The Whipping Turn

Paris - we meet again

Jenna's phone buzzed against her thigh. She dropped the book she was using to research the words she couldn't place from earlier work. It was late, she'd had an unsatisfying salad for dinner so she was hungry and now working, with both her work and her long legs, spread out on her bed. She was over it and the interruption was welcome.

Jean: Hey Jenna, this is Jean. How's your week? Want to come hang out again?
We offer dinner too (that was Oliver).
JX

Jenna's heart gave a little jump. She had to admit to herself that she HAD been hoping to hear from the boys (and that's how she referred to them in her head) and each day that had passed, her jar of disappointment had slowly being filling up. Before she chickened out she banged out a reply.

Jenna: Hi Jean, week is busy, I'm a bit fucked but not the good kind. Hanging out again would be fun. I like dinner.

And Jean replied quickly.

Jean: Your week sounds like our week.
But we both look forward to seeing you. Come to ours, say 6pm on Saturday. Maybe bring an overnight bag?

And then, before she could reply

Jean: Oliver wanted you to know that last bit was all me.

And finally, making her laugh

Jean: Actually, he didn't want you to know that.

Jenna wasn't sure how to respond. She did want another round! But it was hard to say that. Vagueness seemed a good approach

Jenna: I'll be there at 6. Can I bring anything? (Apart from an overnight bag ;) )

Jean: Nope. Just you. And the bag. JX

He signed off the conversation so you knew what to expect, Jenna thought as she debated sending an 'x' back. That's pretty sweet.

Before she could even help it.

Fridays rehearsal was brutal and Jenna felt every one of her muscles by the end. While that somewhat normal, the way her left ankle screamed, was not. Muscles she could handle, she knew she'd be stiff tomorrow but that ankle was killing her. Again. It was getting worse and worse and today's rehersal had tweaked something and it was now bordering towards unbearable. Walking to the metro and home seemed impossible. She needed something to help.

Sidling up to Oscar as he stuffed his hoodie in his backpack, Jenna let her head drop to his shoulder. She knew he'd felt the session too.

"Ah sweetie, you doing ok there? My boyfriend is going to have to give me a goooood stretch when I get home."

"Jesus, Oscar. I didn't know you were with anyone."

Oscar paused, "Well he's a fuck buddy but boyfriend sound so much more refined. I was gonna go for husband but I had to make it believable."

Jenna laughed in spite of herself, then sucked in a breath of pain, her ankle catching slightly as she walked. "I need some pain meds Oscar, my ankle is fucked."
Jenna was hardy direct with Oscar, their banter usually full of local gossip, sexual innuendo and double-entendres but their friendship was real and whole, and he did know her. Well, a lot of her. More than most.

He gently gripped her upper arm and steered them to a stop, and looked down at her, actual concern on his brow. "Oh honey, this is proper bad right? You need to tell the doc."

"She'll pull me, I know it."

Oscar sighed, it was how they all played it. Their passion before their bodies, wrecking themselves to feed the addiction.