temporary heroes

chapter 5

Tori didn't sleep that night. Emily drifted off some time between three and four, forgoing her pillow to lay her head in Tori's lap while Tori sat up with her back against the headboard, trying desperately to steady herself. Tori had her fair share of faults, she wouldn't argue that, but she wasn't an idiot and the mental gymnastics she was engaging in to rationalize the way she felt about Emily were frankly fucking pathetic.

She was a grown fucking woman. She didn't melt over girls in bathrooms calling her pretty and she certainly didn't stare at hotel walls for hours questioning her sanity over slurred, incoherent confessions of love. So maybe what she felt for Emily wasn't just this deep well of platonic affection and good old fashioned fuck the patriarchy female empowerment or whatever she'd deluded herself into thinking it was.

She remembered the time Emily had undressed in front of her and how she'd chalked her over-the-top discomfort up to jealousy. If it were anybody else, Tori would have recognized the feeling as attraction, but with Emily she'd fully fucking gaslit herself into believing otherwise. Why was Emily so different? Acknowledging it didn't mean she had to act on it. It wasn't like she threw herself at everyone with a nice body.

She wasn't sure when it happened; when this thing with Emily felt less like friendship and more like resisting the urge to give in. As if it were inevitable, somehow, that she'd end up in Emily's arms if she stopped fighting it. It wasn't, she reminded herself. There were so many reasons that she and Emily would never cross that line, but every time she looked down to see Emily sleeping peacefully in her lap she was reminded of how much she wished she could keep her like this. Close. Tori had never wanted that so desperately before.

Emily stirred, her forehead creasing. "Fuck," she mumbled, her voice hoarse and thick with sleep, "What happened last night?"

Tori adjusted her posture, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Emily was laying in her lap.

"No idea. I think Scott fucking... roofied you or whatever."

It wasn't the most delicate way to put it, but Tori was exhausted, barely able to keep herself from drifting off.

Emily's eyes shot open.

"Scott wouldn't."

"Scott did, Emily," Tori snapped, "You were like, fucking incoherent and I've been up all night trying to decide whether or not I needed to take you to a fucking hospital. Do they even have ambulances here?"

Emily pulled away, sitting up and wincing in the process, "I'm sure they do, but —"

"Emily!"

"I'm sorry," Emily sighed, her eyes downcast, "I don't know what to say. Are you alright?"

"Why are you asking if I'm alright?" Tori balked before sucking in a laboured breath and trying to soften her tone, "It's not your fault, alright? He's a piece of shit."

"It's not that, I just," she swallowed, looking away, "It feels like you keep having to look after me. I mean, ever since we met I've just been this massive inconvenience for you."

Tori reached out to place a hand on Emily's shoulder, "Oh, come on, Em. No. I'm so glad you're here."

Emily looked at her with trepidation, "Really?"

Tori forced a smile, "Yeah. Let's get breakfast delivered. That spinach quiche shit you love."

"It's a frittata," Emily replied weakly, "There's no crust."

Tori placed the order — not a quiche, a frittata — and the two of them ate in silence. She'd called Chris to cancel their rehearsal, citing a personal crisis and rolling her eyes when he just chuckled and teased, "Trouble in paradise?"