Right, so this is my first time writing them as ladies, so hopefully this doesn’t suck.
29. “Listen here, Asshole. This one’s mine.”
Anya is sitting at the bar, her pale hair hugging her neck, damp from sweat as she scowls into her Midori sour. Amelia had ordered it and pushed it at her, winking before slipping back into the throng of dancers at the nightclub. She pulls her hair away to one shoulder, wishing she had a hair tie. It’s too hot, and the music is too loud, and the liquor here is shit. Anya crosses her legs and leans back on the barstool to look for Amelia. She spots her, glued to the hip of a stranger and grinding in black and mesh cutout dress. At least Amelia is for once listening to Anya’s rules and is dancing within sight of the other woman.
Anya hates going to clubs with Amelia. She hates how she can’t hold her drink and flirts with anyone legal and willing. How when she disappears into the throng of pulsing bodies, Anya never knows if she’s going to reemerge like a swimmer with a laugh and drink with her at the bar, or if Anya will get a text and end up going home by herself.
The worst is when she finds Amelia the next morning, stretched out lazily on the couch while bidding last night’s conquest goodbye.
It hurts even more when she hears high heels walk out the door.
The drink is stupidly light and Anya downs it. She would rather be at a restaurant, drinking a bottle with Amelia and maybe a friend or two and laughing. Amelia’s laughs are always too loud and untamed. Her eyes are always so bright when she laughs. Her nose scrunches when she smiles. Anya shoves a coupon at the bartender. 5 shots for 15$. She orders an Orgasm. If only it were that easy.
Amelia’s got her hands on the man’s waist, hips rolling in fluid circles that’s better for salsa dancing than this erratic pop beat the DJ has blasting over the speakers. She likes him though. When the smoke clears enough Anya can see him dancing in the booth and he looks to be having a better time than most of the dancers below. Lights strobe red and she watches Amelia turn away from the stranger, drifting closer to the center of the mass of dancers. She’s going solo for a bit, bobbing up and down and twirling her hands in rings as she casts her strings. She’s caught someone’s eye and pulls them close, wrangling in another man as well, and dances in her new web of three.
Anya downs the first shot. She crosses her legs again and pulls down at the tight white backless dress she’s wearing. Amelia’s letting their fingers curl around her waist and has tipped her head back. Her neck is pale and glistens in green light as the music changes. Anya takes another shot.
The Orgasm is weak. She should have done something pure, like vodka. Amelia’s laid claim to one of their mouths, and Anya can see she’s laughing when she parts. Her hair is curling wildly in the humidity of the dance floor. Third and fourth shot slither down her throat and lay cold in her stomach.
Suddenly something changes and Anya watches as Amelia pulls away. Her smile is still there, bright and welcoming, but it’s darker in a way that Anya only knows from standing in their apartment and watching her smile as Anya berates her over bringing home her latest fleeting partner. Amelia removes the hand from her hip and turns to dance away. The man pulls her back, and it’s hard enough that Amelia looks surprised when she falls back into his chest and nearly slips. Anya grabs the last shot and stands.
Amelia doesn’t need help. Anya isn’t her knight in shining armor. She watches the American throw off the man’s hand and strike out with unsettling speed as she knees him and walks off into the throng of dancers. Anya waits, growls in irritation at Amelia breaking her rule, and walks by the downed man, smiling down at him coldly.
She doesn’t dance or spill the shot, and her gaze is enough to cut off any unwanted advances. She finally finds her roommate sitting on the edge of a small stage, where two drunken women are currently dancing along with a man in a thong so small the dollar bills sticking over the edge are covering him better than the fabric. Amelia looks up and gives her a smile.
“Oh, sorry I broke the rule.”
Anya sniffs and sits down next to Amelia to looks at the dancers. “You never follow them. It is like you want to get in trouble.”
“Oh, what,” Amelia teases and leans against her shoulder, “You gonna put me over your knee?”
Anya mutters under her breath and goes to take the shot. Amelia swipes it out of her fingers. “Fuck!” She swears and looks at her friend angrily.
“Listen here, asshole,” Amelia says with a wink. “This one’s mine.” She downs it and immediately frowns. “What the fuck are you drinking?”
“That was mine,” Anya argues.
“Yeah, so?” Amelia looks at her with her bright cobalt eyes. Mascara is smudged and her eyes are red. “What are you going to do about it?”
Anya glares, and as Amelia chuckles in false knowledge of victory, Anya pulls her in and kisses her. She tastes like strawberries from the drink she had earlier and her vanilla chapstick feels greasy on her own lips. Anya pulls back and Amelia laughs in that too loud and raw way. It feels like Anya is prying her open and is seeing the pearl inside.
“God, Anyuta,” Amelia teases. “You’re such a shitty kisser.”
Anya growls and digs her fingernails into Amelia’s bare arm. Her smile doesn’t waver. Instead she leans in, kissing the slope of her jaw and trailing up until she catches her lips and kisses in a way that makes Anya’s head spin. She can feel it sluicing through her bones and she melts into her grasp. Anya blinks at the sudden light of Amelia’s cell phone and frowns at seeing her roommate tap on the glass.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting an Uber. I’m not fucking you in the bathroom, you’re too pretty for that.”
“Who said anything about sex?”
“Do you not want to?” Amelia asks and stops what she’s doing to look up at her friend.
“I did not say that.” Anya crosses her arms.
“Good.” Amelia looks down at her phone. “It’ll be here in ten.” She smiles slyly. “So what other rules do I usually break? I’d sure hate to end up over your knee.”
“Talking,” Anya says, “When you should be kissing me.”
