Mari’s room was better than the woods behind the school, but only by a hair. The walls were paper thin and, covers pulled up to her chin, Moirine could hear one of Mari’s numerous siblings cough across the house. One of the family’s dogs barked and Moirine suddenly regretted not asking if one could sleep in the room with them. It wasn’t suspicious, was it? To have a dog to play with during a sleepover? Mari’s arm was thrown around her, one of Mari’s legs tangled over hers, and there was no way anyone walking in right now could see the two of them and think, ‘friendly sleepover.’
“Are you awake?” Moirine asked, as soft as she could.
“Yeah. Yeah,” Mari rolled over, her hand coming to rest on a discarded, half-full pizza box. “Shit, sorry.”
The TV was still on, buzzing soft static into the air. With everything so dark and quiet, this room felt like a world in and of itself. Or it did, until another cough rattled through the house. “Shit,” Mari said again. “Bleddyn’s got to get that cold sorted out.”
Moirine put her arms around her and rested her head in the crook of her girlfriend’s arm. “If anyone walks in,” she said. “They’re going to know.”
“I don’t think my mam will care,” Mari said and frowned. She shook her head. “No, definitely not. She was alright with it when my brother came out. Maybe she’d be upset what with the having you over under a false pretext thing.” She stopped to think again, one hand lazily searching for the remote. “Or the premarital sex. Actually, mostly the premarital sex.”
Moirine shoved her, then slipped her hands up Mari’s dumb tartan pyjamas. God, she thought, even as she kissed her girlfriend’s hurt ear, pick a Celtic country motif and stick with it. Welsh accent, Irish mother, Scottish pyjamas...at this rate she’d be speaking Cornish or claiming to come from Brittany before the night was through… “I don’t want to get in trouble,” she said, to the wrong ear.
“Didn’t hear you,” Mari said, eyes on the ceiling. There was a poster up there, the lead singer of one of those bands Mari was into, all short hair and wild with energy, even in photos. They didn’t look like Moirine did; Mari’s favourite was tall, blonde and brown eyed, all sharp edges and androgynous t-shirts, tattooed and pierced. The opposite of Moirine.
“Do you like me?” She asked Mari’s poor ear, her hand resting above Mari’s heart, between her small breasts.
“Still can’t hear you.” Another cough rattled the walls. “Fuck’s sake,” Mari said, “I’m going to head over there and force some cough drops down his throat.” But she didn’t move. Moirine kissed her throat, Moirine’s nose pressed against her jaw; through her lips Moirine felt the vibration of a sigh well up inside her girlfriend. Mari reached over to touch her and another cough cut through their moment. Moirine lay her head on Mari’s chest. There was an empty vinyl sleeve propped up against the cupboard nearby; TV still churning out static, old record player by the door and the mess of two pizza boxes littering the floor. She placed one of her hands on Mari’s stomach and withdrew it at the sound of another cough; counted to ten. Her parents wouldn’t allow Mari to sleep over in a hundred years. Until they both left school and got a place together, this was the closest they had to being together, a real couple. Another cough. “I’m going to tell him to shut up,” Mari said, sitting up.
Somewhere down the hall a door opened and they heard a voice shout into the corridor, “Either shut up or sleep outside, Bleddyn!” Someone next door laughed; a third voice rebuked the shouter for being mean. Around them the house woke up and descended into a cacophony of arguments, noise and advice to help with Bleddyn’s cough. Moirine laughed, but beside her Mari had gone rigid with embarrassment.
“Just a few months more,” she mumbled.
“What?”
“Til we graduate,” she said and rolled over onto her side.
i am gonna make it through this year, if it kills me
“Are you awake?” Moirine asked, as soft as she could.
“Yeah. Yeah,” Mari rolled over, her hand coming to rest on a discarded, half-full pizza box. “Shit, sorry.”
The TV was still on, buzzing soft static into the air. With everything so dark and quiet, this room felt like a world in and of itself. Or it did, until another cough rattled through the house. “Shit,” Mari said again. “Bleddyn’s got to get that cold sorted out.”
Moirine put her arms around her and rested her head in the crook of her girlfriend’s arm. “If anyone walks in,” she said. “They’re going to know.”
“I don’t think my mam will care,” Mari said and frowned. She shook her head. “No, definitely not. She was alright with it when my brother came out. Maybe she’d be upset what with the having you over under a false pretext thing.” She stopped to think again, one hand lazily searching for the remote. “Or the premarital sex. Actually, mostly the premarital sex.”
Moirine shoved her, then slipped her hands up Mari’s dumb tartan pyjamas. God, she thought, even as she kissed her girlfriend’s hurt ear, pick a Celtic country motif and stick with it. Welsh accent, Irish mother, Scottish pyjamas...at this rate she’d be speaking Cornish or claiming to come from Brittany before the night was through… “I don’t want to get in trouble,” she said, to the wrong ear.
“Didn’t hear you,” Mari said, eyes on the ceiling. There was a poster up there, the lead singer of one of those bands Mari was into, all short hair and wild with energy, even in photos. They didn’t look like Moirine did; Mari’s favourite was tall, blonde and brown eyed, all sharp edges and androgynous t-shirts, tattooed and pierced. The opposite of Moirine.
“Do you like me?” She asked Mari’s poor ear, her hand resting above Mari’s heart, between her small breasts.
“Still can’t hear you.” Another cough rattled the walls. “Fuck’s sake,” Mari said, “I’m going to head over there and force some cough drops down his throat.” But she didn’t move. Moirine kissed her throat, Moirine’s nose pressed against her jaw; through her lips Moirine felt the vibration of a sigh well up inside her girlfriend. Mari reached over to touch her and another cough cut through their moment. Moirine lay her head on Mari’s chest. There was an empty vinyl sleeve propped up against the cupboard nearby; TV still churning out static, old record player by the door and the mess of two pizza boxes littering the floor. She placed one of her hands on Mari’s stomach and withdrew it at the sound of another cough; counted to ten. Her parents wouldn’t allow Mari to sleep over in a hundred years. Until they both left school and got a place together, this was the closest they had to being together, a real couple. Another cough. “I’m going to tell him to shut up,” Mari said, sitting up.
Somewhere down the hall a door opened and they heard a voice shout into the corridor, “Either shut up or sleep outside, Bleddyn!” Someone next door laughed; a third voice rebuked the shouter for being mean. Around them the house woke up and descended into a cacophony of arguments, noise and advice to help with Bleddyn’s cough. Moirine laughed, but beside her Mari had gone rigid with embarrassment.
“Just a few months more,” she mumbled.
“What?”
“Til we graduate,” she said and rolled over onto her side.