Hey all! We didn't think this was birthday material, so we decided not to post it yesterday... :) But to keep the party rolling, here's another one!

Part IV: Chapter 10 - Inside My Inner Thigh

It's an incredible thing that can happen in your heart when you need someone and someone is there and gives you what you need when you didn't even think it was possible for anyone to ever want you again. That changed her in my heart, it opened such a big window for her and she came in like sunlight. And not only because I needed someone and she was there, but because her being there when I needed her allowed me to finally actually see her, who she was. She wasn't just some vague person on the periphery anymore, another fan who thought she loved me even though she barely knew me. She was someone who accepted me completely, even though I couldn't, can't, accept myself. Someone who loved me enough to give me what I needed and not even ask for more, even though that must have been painful for her, even though she deserves so much more than she gets from me. It has to hurt. But it's painful and confusing for me too because she got inside my heart too and now I don't want to make her unhappy but I don't know what I can do about it. I wish I could be with her, but I need Sara, and how could I ask Jamie to live with that, even if she still wanted me? But then, when Jamie is around me I just feel her all through me, in my heart and in my body and sometimes I just want to get into her bed with her and put my hands under her clothes but how can I do that to Sara, and how can I do that when so much of me is all filled up with the agony of needing what I shouldn't ever have? Sometimes when she's around me, I don't know, she'll start this kind of nervous talking and I just want to stop her mouth with mine and I want to feel the pulse in her throat race under my fingers because it always does but it's not fair for me to always just take what I want from her because Sara is always with me, will always be, even if she physically pulls away from me, even when we are broken apart and miserable and lost. So I can only give Jamie what is left and that's not fair and it's not enough when she should have everything, all of it. Sometimes, when we would sit together on the bus, watching TV with our feet up on the coffee table, side by side, I felt her warmth next to me and I just wanted to hold her but I didn't know if I could because it wasn't fair. It's like inviting someone to sit by the pool and telling them they can't swim. But sometimes she would talk to me about what was on TV or she would listen to me when I needed to talk or we would joke together but she was sad and I knew it and I wanted to fix it but how could I? She needs more than I have, more than I am. And other times, to tell the truth, when we were sitting next to each other, I felt her there, and I remembered her touch and the warm and tender way she kissed me and I just wanted to peel her clothes off and feel her skin and her body and the inside of her. Or when we were just casually sharing a cup of yogurt or watching her footage on her laptop together, I would remember her helping me out of the bath when I was freezing and wet and losing my mind and she dried me off and dressed me when I just couldn't do anything and she warmed me with her body and the memory of that fills me with a huge swelling wave of love for her that I wanted her to understand but couldn't explain because it's a crime to say to someone I love you and then add the word but. And so, then, I bite my tongue, sit on my hands and sometimes Sara's eyes, in my mind, settle on me, calm and soft and seeing right into me and I shiver and don't understand what I am anymore.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Tegan's jet lag knocked her out again before I was finished showering and getting dressed. The house was otherwise empty; I took advantage of the quiet to catch up on email and watch mindless daytime TV. Tegan's nearness was so distracting, even just knowing that she was asleep upstairs in my sister's room. I tried to answer my emails, but my heart was heavy and just knowing she was there. . . I couldn't focus. I drifted off momentarily, with my computer on my lap and my feet up on the coffee table. I came to at the sensation of someone lifting the computer off of me and when I opened my eyes, Tegan was there.

"Sorry I. . . thought you were going to drop it," she said uncertainly, setting the computer on the coffee table and then sitting, tentatively, next to me. It really hit me then, how sorry she was. She wasn't herself, didn't know now to be around me. I thought of all the guilt she was already burdened with and it made me sorry. The look on her face was like she'd never smile again. I missed her smile.

"Thanks," I answered sleepily, smoothing back my hair. "Did you sleep okay?" She nodded, and I took a moment to decide whether to say more or not. "Good." I paused again. "Tegan, what happened with Sara?" I asked her, feeling her reluctance to initiate the conversation. She drew her knees up to her chest, on the sofa next to me, and she looked so small, like a child. It was as if the larger-than-life figure she was on stage was just a shadow cast by candlelight. I turned on the sofa to face her. She only looked at me for a second.

"Well. . . it's done. It's over." She was suddenly very interested in a jagged edge of her thumb nail, and I watched her quietly for a moment.

"That's impossible. She needs you just like you need her," I said. She bit the corner of her nail, tried to look like the conversation was easy for her.

"Well, I don't know but I guess it doesn't matter what we need because. . . anyway she said it was a nightmare." I waited for more, for an explanation. None came.

"She said what was a nightmare?" I asked, gently prodding.

"Being with me," Tegan replied, picking at her cuticles.

"Being with you, like. . .". I couldn't say what I wanted to.

"Yeah," Tegan said with a bitter laugh.

"There's no way she meant it like that, Tegan," I said, and I could see that she was trying to be okay with the conversation. She shrugged.

"And like what's the point of. . . it's like, we're going to lose everything else anyway. Why do we have to lose each other, too?" It was a good point. I didn't know what to say to that. "She said never again. Kissed me and said, that's the last. . ." I felt my own eyes well up but Tegan suddenly got up and walked towards the fridge. "Do you have any food or. . ." She opened the fridge. I sat there, a little stunned by her words. I heard a couple of drawers open and close. She was back in a moment, sitting next to me in the sofa with a cup of yogurt. She turned the label to show me the pineapple and tried to grin, but her grin died halfway through. She peeled back the lid as we sat on the sofa, facing each other, but her face had none of the cheeky smugness of our first pineapple yogurt.

"Tegan, I'm so sorry," I began as she took a small bite of yogurt. "I'm sorry about what's happening and. . . I'm sorry about the part that's my fault . ." She licked her spoon, slowly, and nodded. Her eyes looked ready to shed tears again but didn't. She wordlessly offered me her spoon and I took it, scooped up a little of her yogurt. As always, the taste reminded me of her lips, her grin, her thighs, her blue underwear. . .

"I'm sorry too, about what I said. . ." And that was it; she sat there, spoon in her mouth as the tears came again.

"Tegan, hey. . .". I watched her wipe her eyes with her sleeve and then hand me the spoon. My hesitation over touching her eroded away when she cried. I took the nearly-empty yogurt cup and set it on the coffee table with the spoon, and put one hand on her knee. It surprised me a little when she then took my hand in both of hers, and squeezed it.

"I want you to really. . . know how sorry I am."

"I can. . . I know, Tegan," I said. "With what you were going through. . . I understand." Her eyes were on me, red, puffy from crying all night, dark circles from lack of sleep, and all filled with pain and desperation that I could hardly stand to look at.

"Do you forgive me?" she asked again, her voice trembling. "Do you really?"

"Tegan, yes," I said, and I put my hand over hers as she squeezed mine and we sat like that for a moment. "I was never angry with you."

"But I hurt you and I hate that I did that," she said.

"Well. . . love hurts sometimes, doesn't it?" I said and when I tried to smile at her, she suddenly moved in closer to me, but she'd done that the night before and I'd stopped her, so this time, she stopped herself, and looked at me with sad, sorry hesitation. And apologies were always hard for me, but I knew then that mine wasn't complete.

"And I'm. . . I want to ask the same thing," I forced myself to start. "If. . . if you can forgive me because. . . me and. . . my fucking camera. . ." My voice failed me; her face, her eyes, mirrored my heart. She shook her head, raising her arms a little, hesitating, restarting, and finally asking:

"Can I hug you?" she asked, afraid to hear my answer. The irony of that was not lost on me. I nodded and gave her a half-smile and then she was in my arms, and she squeezed me tight and as I folded my arms around her body, I felt her warmth all over and for a while, we didn't move, and I just felt her breathing against me and never wanted to let go.

"Can you forgive me?" I asked again, into her hair, easier now that her eyes weren't on me, now that her arms were around me. She nodded, her cheek against mine, and was quiet for some moments. So was I. When she finally released me and moved back, just a little, she looked in my eyes and said thank you and for a moment, her face was close to mine and her eyes made me think she would kiss me, but instead I said, "Want to go for a drive?" She nodded and smiled.

We took my parents' van and drove out to the long, winding road that circled around the lake. We were quiet at first and I could feel Tegan's uncertainty still. I felt uncertain too, and so I said nothing for a while.

"This is a nice van," Tegan said wryly, looking into the back. "Why are there no seats in the back?"

"My parents were moving a credenza for my grandmother and-"

"Moving a what?" she asked, and I looked over to see her grin as I shifted down before the long, winding hill.

"Like a. . . a cabinet or. . .". Tegan looked in the back again, reminding me that there were blankets back there still from moving the furniture. "Do you want to drive?" I asked her as we reached the lake road, and I slowly rolled off onto the shoulder and put it in neutral. Tegan looked at me, looked at the shift lever, back at me.

"I can't," she said.

"I'll teach you. There's no traffic around here. Good place to learn.". Her eyebrows raised and she hesitated. "Come on. You're twenty-eight. You need to learn this," I teased, getting out of the driver's seat and stepping back so she could pass. "Come on," I urged her, and she finally got out of her seat and switched over. I got into the passenger seat as she sat there, gazing dubiously at the dash. "It's fine. You'll be fine."

"Do you have insurance?" Tegan asked and I laughed.

"Yes. Okay it's in neutral. See?" She looked at the lever.

"Where is neutral?" she asked.

"Neutral isn't a place. It's the space between the places," I explained and she cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Deep."

"Okay, shut up and put one foot on the break. Okay. Now put the clutch in." She looked down at her feet. "On the left." She put the clutch in and then looked at me expectantly. "Now put it in first." After a few seconds spent scrutinizing the lever, she slid it into first.

"Now what?" she asked nervously.

"You're going to give it some gas and then-" She pushed on the gas, let the clutch up with a snap and we lurched forward and shuddered to a halt.

"Fuck!" she cried, gripping the wheel.

"It's okay. Put in the clutch again. . ." I helped her get the van started and ready to go again. "Okay this time, give it some gas but not as much, and let the clutch out slowly. . ."

"Oh Jesus we're going to die," she laughed.

"No we're not. Go ahead." She tried again, and after a moment of uncertainty, we were rolling along the dirt road in first. Tegan seemed pretty pleased with herself until I told her she needed to shift into second.

"Why?" she asked in horror. "First is fine!"

"We can't just drive around at ten miles an hour," I told her.

"I'm Canadian! I don't know what that means!" she wailed, laughing and nervous at the same time.

"It means you drive like old people fuck," I said and she laughed and gave me a wicked look that reminded me of the Tegan that existed before the video leaked.

"But I don't fuck like old people fuck!" she declared, and I snorted against my will, felt my face heat up.

"Ha. Well, true enough. . ." She grinned, enjoying the moment while it lasted.

"What should I do?"

"When you're ready, foot off the gas, put in the clutch, and shift into second. . .". She tried to watch the road and find second gear. She finally found it and successfully shifted into second. I clapped, not even sarcastically.

"All right! Who's old now, bitch?" she said gleefully, pushing the accelerator until the van's engine started whining in protest.

"Okay, smartass, but the revs are too high."

"Could you be more gay?" she asked.

"One of us has to be."

"Hardy fucking har. What now?"

"Shift into third!"

"Oh, man!" she protested, but after a moment of uncertainty, she did it. We cruised around the lake, practicing shifting up and down and starting again. She only stalled twice and after a while I directed her to a clearing at the edge of the road, next to the lake. It was surrounded by trees on two sides, and we were fairly well sheltered from the road. The lake was in front of us. I shivered, in the sharp coldness of the van, the nearness of Tegan squeezing my heart. She was sorry and I was sorry but that didn't make everything go away, did it?

"So, um. . . I saw the video from Amsterdam," I said suddenly, surprising myself even. "I was. . . I felt. . . so awful." Tegan leaned back in the drivers' seat, gazing out at the still waters of the lake. Thunder clouds were gathering in the distance; a flock of ducks crowded together at the edge of the water, and seemed to shiver with me.

"That was, um. . . a really bad night. Sara got drunk before the show and just. . ." Tegan stopped, sighed deeply.

"Is she okay?" I asked gently.

"I don't know. . . she. . . well she fucked some fucking groupie. . . in my bed and. . ." I looked at her, shocked and horrified, before realizing that the Sara I'd seen in that video had seemed capable of doing just about anything. It was so unreal, listening to Tegan talk like that, her voice filled with pain, and not to be able to touch her, to comfort her. It felt so wrong. "She like. . . she won't ever. . . she said we can't ever be alone again. She's right but like. . .". Tegan's face twisted as she closed her eyes tight against that thought. She looked a little ill and I couldn't help but imagine the conversation between them that had put Tegan in that state. I'd seen who Sara could be, when she was angry. . . when she was scared. . .

"God, poor Sara," I said, and Tegan looked over at me. "She must be in rough shape."

"This was her choice," Tegan replied bitterly.

"Sure. But imagine how much it must have hurt for her to make that decision. To hurt you the way she did." Tegan gave that a moment, biting her lower lip and shaking her head.

"She didn't have to," she said.

"She must have thought that she did," I pointed out and we were quiet for a while. Condensation was forming inside the windows; I wiped the passenger side window with my sleeve and looked out at the bare trees, the grey water.

"And maybe she's right but. . . even if she is it's. . . it fucking sucks," Tegan said as a few tears overflowed and spilled down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, turning her face away from me. "I can't, like. . . I can't accept it. It's not okay that like. . .". The tears overcame her and she stopped. She pulled her hood up over her head, folded her arms on top of the steering wheel and put her face against her arms. My heart ached for so many reasons, I didn't know which one would win out. After a moment, I lay one hand gently on her back, rubbing softly as she cried.

"I just. . . can't even imagine. . . how much that must hurt," I said, wishing I knew what to say. "It isn't fair. I'm so sorry. . ." Tegan shook her head against the steering wheel, said nothing. After a while, she sat back again, wiped her face with her sleeve again, and sighed.

"I just hope someone is with her," she said. "She shouldn't be alone. . .". She looked like she would cry again. "My mom has called twelve times. I keep texting her and blowing her off but. . ."

"Maybe you should talk to her."

"I can't tell her the truth."

"Well no, I guess not. . ." Tegan watched the ducks bobbing on the swells, her face tired and sad. "Here, let's switch," I said at last, and when she passed me, it was all I could do not to put my arms around her again, but being near her was hard enough. Touching her just made me think things were possible that really weren't.