Searching for a Perfect Day

Addressing Reality

Chapter 12: Addressing Reality

Light blue eyes crack to the sound of horns, late morning filters of light, an empty haphazard bed, and the promising smell of bacon in the air. She breathes in deeply, unused to smells emitting in her apartment as she’s still in her bedroom and looks towards the digital clock that reads nearly ten. She can’t remember the last time she had slept in so late…

Pushing the weightless white bed sheets off, she stares at her body in mild scrutiny for a moment and the relief that follows is so strange to her. She’s never felt this form of content before—this freedom for who she is versus who she can be in the light of having…a partner. Because that’s what Anna is at the end of the day, among a splay of other categorical things: a partner, a friend, a sister, a lover, her support, her confidant, her ward; it makes absolute sense that the redhead is the focal point of her life when she’s so many things to the taller girl.  

She’s never woken up the next morning after having sex with anyone feeling thrilled. It could be said that she feels the exact opposite: dread. Dread at having to face a stranger in her home if they haven’t gone away already and horror at an impending conversation that she doesn’t want to have, but usually will be forced to. 

Today and many mornings after, her mind gleefully reminds, is the first of many. An inadvertent smile lands on now woken features, the need to see Anna first and foremost. She grabs a random camisole littering the floor, opens her drawer for a fresh pair of panties, and dons them. It’s not as if she has to be modest in her own home, although the thought of walking into her kitchen naked as the day she was born crosses her mind, but more importantly her sister’s reaction to her boldness. 

She wonders briefly if the other girl wants to stay indoors all day…possibly “grace” every part of her condo before her inevitable flight back home. The thought makes her outwardly smirk as she crosses the threshold of her bedroom to the hallway. 

There’s a small wonder to watching someone do a domesticated task, especially when they’re not aware of your presence. Case and point, the present. Anna, her copper strands in a haphazard ponytail, is wearing nothing but a camisole and panties (Elsa’s not sure how they both manage to wear the same thing sans color), her light voice singing away to Drive By (funny enough), hips shaking to the beat of the music streaming through her ears, while the sounds of frying bacon fill the air, destroying silence and all its perceived golden glory. 

The blonde remains in her spot at the end of the hallway for a long moment, light blue eyes grazing at everything, filing it away to reach in later when she needs a light inside a dark tunnel. How is it possible for someone—anyone—to be this beautiful and be so natural at it? There’s no deliberately wanton movement, even though with personal experience Elsa’s seen this gloriousness from her sister. There’s just blinding unadulterated light: warm, streaming, full of unharnessed energy. The colorful apron hides nothing of a curvaceous backside, the thought of kissing every expanse of light skin (again) flitting through her mind. 

Before she’s fully aware of it, Elsa’s feet are taking deliberate wide steps towards the unassuming redhead, the need to hold the smaller girl seizing the blonde’s consciousness in a tight grip. It’s a small wonder that she didn’t think her condo was this spacious before, or maybe the desire to run through the seemingly large space between the hallway and kitchen wasn’t very important in the past. Regardless, today it feels like a too long distance, her fingers itching at encompassing a smooth waist.