your hand in mine ii

ii

The right side of the bed is cold when she wakes up.

It's like she's never been there, Roseanne thinks, gliding her hand down the cool, wrinkled sheet. Just another dream.

But there is a pleasant sting where Lisa sank her teeth in her neck last night, and she's deliciously sore between her legs. Her whole body is humming with relaxation. Complete opposite to how she's feeling inside.

She's gone. Again. Third night in a row.

This has been happening for a week now, and Roseanne doesn't have the power to stop it. No, she knows - of course she knows all she has to do is decline and Lisa won't show up at her doorstep anymore. Of course she knows that.

She just doesn't want her to stop showing up at her door, no matter how empty she feels every time Lisa leaves.

Her robe effortlessly slides on her naked body as she thinks back to the first night with this new Lisa. It was -- different, she muses. Definitely different, but she didn't exactly expect for it to go any other way. She's been naive enough, however, to think that Lisa didn't let her touch her because they didn't exactly have time. Claire called right after Roseanne plopped onto her back on the bed, panting Lisa's name through her second orgasm.

"Roseanne, what's going on?" Her mother demanded, voice stern and loud. "You were supposed to be back an hour ago."

"I'm not twelve, mom," she snapped back, looking for a bra and almost dropping her phone when Lisa tossed it at her. Not that it was a vicious throw. Just -- Lisa's abs were on display when she did that, and it was easy to become slightly distracted.

(Lisa's lips twitched upward at her outburst, just barely, and she almost missed her mother's reply.)

"You're certainly acting like it." Claire waits a second before continuing. "Are you even planning on coming home today?"

Of course she was. Before Lisa stormed in, bringing a gust of winter wind with her in the middle of May, Roseanne felt snowflakes melt on her skin, under Lisa's impatient hands.

But -- her dad was home. Waiting for her. Small apartment, but a big home, heavenly scents coming from the kitchen and open windows letting the warmth of a spring evening in.

(She was not surprised to find she preferred the cold to stay.)

"I…" It was funny. How she still looked at Lisa for reassurance, as if those five months didn't exist at all.

Lisa's reply was to tug her shirt back on, and she swallowed, nodding to herself. "Yes," she breathes into the phone. "Of course I am. Be there in twenty."

"Good," her mom said curtly. "We'll be waiting for you, then." And she hung up, leaving Roseanne alone with silently dressing Lisa.

(Mere seconds ago, she had her back)

"I," she said, slowly sitting down on her bed and watching Lisa swiftly button her shirt up. It was so foreign - feeling self-conscious around Lisa. It was all so wrong. "It's my mom. I have to-"

"You don't need to explain yourself to me." Lisa only briefly glanced at her when she said it, and it didn't take Roseanne long to decipher the real meaning. I don't need to hear it. This, right here, what happened between us - this is not something that requires an explanation, or any talking at all.

Lisa's face was blank again. No more clouded, intense gaze locked with hers. No more greedy lips burning her skin.

Cold. "Yeah," she managed to say without choking. "Okay." Next time , she thought wildly as she sat there, frozen, eyes roaming over Lisa's form. Next time, we'll talk, and I'll show her how much I missed her.