took a moment for the sadness to wash over her, the strange memory of her twin sister coming back to haunt her. She blinked hard and grabbed the wine menu.
"Everything okay?" Delphine flashed her puppy dog eyes.
"'Course." Sarah smiled, glancing over the French names and descriptions. She didn't quite know what they all meant, but she felt secure for a moment with her head hidden between these pages. Wine. Yes, grapes were something she'd stick around long enough to see ferment.
Delphine gently pulled the menu down to the table. "I want to see you. Not this leather binding."
"You pick," Sarah said, handing the menu over to Delphine. "Your choice."
She watched Delphine bite the inside of her cheek as she searched the menu. Sarah was overwhelmed by how beautiful she looked, and proud that she'd been able to see this lovely picture come together in the shitty hotel lighting.
Like a 14-year-old boy toying around with X-ray goggles, she thought also about how gorgeous Delphine was underneath the clothes, how everybody around them could tell, too. Literally and otherwise, Sarah saw through the makeup and the jewelry and the cashmere. How could they dress up and play "date night" when days ago they'd been ripping sheets apart and drowning in each other's sweat and tears?
It was a game Sarah wasn't sure she wanted to play, and so her appetite vanished.
The waiter came over to ask about the wine selection. Delphine leaned into him and pointed a sharp, black fingernail at the one she wanted. He winked at her, swiftly grabbing and closing the menu with one strong motion. "Oui." Delphine smiled. "Merci."
This was quite obviously Delphine's world. One in which men were disarmed by mere glances instead of hard punches, in which the right wine could make or break your night.
"You look uncomfortable," Delphine said, glancing around.
"I'm excited for the wine," was all Sarah could manage to say. But it was true. A few glasses and she'd been fine.
"And the food!" Delphine added.
"All you."
"You're not eating?"
"I'm eating." Sarah could fathom putting anything in her stomach. "But you - you choose."
"What do you like?"
"Anything. Up to you."
Sarah wanted to be charming, but she lacked the saliva to form words, so she decided to wink at Delphine instead. It was, without a doubt, unbelievably awkward.
"What in the world," Delphine whispered, "was that?"
"Something in my eye."
Delphine giggled. She mimicked Sarah's wink right back at her.
"Well, he did!" Sarah extended an arm towards the waiter, who was taking orders at another table. "You liked it."
"I'm not here for him. I'm here for you."
"And I'm here for you!"
"And I liked that he offered us a complimentary drink because they were out of the wine that I wanted."
Delphine lowered her voice. People were looking at them.
"I wanted to take you out for you. Not for me. If you're not having a good time, let's go somewhere where you will."
The image of Delphine's hotel room popped into Sarah's mind, still misty from the perfume, the bed unmade from when they turned housekeeping away. That was the only place she wanted to go. She'd be kidding herself otherwise. They weren't a couple. They had no foundation in romance. Theirs was a hotel-room love, parenthetical and private, strengthened by fucking and weakened by feeling.
"Yes," Sarah said, tearing at some bread in the basket. "I'd rather."
"Rather…"
"I'd rather go."
Delphine raised her eyebrows. "Oui." She placed her napkin on the table and sat back.
The bread stuck to Sarah's tongue and she made a face. "Iths sthale," she struggled to say.
"Say again?" Delphine had picked up that little saying from Sarah. "Stale...?"
She nodded. "Sthale."
A dry piece of bread fell out of Sarah's mouth and onto the table. Delphine cracked up, her body rocking back and forth in the chair, a hand pressed against her diaphragm. She laughed so fully that the waiter came over to see if everything was all right. Despite her noticeably cheery disposition, she told him that she wasn't feeling very well and that they had to leave.
Sarah found herself overjoyed to exit the dance and take a gulp of the fresh evening air, Delphine's arm snaked through hers.
It wasn't until they got back to the hotel room that Sarah realized how kind Delphine's last gesture at the table had been. Delphine hadn't blamed Sarah. She hadn't even taken the opportunity to fake-blame her. She took the fall for the dud of an evening and wrapped it all in a bow with a wispy signature across the bottom of the check. She'd gone through with buying the bottle of wine and took it back with them. If it was tacky or unexpected etiquette for a fine dining establishment, neither cared. They just had each other, the fermented fruit, and the endorphins.
Delphine's head lay across Sarah's lap as Sarah flipped through fuzzy channels on the old television. Cop show. Commercial. Cop show. Bad movie. Soap opera. Boring. Boring. It was all boring compared to the alternative activity. Still, Sarah kept pressing the remote until Delphine's raspy voice cried out, "Arrête!"
"Huh?"
"Stop! There."
Sarah clicked backwards until Delphine gave word. It looked to be an old film that Sarah couldn't recognize. Black and white. Or maybe that was just the fading quality of the hotel television.
"Mon préféré," Delphine said, stretching her neck to look upwards into Sarah's eyes. "My favorite. Well, when I was younger."
"I don't —"
"Shh, shh, shh." Delphine raised her arm and stuck a finger on Sarah's lips. Sarah's face lit up. She bit the finger playfully. "Just watch," Delphine said, turning back towards the screen.
The music came crackling through the speakers, a familiar song to accompany an unfamiliar sight. Sarah did know this. From somewhere. And as Delphine started to hum along with it, her throat vibrating against Sarah's thigh, the brunette remembered - the image of Delphine painting a picture on her face, the rhythmic motion scored by her curious little song. The song she sang to herself in the mirror. Only now, Sarah's fingers replaced the brush bristles that worked their way through those blonde locks. And they hummed together, Sarah slowly picking up the easy rhythm.
Delphine lifted herself to Sarah and placed a kiss on her head. There was no lipstick to impede this time. As it should be. Sarah closed her eyes and found Delphine's lips. They sank into each other, arms gliding under clothes and over skin. Syncing their breath and motion together, they tasted like wine and cigarettes, and felt curiously like home in the middle of nowhere.