Irene is parked outside a quaint townhouse, her fingers drumming the steering wheel with anxiety. It’s only been twenty minutes but it feels like four dragging hours.

No one’s home.

Five minutes later and she turns on the radio, searching for a song to calm her nerves.

Ten minutes when she closes her eyes, hurt from crying and guilt.

Fourteen minutes. A song that is too Wendy plays, with vocals as powerful and guitar as soft, and a memory of her girlfriend humming along with her earphones on one early morning.

Distressed, she calls Amber. A good decision because her hands have now stopped shaking.

A quarter of an hour after the call ends, a car pulls up by the curb. Her soft, elegant, pretty, darling Wendy walks out the car and waves goodbye to the men in the driver and passenger seats.

Wendy walks past her car, ignoring it as if it doesn’t exist and fumbles with her keys in front of the gate.

Irene hastily turns off the engine, walking out of her car and practically sprints to the other side. She stops five feet away from Wendy, fingers twiddling inside her coat, eyes stinging, and lips trembling.

“Sorry”

It’s barely a whisper and it sounds so cliché to her ears. She searches for a more sincere apology but the words only swirl in her mind and she remains silent.

Wendy turns around, gaze piercing through her insides. She looks hurt, angry, confused… and it’s shining with fresh tears that spill to her cheeks. As expressive as Wendy’s black orbs seem, Irene doesn’t understand any of the feelings behind it.

Her expression softens when she sees Irene blow on her icy hands. Wendy lets her in her house with no words exchanged.

It’s cold – literally and figuratively.

Déjà vu. This time, they’ve switched places. Wendy goes on and unlocks the front door, hangs her coat and bag, pads through the apartment and turns on the heater and lights.

With the white light above them, Irene can now see her eyes, still wet from the recently fallen tears, and her cheeks dusted pink. Wendy sits on the couch and pats the cushion beside her. Irene walks in small steps and motions to sit beside her.

Apology is on Irene’s lips when Wendy leans in against her. Her hair and skin smell of smoke and a variety of mixed drinks and vodka. Irene threads her hands with Wendy’s own.

“Wen. I’m really sorry…”

Wendy nods. Before Irene could explain, Wendy shushes her.

“I’ll take a shower first. Please stay the night. You can wait in my room.”

---

Wendy took her time washing off traces of alcohol and melancholy while Irene takes her time staring at their couple picture framed beside Wendy’s bed.

She can’t wait to hug Wendy again, kiss her pink lips, hold her, and never let her go again.

Wendy enters the room just as Irene puts the photo down. She hands her a pair of pajamas to which Irene gladly changed into.

They lie side by side, covered in awkward silence. Irene breaks it.

“I’m sorry.”
 

“You said that already.”

“I really am.”

“I know.”

Irene hears Wendy shifting on the bed so she lies on her side as they face each other. Wendy cups Irene’s cheek and she moves closer to hug Wendy.

“Irene… let’s stay like this for tonight…”

“Okay…”

“It’s just… too