Well, that was quick. Laura didn't expect Carmilla to cut straight to the chase. It was probably a good thing that Laura already told the story about her mother earlier in the day because she only felt a fleeting twinge of residual pain, nothing more.
"She's dead." Laura said bluntly, trying to gauge Carmilla's reaction.
Carmilla stayed silent for a while.
"I'm sorry," she finally said. She glanced at Laura through her dark bangs, offering her a small, sad smile, more of a grimace than anything.
"It's okay. You didn't kill her," Laura countered, surreptitiously focusing her eyes on Carmilla's face, trying to discern any incriminating emotions.
"But still, I'm sorry. I—," Carmilla hesitated, her face betraying nothing, "I have also dealt with loss."
Wow, she's actually sharing without me asking? Flabbergasted, Laura plowed on.
"What happened?"
"My entire family was murdered."
Well, fuck.
Laura did not know what to say.
She sure one-upped me.
Carmilla looked away then, her eyes roving around the room. Laura watched her, debating within herself.
Screw it.
Laura shifted closer to Carmilla and tentatively reached out her right hand. Her fingers hovered uncertainly before gently brushing Carmilla's smooth palm, intertwining themselves with those slender fingers. Carmilla tensed immediately, her eyes anxiously flickering down to their interlocked hands.
Is this too forward? I mean, she did have a problem looking at me until five minutes ago, Laura thought, the memories of that wooly balaclava coming back to her. She was torn between wanting to comfort Carmilla, but not wanting to give her an heart attack.
A beat.
I should let go. Before she thinks I'm a creep. Laura tried to wriggle her fingers away.
Almost imperceptibly, Carmilla's hand tightened.
Laura exhaled slowly, marveling at how perfectly their hands fit, like they were meant for each other to hold. Like two puzzle pieces. They held hands for a while in companionable silence. She watched Carmilla absentmindedly draw patterns on the comforter, the lamplight gently wreathing her face.
Her skin's so soft. I wonder what lotion she uses. Strange fluttering sensations took place in her chest as Carmilla started tracing circles on the back of her hand with her thumb. These feelings felt nothing like the butterflies Danny gave her. If anything, they felt more pleasant.
What? No, no, no! I like Danny. Carmilla's just—just a friend…yeah friend. Totally a just friend. These are normal, friendly feelings. Friendly butterflies.
In her panic, Laura saw many things she should not have seen. She tried not to see exactly how Carmilla's lashes fluttered when she blinked, how her brow made that adorable crease when she was thinking. How her lips curved upwards at the corners, like she actually smiled a lot but didn't want to show it. How impossibly clear her skin looked, like she spent hours on skincare routines and millions on anti-wrinkle products. How nicely curved her nails were, and how perfectly her deep burgundy nail polish coated them.
Carmilla slowly raised her head, deep brown eyes meeting light hazel ones.
Laura definitely did not notice the way Carmilla gazed at her.
Like she actually cared.
Like Laura actually mattered.
Carmilla was still looking at her, soulful eyes burning holes in Laura's original suspicions. Vampire accusations flew out the window, as well as reason and logic.
How could a murderer have so much compassion in her soul?
Carmilla raised her free hand and gently pushed a few strands of hair out of Laura's face, tucking them behind her ear.
Oh sweet baby Jesus.
Laura doubted Carmilla ever met her mother. Let alone killed her. She lowered her head, finally wrenching her eyes from Carmilla's as she tried to process these new and very confusing feelings.
That's how she missed the slight quirk in Carmilla's lips, the thinly veiled mirth in her eyes.