The moonlight filters in through the large glass window, illuminating the contours of a body she has long since memorized. They didn't even bother to close the curtains.

This isn't the first time. It won't be the last.

Wendy traces her eyes on reddened lines and fading purplish marks marring an otherwise unblemished skin. She remembers how it felt, the taste of rush and pain and all the pleasures that came with it.

Beside her Irene sleeps, exhaustion from earlier activities barely evident from the peaceful way she almost glows. A moment ethereal.

It feels like a reality suspended in time.

Sometimes Wendy would wish tomorrows woud never come.

A confession:

Some truths are just lies that are yet to become real.

Wendy looks at Irene and tells herself this moment, right now, is all that she needs.

A moment in time when she can just lie next to the woman who can pull her apart and build her up again with just one look. A touchable fantasy.

It's not a lie. She's just working on creating a truth.

Wendy tugs up their shared sheets, careful not to disturb the quiet as she gently covers some warmth over Irene's tired body.

This is something she can let herself cherish too.
Deep under the blanket of the night when she's the only one awake, a chance to care without thinking of repercussions, Wendy lets herself feel.

This, for now, is hers.

It's not ideal.

Some truths, still, are just not meant to be