Title: I'm Sorry, I'm Lost
Author: Michelle K. (CageyGrl@yahoo.com)
Summary: It's too late for these things.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.
I'm Sorry, I'm Lost by Michelle K.
The digital clock's red numbers declare the time to be 3:19. The darkness of
the room lets Donna know it's a.m. The unfamiliarity of the sheets lets her
know it's not her bed.
But she knew that already. Sleepiness hasn't dulled the memories of Amy's
mouth exploring her body, of the anger that seemed to lie underneath it all. Of
Donna's rage at herself for being seduced by someone who has no respect for
her. Of the pleasure that washed over her even in the darkest moments.
Of not knowing what was going to happen next.
That's still very pertinent.
When she looks over, Amy's awake, but not looking at her. "Hey," she says
without moving her head.
"How long have I been sleeping?" Donna asks.
She shrugs. "An hour. More. I don't know."
"I should go," Donna says, waiting for Amy to stop her. She doesn't, but
Donna still doesn't move. She pretends it's a product of lethargy.
Amy looks at her questioningly. Donna expects an inquiry as to why she hasn't
left. Instead, she gets:
"Was that your first time?"
"What? No. Why? Was I bad?" Donna stutters.
"You were good. I just didn't take you for the type."
"The type?" she asks, confused. She waits for an answer. When it doesn't
come, she says, "You don't know everything."
Amy has so many smiles for so many emotions. This one declares, 'I have
everything figured out, no matter what *you* may think.'
Donna hates that one.
"Is this another one of your 'you don't get Josh' speeches?"
Donna wants to protest -- "Go to hell." "Fuck you." Just about anything with
an angry expletive. -- but she never says those things aloud. She catalogues
them, hoping that they will come together one day and give her enough backbone
to at least scowl when someone insults her.
"Not everything has to do with Josh," Donna says. She licks the lips that
still taste like Amy, wondering how long the flavor will linger on her tongue.
Wondering how long she wants it to stay around.
Wondering what sleeping with Amy really accomplished.
"Just forget about it, okay?" Amy sighs. "It's too early to fight. Or too
late. Or too...something." She smiles without condescension, but there's still a
hint of falsity in the tenderness of her touch, like a movie sex scene where
the woman always keeps her bra on.
But maybe what they share isn't supposed to be real.
Even so, she surrenders to Amy's mouth and hands, thinking: I don't know what
Adding: And I'm not sure I care.
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