Disclaimer: I don't own The Worst Witch. Inspiration for this chapter came from 'Secrets' by One Republic.
A/N: Apologies for the *slight* delay but I have finally got here. This is technically the finale but still got the (potential) M rated chapter to go and also a sort of epilogue as well. I just want to say a huge, huge thank you to everyone for their kind reviews, favourites, and follows on this story.
It means a lot that people are interested in my version of Constance and Imogen. Or "Cimmy" as I christened them a while back… ;)
*Sammi hits publish and goes and hides in secret hideaway cave of self-doubt before she changes her mind. Again*
Love in The First 39 Degrees
Chapter 17
"He'd been going on for months. He was fixated. He was obsessed; he just would not stop… every date, our every conversation, everything! It always led back to you! I told him he was wrong, god, I told myself he was wrong, but he just wouldn't listen; he was like a dog with a bone. He kept saying it and saying it, over and over-"
"Saying what, Imogen? What did Serge keep saying?"
"THAT YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HER, IMMY!"
For a moment, no one spoke. No one moved; no one dared even breathe. Time seemed to stand still as the two women simply stared at each other. It would have almost been funny if emotions hadn't been running so high.
The adrenaline that had been coursing through Imogen's veins only seconds before — the same adrenaline that had been fuelling her outburst — seemed to disappear almost instantly, leaving her body as quickly as it had entered and as her mind caught with up what had just happened, she begun to wish that it had taken her with her.
What had she done…?
She had tried to stop but to no avail.
It was as though she had been but a mere spectator in her own body, only able to watch on as this crazed loon who looked exactly like her had ranted and raved, inadvertently spilling out a truth she probably should have kept to herself.
Yet, at the same time she couldn't deny that she felt…lighter, somehow; she felt free. Realising she longer had to play pretend with Serge, finally admitting to herself that she did harbour strong feelings for-
"Constance!"
She had forgotten that the woman in question was in the room. In fact, she was flabbergasted to find that she was still in the room, thinking that by now she would have run a mile. Just because she hadn't left the room yet though, it didn't mean that she wasn't still planning to. Ordinarily, Constance's face was totally impassive, her emotions carefully contained behind her mask of indifference, leaving you unable to tell what was going through her mind, but not this time…
'Freaked out' is how the girls would have described it.
The witch was like a deer caught in the headlights, her eyes wide and filled with fear, the little colour she did have rapidly draining from her complexion like sand in a timer; she opened her mouth to say something but no words came out.
Pulling her dressing gown tighter around her slender frame, Constance shyly stepped forward, her right hand raised. As the almighty sorceress started towards her, the blonde could not help but feel extremely nervous.
Whatever was she going to do to her?
Hex her?
Hit her?
It seemed that she didn't have to wait long for her answer, nearly falling over in shock as Constance's trembling hand reached out and gently started to caress her cheek, the elegant digits running along the tanned jawline.
The blonde let out a slight whimper; it felt so right.
She had to be dreaming; there was no other logical explanation. Yes, she was definitely dreaming. Surely, any minute now, her blasted alarm would go off, telling her that reality beckoned. And if reality would soon beckon, then she owed it to herself to make the most of this fantasy... Closing her eyes, the PE teacher savoured every inch of the moment; her skin practically burning in desire with what the brunette was doing to her.
It felt so good; so, so good
Suddenly, and without warning, she felt the witch withdraw her hand from her face as though she had just been stung. Slowly, she opened her eyes, her green irises instantly coming face to face with terror-flooded brown ones as the potions mistress had obviously realised just what she was doing.
Constance's hand was over her mouth as she shook her head, tears spilling uncontrollably down her porcelain cheeks.
"No….I can't. I'm sorry."
"Wait, Con-"
Imogen took a step forward, in a futile (and in hindsight stupid) attempt to try to reassure her. The minute she did, Constance took one more back, desperate to create some distance, half-collapsing against the wall, before she did the only thing she knew she could.
She vanished.
"I want you. I-I want…us."
The answer to the question was unexpected — she was honestly not sure which of them was more surprised — but it was not unwelcome, far from it.
The silence was unbearable as it seemed, to the witch at least, to go on forever. Her inner demons relishing in the opportunity to gloat once more, seemingly never tiring of humiliating her.
'Oh, Constance; you stupid, stupid bitch… you have just made things one million times worse. Her silence says it all — of course she doesn't want you. I mean…who would?!'
...You should have just kept your mouth shut; you should have left this pond the minute she sat down; you should have been firmer when you told her that you didn't need her help that week; you should-'
"Well, it looks like I owe Davina that crate of yaks milk as for once we agree on something."
The words had barely left her lips before the brunette pounced on her.
Her kisses were intense and almost bruising as she nipped on the edge of the blonde's lip, trailing kisses down her neck and collar bone; sucking at the tanned skin before gently biting down and marking her territory, telling the world that she was hers and hers alone. The blonde's back arched in ecstasy as the manicured fingernails ran down her back, feeling the heat pool between her legs as the witch whispered in her ear exactly what she wanted to do to her.
Suddenly, Imogen's brow furrowed in confusion as she wondered the relevance of such a word in what was a rather heated moment. She blinked, slowly returning herself to reality.
Of course Constance hadn't just kissed her.
Not when she was still sat on the grass, looking like she wanted to throw up, her eyes flitting about wildly as though she were looking for the nearest escape route, clearly having forgotten that she had the ability to dematerialise at the drop of a hat.
"Why?"
The witch repeated her question as she toyed with a daisy that she had picked from the grass, subconsciously stripping it of its petals as her nerves got the better of her — it was an action that reminded Imogen of the game she used to play when she was younger and starting to develop crushes as her hormones had begun to change.
One petal.
'She loves me'.
Two petals.
'She loves me not'.
One by one, the petals continued to fall, each one delicate and graceful as it danced in the slight breeze before being carried off into the wind. Soon there was only one petal left.
'She loves m-'
The flower was suddenly tossed to one side, leaving the gym-mistress wondering if the sorceress had in fact been playing the exact same game as herself and more importantly, if she had, what did she make of the outcome?
"Why would you want someone…like me?"
"Honestly? The fact that you're a witch, Constance, it doesn't bother me in the slightest. In fact-"
"No, Imogen, that's not what I-," the older woman sighed, biting down tentatively on her bottom lip in a bid to keep her rapidly diminishing composure intact. She still had one finger wrapped tightly around the reins of her infamous iron-tight control and had resolved not to let it slip from her grasp, knowing that if it did, she would shatter completely, "You could have anyone so why on earth do you want damaged goods?"
Despite her best efforts to contain it, her voice cracked; the end of the sentence coming out as more of a whisper lost in the ether. In the blonde's ears though, it rang loud and clear, and she wanted nothing more than to take this tragically beautiful woman in her arms and give her the validation that she so desperately needed.
"You aren't damaged goods."
"Oh, I think we both know that I am." Constance said quietly; admitting to someone else, perhaps for the first time in her life, that she was not as infallible as they all believed her to be. Her dark eyes were so full of self-loathing as she dared the other woman to disagree with her.
Imogen didn't know what to say. She still found it hard to believe that a woman who was beautiful and strong and intelligent beyond belief — a woman who outwardly appeared to have so much confidence and bravado — held such a low opinion of her own self-worth.
"Still," the witch continued on, unsure whether or not she was still talking to the blonde or just to herself now, "maybe it's no more than I deserve; what goes around and all that. Don't give me that look, Imogen. You know the story as well as I do: this isn't some happily ending fairytale and I am certainly no princess."
"You're right," Imogen said in agreement, "you're not a princess but you aren't the evil queen either, Constance."
The snort of derision she received in response told her all she needed to know: the brunette did not share in her sentiment.
"Sorry to disappoint but I'm sure Mildred Hubble and her cronies — and indeed the majority of the school — would disagree with you there."
The potions mistress gave a little satisfied smirk in knowing that she was right before she realised the implications of being so. Her smile seemed to freeze for a minute before it fell, her expression returning to one of a deep self-hatred.
"I'm serious!", the P.E teacher exclaimed, determined to persevere. All right , so maybe this wasn't how she had imagined this conversation going — not that she had ever imagined having this conversation — but if this is what she had to work with, then so be it… "Do you know what I thought when I first met you?"
The witch merely raised an eyebrow in response, "I can hazard a guess."
Deciding just to let the comment slide or they would not get anywhere, Imogen continued on with what she had to say.
"I thought you were stubborn, bossy, headstrong — a bit like myself, I think that's why we fight so much."
"How is this-"
"I knew you were extremely intelligent and powerful but apart from that, you were a complete enigma! Every time I would think that I had finally figured you out, you would do something that would change the game entirely."
"Smoke and mirrors," Constance muttered with a nonchalant shrug as she wondered just where the other woman was going with this.
Although Imogen knew only snippets, she suspected that what she had learned about the past of her up-until-recently-mysterious colleague was just the tip of the iceberg. The way the potions mistress seemed to cope was admirable and she couldn't help but wonder that had the shoe been on the other foot, if she would have been able to play the part as well as Constance could.
"You put on a front of being this super cold bitch because you think it stops anyone from getting too close to you. It's not who you are though, not really. You aren't Broomhead and you aren't your grandmother; you care, Constance - probably more than most do. You care about the school, about the girls...about what people think of you."
On more than one occasion, she had heard the unkind comments the students made when they thought their form-mistress was not around — 'HB obviously stands for heartless bitch ' being the most common one — and knew that if she had heard them, there was not shadow of a doubt in her mind that the topic of their discussion had as well.
Constance said nothing
It was somewhat true.
Sticks and stones might break bones — specifically ribs, in the case of ex-tutors — but it was the words that had always had a far greater impact on her, those barbs and jibes capable of cutting so much deeper than any glass ever could; every criticism embedding itself in the depths of her conscious, each harsh word fuelling the fire in adding to her feelings of inferiority…failure…loneliness. It seemed no matter how hard she tried, things would just get worse until, eventually, she lost the will to try anymore. There was no point.
What was done was done.
She cursed as a solitary tear ran down her cheek and made to wipe it away but Imogen got there first. Reaching out, she gently wiped away the lone tear that had fallen from the dark eyes opposite her, somehow knowing that one teardrop was representative of so much more than a flood of tears.
"You say we know how the story goes but it doesn't have to be that way, there's still time to change the ending."
Reaching up, Constance slowly removed the tanned hand from her face but she didn't let it go. Instead, bringing it down to rest and, after a moment of hesitance and a seek of approval, gently entwined their fingers.
"I wouldn't even know where to begin." she eventually replied.
Looking down at their enjoined hands, she was surprised at how natural it felt to be holding the other woman's hand. Nice, even…
"I want to, Imogen; I do, but I've been on my own for such a long time now and…I'm scared."
It was such a brave admission.
The blonde could practically feel the fear that was radiating from the woman beside her; the ever so subtle way her hand was trembling. She squeezed it tighter, "I know that it's a big, big risk, Constance, and there's always the chance it won't work but-"
"That's not why I'm scared, Imogen. Well, yes obviously there is the chance that it won't work but," she stumbled over her words as she fought through all the mixed emotions in her brain to find the one thought that was filtering above all,"I'm more scared that...it will work."
Sensing there was more to come, the blonde remained silent.
"If I allow myself to feel that kind of happiness, it's only going to hurt more when its taken from me." Another tear fell and this one she made no attempt to wipe away.
Imogen did not fail to notice that she had said:'when' and not 'if' and felt her heart ache. Things hadn't even begun and Constance already expected the inevitable, so used was she to having any glimpses of happiness and hope destroyed at every turn.
"Hey," she said gently, "whose to say it will be taken from you? I'm not planning on going anywhere — unless you know something I don't?"
"It's all very well saying that now, Imogen, but eventually, you will leave. Everybody leaves...even *I* would leave me if I could."
The confession was heartbreakingly honest.
"Can I say something?"
"Of course you can, Imogen; it is a free country after all."
"You were dealt a rough hand, Constance, there is no denying that and I completely understand now why you are so careful but the thing about life is that its short. For some — most in fact — it is pain and struggle and heartbreak; it's faking a smile to get through the day, getting back up even though you have nothing left to give. Essentially, it sucks...but in between all the crap, there are these moments of sheer joy and that is why it was important to grab them while we can, before the moment passes us by and we're left wondering about what could have been." She smiled slightly, "The pen is right there in your hands, Constance. What do you want to do?"
Constance's heart was beating wildly in her chest as she looked down at their entwined hands, all the while her mind processing what the blonde had said. After a lifetime of loneliness, the chance of happiness — albeit with the last person she would have ever expected — was right there within her reach...all she had to do was take that leap of faith and grab it. Still, the whispers told her 'no'; the hold her own mind had over her telling her that this would only end in tears — namely hers.
The question was were they to be tears of sorrow or of joy?
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't think.
She didn't want to think anymore.
Imogen felt her heart sink as the brunette dropped her hand but she tried not to let her face show it; she had put the decision — the metaphorical pen — in the witch's hands and, if this was what she had chosen, then there was nothing left to be done.
Or was there…?
Tentatively, Constance reached out and placed her trembling hands on either side of the other woman's face, her brown eyes staring intently into the emerald green ones of her colleague. The situation was strangely reminiscent of only a few weeks before except this time there was no flu and there was no phone call from Serge to interrupt them.
It was just the two of them: Constance and Imogen; brunette and blonde ; witch and non-witch — two very different souls — sharing in one very important and life-altering moment.
"Are you sure about this?"
The witch shook her head but she didn't break contact.
'This is it…'
Time seemed to standstill as everything around them faded into nothingness; their lips inching ever closer together until, finally, they met in a kiss. It started off gentle, both women coming from a different place of unfamiliarity but as they found their rhythm, it quickly deepened in its intensity. A wave of passion that she hadn't even known existed was unleashed within the sorceress; her kisses becoming almost bruising as a result. The PE teacher let out a moan as she wound her fingers around the dark tresses and pulled her closer, neither woman wanting to break the moment of such unadulterated and unexpected pleasure.
Eventually, and somewhat reluctantly, they broke apart, their foreheads resting against one another, both breathing heavily from an increased heart rate barely able to comprehend what had just transpired.
"That was," Imogen begun, unable to even string a sentence together; her brain utter turning to mush,"...wow!"
Constance laughed, her laugh so enchantingly musical and such a sweet song to hear.
"I should really chastise you for your use of such colloquial language but, under the circumstances, I think that pretty much covers it... 'wow' indeed!"
She wasn't lying.
The sheer intensity of the kiss had made her head spin, leaving her completely giddy and creating a similar effect to that one time the girls' had slipped a love potion into her tea, but this was no potion. This was real.
In fact, this was surreal.
They sat by the pond for a while, occasionally stealing glances when they thought that the other was not looking, both reeling from what happened not so long ago, emotions in a spin as they both wondered the exact same thing.
'Now what…'
"I should probably head back, I've still got to finalise this speech for tomorrow." Constance said quietly as she got to her feet and brushed the grass from her dress.
"Right," Imogen replied as she too got up although she was unsure why. Her green eyes failed hide her disappointment despite knowing that things would not do a 360 just like that.
Seeing the look in her eyes, almost as though she could read her thoughts, Constance shyly held out her hand, the invitation accepted at once as the two women walked back to the castle but not before she had answered the burning question.
"I honestly don't know, Imogen, but I think that its maybe time to buy a new pen and see if we can find out."