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A glimpse into an affair

for the queer, hopeless romantic

By cPublished 2 years ago 15 min read
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A glimpse into an affair
Photo by Désirée Fawn on Unsplash

“You’re incredibly boring,” she stated, leaning a bit closer now, the smell of Bourbon still on her breath.

“Am I?” Cella asked, a bit taken aback by such a statement.

“Well, I ‘spose I misspoke,” Nance slurred between hiccups.

Getting frustrated at the drunk woman in front of her, clearly out of her mind, Cella opened her mouth to retort but thought better of it. This conversation would not be remembered the next morning. Nance did not need more than a wall to have a conversation with, so she kept going.

“It’s not a bad boring. All day we talk and we work and you have this energy about you that never steadies. Even when I’m a mess, you’re boring. Your eyes, when I look in em’, I can see everything you feel and it never changes, no matter what. You don’t have any secrets, you hide none of your life and it makes me...” she drawled off, either having enough common sense to stop herself or the liquor was really starting to have its effect on her.

“It makes you what?” Cella questioned, still calm, holding the cool compress to Nance’s sweaty forehead.

As if pulled from her drunken stupor, Nance lifted her head, making steady, unwavering eye contact with Cella. Nance’s eyes weren’t hazy but focused intensely on hers now. She bit the corner of her lip, seemingly debating on whether or not to answer. Cella removed the compress, placing it on the linoleum floor they sat on, waiting.

“It makes me want to be boring too, but I - I don’t quite know how to do that.”

It is hard to remember who closed the distance between them this time, but perhaps that doesn’t matter. Cella could feel the other girl’s forehead nearly pressed against hers, the only heat to be felt while placed on the cold tile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Nance” Cella began but was cut off by a soft finger pressed to her lips.

“Shhhhh” the drunk woman whispered, louder than she was probably aware of. “Honest. That’s what the word is. Honest. You are honest all the time. I can’t decide whether I want you to be honest with me. Or if I even want to be honest with myself.”

“I’m concerned, you’ve nearly drunk the whole bottle and if you drink any more you’ll hurt yourself. Look at the bump you’ve managed to form on your head from your carelessness!” Cella looked at the broken housewife as if she were insane, on the brink of losing all grip on reality.

Nance’s finger was once more pressed to her lips, a silent beg to cease her worries. She bent her forehead to Cella’s, now seeming to rest all her weight onto the other girl. It seems she was no longer lucid again. Cella took Nance’s clammy hands in her own, squeezing them gently.

“I don’t understand why you get like this, you’re going to make yourself sick.”

“To feel truthful. To stop holding it back, like you’re doing right now. I’m already sick of myself enough as it is.” Nance answered quickly, the ends of her words dipping, unfinished as the next word started.

“Hold what back, exactly?” Cella prodded, becoming more and more confused by the second. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A few seconds passed and neither of them spoke, they just sat there, listening to the hum of the refrigerator they leaned against and the ticking of the dining room clock, seeming to get louder and louder the more they sat. It must be nearing midnight, Cella thought to herself, and Mr. Bakersfield still hadn’t returned. Not like it mattered; he would hurry off to his own bed, not bothering to see his wife safely to her own. Has this become his routine? Was that why he stayed away so late?

As if reading her mind, Nance began to stir, attempting to get up off of the floor, steadying herself by pressing her weight against the fridge, one hand on Cella’s shoulder.

“C’mon. I guess I should try to get to bed and cleaned up before George comes back and hates me more than he already does.” She said this so matter-of-fact, so hollow as if she was not worried at all what her husband would say if he found her like this. This confirmed to Cella that this might be a more routine affair than she had originally thought, and this worried her.

She stood up, helping Nance to steady herself. She took one of her pale arms and wrapped it around her neck for support, placing one of her own hands onto the wobbling woman’s lower back. Cella was keenly aware how tender this moment felt and had to focus hard to keep her hand from slipping any further, fearful to stir feelings within herself that were surely not allowed, nor appropriate. She was just a friend helping another, simple as that. They walked down the hall, careful not to stumble and knock any of the picture frames off the walls, trying to keep the beige paint free of greasy handprints. The bedroom door was a challenge to open, as it was regularly jammed and only one of them could stand up on their own. Nance stifled tipsy giggles, pressing her face into Cella’s neck as she fumbled with the doorknob, pushing her weight against the door to force it open at the same time.

Once in the room, Nance flopped herself onto the bed, the springs making an irrevocable squeal beneath the woman’s weight being thrown onto the springs. This caused Nance to erupt into laughter, Cella forcing the door closed, careful not to wake the sleeping toddler in the next room. She turned to give her drunk companion a stern look but felt a smile spread across her face instead as she saw Nance as she never had before. The usual put-together young socialite was sprawled across the bed, a big goofy grin plastered onto her face, her eyes squeezed shut, one of her many brightly patterned cotton dresses nearly slipping off one shoulder completely. Almost as if she had known she was being watched, Nance opened one eye, using it to peer across the room at the girl standing against the door.

“I ‘spose I gotta get dressed now don’t I?” She laughed, a small smile remaining on her face.

“That would require getting up.” Cella countered, walking towards the bureau on the other side of the room. “Stay put. I don’t want you to get yourself into any more trouble.”

“I can manage -” Nance argued, but let the words slip, just as she did, back onto the bed lazily.

Cella opened the middle drawer of the oak dresser, rifling through several items of clothing before realizing she had opened the wrong drawer. There was no use in asking Nance for help, the woman could barely sort out the thoughts in her own head. Of course, the last drawer she opened would be the one that contained all of Nance’s sleepwear. Cella pushed past the lacier articles, trying to push the thoughts of Nance wearing those for her husband out of her head, not focusing on why it might be hard to think of such a thing. She found a navy-colored silk shift that seemed comfortable enough and pulled that out, closing the drawer without making a sound. She turned back toward the bed, finding that Nance was already fast asleep.

She rolled her eyes, trying as hard as she could to stay frustrated. She abandoned the shift on the floor and instead moved to the bed to try, at least, to get Nance under the covers and on her side. Putting one arm under her upper back and the other in the crook of her knees, she attempted to lift Nance from the bed. She stirred from her light, intoxicated sleep and blinked her eyes as if a layer of film had formed across them. She mumbled softly, reaching out a hand to clutch Cella’s arm.

“I can do it - I can.” She insisted, swinging both legs off the bed, her toes still not touching the carpeted floor beneath her.

“Alright, alright” Cella answered, unconvinced but stepping back to watch her try on her own. Nance placed both feet on the ground, standing up and swaying like a reed of grass in the wind. Cella rushed to catch her before she fell forward, grabbing her under both arms and sitting her on the bed again.

“Just sit still alright? I’m going to fix the sheets.” She never imagined she’d be ordering her employer around, but then again, she never thought she’d have a boss that would insist on using the term “friend” to describe their situation either.

Cella pulled the down comforter back, propping the pillows against the headboard to fix the top sheet. She pulled them down farther, stopping at the mass of space that Nance’s slouching body took up.

“Okay, you’re going to have to sit up and slide over so you can lay under the sheets.” She ushered her gently and Nance did as she was told, crawling up towards the pillows like a toddler who had just had a bad dream and needed to be tucked in. She pushed her legs out and allowed Cella to cover them with blankets. Sitting up against the headboard, she looked as if she were trying not to be sick.

“Cella,” she said softly, drawing the other woman’s attention away from the sheets. She feebly patted the space beside her.

Cella stopped fussing over the bedding arrangement and sat next to Nance, placing her hand to her forehead, grateful to feel that it was no longer sweaty and hot like it was an hour or so ago. Nance would most likely make it the rest of the night without getting sick. All she needed was rest.

“Cella,” Nance called, louder and more demanding than before.

Cella looked up to catch Nance staring at her fixedly. She smiled, waiting for it to be returned. But it was almost as if Nance could not see her; she was staring at her, taking her in, but not really seeing her. She seemed to break the spell by placing a hand gently on one of Nance’s outstretched legs. She seemed to snap to her senses, her eyes still holding Cella in their focus, but now consciously doing so. They made eye contact now and Cella felt something stir in her chest.

“Cella?” It was a question now. Nance’s lips parted slightly, her hand falling to the one Cella had on her leg. Their fingers intertwined, neither of them seemed to notice they're doing so.

“Yes?” she questioned softly, hanging in anticipation, her heart seemed to have stopped beating.

“Be honest with me…” Nance started like she was about to ask a question.

“I am” Cella reassured, not waiting for her to finish.

“I know.” Nance responded quickly as if there were no questions to begin with. The space between them felt heavy, weighed down with lead. Cella couldn’t breathe but she couldn’t bear to break away the contact between them. She closed her eyes and bent her head toward Nance’s tentatively. She held her breath and heard the springs in the bed squeak softly as Nance leaned forward. She felt lips brush her own, ever so slightly. For that moment time stood still, neither of the women moving.

“I know you are, but I need to be more honest with you” Nance’s words cut through the silence softly like a knife, the blade so sharp one would not even know they had been cut.

Before Cella could respond, she felt Nance’s lips on her own. She didn’t have time to think before she found that she was feeding into it, leaning closer. Though Nance was drunk, her kisses were deliberate. She smelled of cheap liquor and the bundt cake the two had made for dessert earlier that afternoon. Cella’s mind was clouding now and she could no longer think straight; she was beginning to believe she was the one who had downed an entire bottle. She pushed her hand through Nance’s long hair, threading her fingers through the curls at the base of her neck, getting caught in the tangle.

Cella was no longer sitting on the bed but was straddled over Nance, one hand in her hair while the other gently gripped her hip. Their lips were soft and hesitant but their breathing was getting shallow. Her stomach tightened in a pleasurable knot as the girl below her began to unbutton the front of her colored shirt, revealing the white brassiere that shone brightly in contrast with the darkness of her skin.

“May I?” Nance asked, gasping for breath between a kiss or two, forcing Cella to move her lips to the woman’s jaw, down her neck, to her collar bone. This seemed to heighten the arousal that clung to the air, thick as the Alabama heat. Cella could not respond, she was stuck. She wanted so badly to let these feelings overcome her but doubt held her back. Nance was drunk after all, so what would the repercussions be when she came in the next morning for work and this was merely a boozed fling? That would hurt her too much, Cella knew enough to be truthful on that aspect. If this was a one-time mistake, she would not be able to pretend it had never happened. But what if this was the start of something? That scared Cella even more.

Cella let Nance kiss her neck for a few more seconds, savoring the feeling and fighting hard not to give in. She pushed back gently, waiting for the drunk woman to realize her advances were being denied. Nance looked up sleepily at her, confused and hurt.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, a wounded expression on her face.

“No. Goodness, no. I don’t think this is a good idea, is all.” Cella held Nance’s face in her hands gently.

Nance closed her eyes and leaned into Cella, letting her hold her.

“I’m married and I don’t care. You know how George and I are. If that’s what you’re afraid of, you shouldn’t be.” Nance said, insistent.

“It’s not just that. There’s much more to this and you know it. You and me, we aren’t supposed to be together for reasons that go beyond marriage.” Cella did not feel the need to specify. Reasons against their relationship were no secret - hell, half of it was written in the Bible, the other lay in the law of the South.

“Oh for goodness sakes, fuck what a preacher says!” Nance raised her voice and it was then that Cella remembered just how inebriated she really was.

“You’re still tipsy. Can we discuss this in the morning? You really must be going to bed. And I’ve already missed the last bus home, so I best get walking.” Cella rose from the bed, gently removing herself from the woman’s grasp.

Nance fussed like a toddler, letting her arms drop to her sides and flailing back on the bed. “I want you here, in my bed!”

“I can’t.” Cella tried to be stern.

“You can. And you want to.” Nance retorted confidently. “Don’t you?” Her confidence was faltering.

“I do.” Cella admitted. She raised a hand to her forehead, sighing deeply. “God knows I do. But we can’t.”

“Give me a good reason, then” Nance responded, insistent still. “Besides what people will say, besides me being married and all. Give me a good reason. You’re honest with me. Be honest with you. What do you want, Cella?”

Just hearing her name come out of the woman’s mouth made her heart skip a beat. That told her everything she needed to know and yet she was still terrified. Living in the Bible belt of the country did not help their situation, nor did the Civil Rights movement. But Cella never gave a damn what others thought. She never had. Not until now, anyway. She cared a lot about what Nance thought and she feared that Nance would think nothing off her the next day when she sobered up.

“You know what I want, Nance. But how do I know you want the same thing? You’re drunk.” It took all her courage to get that out.

“Drunk enough to finally tell you how I feel, yes. So I can assure you that this is what I want. You are what I want. Don’t believe me because I’m drunk? We’ll try again without the booze tomorrow.” Nance responded brazenly. This made Cella want to kiss her all over again, but she refrained.

“Fine. But I really best be going now. Remember tomorrow you are hosting the luncheon, so maybe it’s not the best time to continue...this.” Cella was trying to leave this conversation, before she got her hopes up even higher.

“Oh Christ, I forgot about that! Sleep on the couch at least, it isn’t safe to go home now and I’ll need your help as early as I can get it.” Nance pleaded, but she didn’t have to try too hard. Cella was already persuaded by those deep brown eyes.

“Fine. But on one condition: give me a few days to think things through. Tomorrow everything goes back to normal.” She demanded this. If Cella was the one who kept her distance, acted like it hadn’t happened, then maybe it would hurt a bit less.

Nance fell farther back into bed, pouting, but too exhausted to fight it.

“Kiss me goodnight?” she asked, as if it were a casual occurrence.

Cella took a step toward her but stopped short. Thinking better of it, she turned to leave. Stopping in the doorway to have another look at the woman she was trying so desperately not to feel anything for.

“No. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You afraid you won’t be able to stop? It’s too late for me already.” Nance muttered.

Short Story
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About the Creator

c

writing as release

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