My Girl

by sigmalesbo

Summary:

When the screen changes and displays a room Chase has never seen before, it takes her a few long moments to notice. She freezes when she realizes what she's looking at. She supposes a part of her doubted it would work.

It is not what Chase expected. Emmy seems to have just moved in—the few decorations visible are not placed anywhere with intention and there are neat stacks of boxes pushed against the wall opposite Emmy's laptop. It is clean, slightly lived in, and mostly devoid of color. The laptop faces the blank wall and shows a full sized bed shoved in the room's corner. It seems Emmy likes everything cozy and close together. That's good news—Chase wants to get a hell of a lot closer to her and soon. There is a window with closed blinds above the bed.

Emmy flutters around her room seemingly without purpose until Chase notices her fingers drifting under the hem of her tight top.

Instantly, Chase sits up in her chair and her back pops in protest. This can't be happening. Things like this happen in porn, not her shitty real life.

It's the beginning of a new semester, what better way to kick it off than to develop a new classroom crush?

Chapter 1

Notes:

To set the mood, (edit: new playlist) Chase's playlist and Emmy's playlist.

Chase stands in her new apartment and stares vacantly at the half-unpacked boxes scattered about.

A new apartment and a new school year. This will be the first time she has ever lived truly alone and though she initially felt excited, it is fading as she examines her barren surroundings. A fresh start will be profoundly good for her. Enough of her relatives have hounded her with the usual concerns; you should make some friends, put yourself out there, apply yourself. Although she knows she should think about getting her shit together, Chase feels like she'll strangle the next person to say something like that to her.

As a warm welcome into her new place, a party is raging on. It is quite late and a Friday, but Chase can't fathom how all these people have amassed in such a short time. Chase drifts to her front door and cracks it open to peer into the hallway. People pass—girls in tight shorts and those leggings that look like they're painted on. All of them are walking within groups. A large portion of them are hanging off the arms of mediocre looking men.

It is probably a back to school thing packed to the brim with sweaty frat guys and naive freshmen who don't know any better. Someone really ought to tell them the nasty truth of these parties. Chase allows herself a moment of indulgent imagination. A girl stumbles to her door, wobbly and flushed with the sheer amount of liquor she's consumed. Rationally, Chase already knows she would freeze up in that situation—especially if her imaginary self was sober—but she will never turn down the chance to entertain those thoughts.

Chase backs away from the door and adjusts her pants in the process. Entertaining those thoughts is always nice, until they get her wet and bothered.

Sleep is out of the question with the noise and her general distaste for an early night, but the thought of unpacking sends her stomach into churning dread. Eventually she'll get to it—just like she'll get to making friends and putting herself out there. After making her way into her cramped shoe box of a room, Chase throws herself on the bed, still without a headboard or sheets. She's a tall girl and her feet dangle over the edge, but she can't afford to be picky.

The ceiling is popcorn, which she hates, and these new neighbors seem to enjoy throwing shitty parties, which she hates even more. As she stares up at her lumpy ceiling, Chase resolves this year will likely be another year of dutifully keeping her head down and scraping by with as little effort as she can manage. Despite everything, the possibility of this year's classroom crushes has her feeling preemptively giddy. The school year begins in a week and Chase is already anticipating her classmates.

They don't need to be a mystery. Chase launches from her bed to unearth her laptop from where she left it hours before. As she digs it up from her backpack, she allows her mind to wander and she conjures up college students with model faces and impossible proportions. A girl can dream.

As she navigates to her classes rosters, the phone rings from the filing cabinet serving as her nightstand. It is most likely her mother. Chase can't imagine anyone else calling her at this hour. After it rings for a few moments, Chase decides to not answer. It has been—now that she is thinking about it, she can't recall the last time they spoke.

Eventually, the ringing ceases and Chase expects her mom won't attempt another call for a few more months. Although she was close to scrolling through the pictures of her classmates and noting which ones she was the most attracted to, her mood has soured from the mere notion of interacting with her mother.

Regardless, Chase finds a list of her classmates' names and locates each of the girls on social media. Most of the accounts are private, which is to be expected, but still aggravating. Some of them have their faces set as their profile pictures but Chase still holds onto the slim hope that she will stumble across someone's spam account where they post cleavage shots or pictures of them sloppy drunk.

The bass from the party thrums through the paper-thin wall and serves as Chase's shitty soundtrack for the night. None of her investigations get very far, but she has time and this is just one of her many classes. It is her senior year and the range of people she will encounter is wider than previous years. She will be grouped with freshmen in general classes and her fellow seniors in her specialized courses. The world truly is her oyster.

Chase leans back in her bed, her back against the wall, and idly drags her fingers over her cunt. The light pressure is a movement so familiar and comforting she often falls asleep with her hand shoved in her pants. Sleep is not the goal right now and Chase presses harder, giving in without much thought. She doesn't necessarily feel like shooting a load all over her hand, but she's pent-up and would rather not acknowledge how she feels right now. Despite her efforts, she cums quickly, rubbing her clit and thinking of disembodied tits and ass. Her boxers grow sticky with it as she lays there and when she finally stands to use the bathroom, she doesn't bother changing. The scent of sex and her musk clings to her like a reeking blanket.

Elsewhere, the bass from the party's music is still pounding through the walls. A heartbeat in the dingy apartment building.

An unknowable amount of time passes and Chase is only snapped out of her vacant stupor when someone knocks on her door. When she glances out her window, it is almost completely black aside from the sliver of the moon hanging high above. There is a small part of her that is shocked she lost so much time. It feels like she blinked and hours passed. Things like this are happening more often and Chase does not acknowledge it. It feels like she is dreaming when she answers the door and finds a girl wavering on her feet. Mascara is smeared around her eyes like she's been rubbing at them and her skin is flushed from the sheer amount of alcohol in her system.

Chase blurts out a curt, "What?"

"Need a place to crash," the fresh meat slurs, so horribly drunk. A straggler from the party down the hall.

Chase sneers and shuts the door in her face. It's rude, but she doesn't have the patience or self-control to babysit. It's better to be rude than to risk all the progress she's made over the last few years. Drunk people grate on her when she's restraining herself as well and she prefers the mellow, chilled-out state she reaches when high. Speaking of sparking up—no, not tonight, her stash is cleaned out. Chase erratically paces in front of the door, wondering if she should go into the hallway and find that girl.

Thoughts of the impending school year eventually creep into her mind. It is difficult to recall why the fuck she's doing this. Everyone goes to university—or more school—after finishing high school. There was nothing else she could think of doing and going to university was expected and encouraged. Chase is studying computer science, not because she is passionate about it or can see herself thriving in that field, but because everything else sounded so fucking abysmal. Chase can clearly picture herself ten years in the future, thirty-one and hunched over a computer in a cubical, her skin even more pallid.

The notion sours in her mind and she can't forget it. The vision follows her as she slips into a restless sleep, hours later.

---

A few days pass and before she knows it, she is walking into her first class of the semester. This is a leadership class which is mostly bullshit. It is something taken as a gen-ed fill-in or whenever problem students like herself need to prove they're responsible enough to keep their financial aid. In Chase's case, this class is a requirement from the dean. It will show she is stable enough to not be expelled. The threat of expulsion looms over her head like an anvil. If the circumstances were any different, she would ditch every single one of these bullshit classes and spend her time doing something more interesting, yet here she is.

This building's classrooms are all in states of disrepair. Chase has had a class or two here over the years and the festering mildew scent is something she has grown to expect. She walks within a bustling crowd of students who look as run down as the building they're in. It is only the first week but the anticipation weighs on everyone. How will this year go? Will I succeed? Will I succumb? As much as Chase would like to distance herself from the rat-race, she is currently paying exorbitant amounts to attend this school and can't help but get caught up in it. Whenever she catches a glimpse of herself in the grimy windows, she can't distinguish herself from her dead-eye classmates.

Chase enters the classroom early and chooses a place tucked in the corner. It stinks of organically sweet mildew, just like the hallways. This is the only time she will arrive early this semester and it is a strategic move. It guarantees her a good vantage point to observe her classmates from. Over her four years here, she has discovered a lot can be gleaned just from watching the initial behaviors as people file into the classroom.

Students slowly begin to arrive and none of them are anyone Chase recognizes, which is good. It's a big school but a small world.

A group of girls walk in after a few average-looking loners, but Chase hears them before she sees them. High voices ring out over the quiet shuffling from the hallway. The trio of tones are bright and likely a little too loud, but Chase enjoys the promise of fresh visual meat.

The group comes into view and Chase reflexively straightens up in her seat. It is a whole gaggle of women (all tits and ass and meat) and all of them look as though they've decided to match with each other for this special first day back. The leader—this must be some sort of sorority or club friendship, why else would they be so close already?—has a cool, dark complexion and a confidence in her step that has Chase feeling hungry. She loves it when girls are so effortlessly cool like that. She can't help but stare and everyone else ceases to exist.

The classroom is small enough that their combined scent reaches Chase and she nearly fails to stifle the groan that threatens to escape her.

What is wrong with you?

Chase snorts out a dry laugh and poorly hides it behind an awkward cough. Another girl comes into view as the group locates their seats and Chase feels her brain short-circuit.

Immediately, she knows this specimen will be her shallow, superficial crush in this class. Crushes make the time go by quicker, serving as something pretty to stare at while the professor drones dully on and something to jerk off to. This girl has such warm, vibrant red hair that it makes the rest of the room look dead. It is as though all the color has leached from everything else to give her a place to shine. Chase shifts in her seat, now honed in on the girl's top—it's a strappy and tight thing that clings to her tits like a second skin. As Chase watches her like a hawk, she turns and sits, revealing the size of her chest and ass. These clothes really leave little to the imagination despite how much they cover. Her denim shorts and top are tight enough Chase intimately knows the outline of her body.

Fuck.

The girl settles in her seat, leaning over the table with her friends and her hair forms a fiery curtain concealing her face. Chase's eyes automatically trace the lithe curve of her back. Now that she's sitting, it is impossible to make out any of the bits she cares the most about.

Chase abruptly stands and causes too much noise, attracting unwanted eyes as she hurries for a side door. Ignoring the weight of the many stares picking her apart is impossible. But she can't pry her mind away from the memory of the redhead's body—the way her chest strained against that pathetic excuse for a shirt and how her legs stretched a mile long out from her skimpy little shorts. Chase is so wet she feels like she's hard and her clit is engorged, rubbing up against the folds in her boxers as she moves. It's all making her dizzy.

Once outside, Chase scrambles to recall where the nearest bathroom is. Class has already begun and the hallway is mostly empty save for a few stragglers. None of them look her way, but Chase imagines the judgmental side-eyes and glances. She certainly is not doing anything to help her case, especially after that debacle years ago. Surely people have forgotten.

After anxiously wandering around, Chase discovered the nearest bathroom and it is mercifully unoccupied. Chase immediately rushes inside and locks the door behind her. The urge to touch herself is so overwhelming she barely looks around the small space before she shoves a hand down her pants. Wasting time is out of the question after seeing such a fine piece of ass and her fingers go straight for her clit. The sudden pressure is exactly what she needed and she can't bite back all the labored groans that escape her. Every noise she makes is thrown back at her, echoed off the walls.

Some apathetic and distant piece of herself understands how bad this is. It is a bad sign and just not something normal people do. Normal people don't take one look at some cute redhead and get so turned on they have to excuse themselves.

Chase normally doesn't listen to that small, more rational part of herself. Touching herself right now feels good and that's all that matters. Reining in her over-active imagination is impossible and Chase's mind offers up endless scenarios. She did not get a good look at her face, but that doesn't matter. All she sees are fat tits and more of those tiny, insane tops and thongs with a red bush peeking out. Chase has always adored the sight of a beautiful woman in tight clothes. Big tits and ass pressing against the fabric and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Whenever she walks up the stairs to get to class, she'll occasionally walk behind girls just watch how their asses move. Stopping now is unthinkable.

With her back against the tiled wall, Chase slides down until she's sitting on the floor. The new angle gives her fingers more freedom and they drag over her cunt, collecting some of the gathering slick before smearing it over her throbbing clit. A loud, open groan tears from her throat and she belatedly claps a hand over her mouth. If someone was pressing their ear against the door, they would hear all of the sounds Chase is failing to hold back.

This is one of the few family bathrooms without stalls and Chase frankly can't believe her luck. Being so shameless in public is completely out of left field, but there is a certain thrill she could see herself growing addicted to.

With each pass over her cunt, Chase's fingers grow increasingly wet until they're slipping clumsily around her clit. Frustration compounds until she starts desperately humping against her hand, splayed out on the dirty bathroom floor under the fluorescent scrutiny of the overhead lighting. She wishes with everything she has that she had some girl to pin down and violently grind against.

Chase tilts her head back against the wall as she rubs herself brainless. The cold tiles behind her head leach out the flustered warmth in her head until it feels as though her brain cells are leaking out. She fucks herself dumb, reduced to furiously rubbing since her fingers are too wet to get a grip where it matters. All through this, her mind races with an endless mental slideshow of redheads clad in tiny clothes and spreading long, long legs—all for her.

It does not take long until the fumbling around is no longer enough and Chase slips a thin fingers through the mess of her folds. The wet sounds resonating from between her legs are almost pornographic and it only encourages Chase to really go for it; she teases the edge of her hole. Although her fingers are long and thin, she has never been one for penetration. This gentle teasing—just barely dipping into herself before pulling out—is more than enough to bolster the pleasure. Palm grinding against her clit and fingers drifting aimlessly around her hole, Chase cums quietly with a shudder.

A few long moments pass where Chase does not think of anything at all.

The lights seem to buzz overhead and that racing, pounding sound inside her head must be her heartbeat. Post-nut clarity sets in and Chase realizes she is sitting on the filthy bathroom floor, her hands wet with her slick, and she stares vacantly at the tile wall opposite her.

This behavior is concerning. She is lucid enough to acknowledge that but she doubts she will do anything about it. This is exactly the sort of thing that got her in trouble with the school a few years ago. Chase grimaces at herself and tries to push the thought aside. It doesn't budge and sours the post-nut calm.

A sharp knock on the door shatters whatever lingering calm Chase felt. Just as she debates whether or not she imagined that, a muffled, "Hello?" breaks through the haze in her head.

She jerks into standing and frantically wipes her cum-soaked fingers on her jeans. Before she wastes too much time, Chase opens the door and prays she hasn't been caught.

The redhead is standing there. Big, brown doe eyes and thin eyebrows raised with concern. Chase freezes and is abruptly, painfully aware of the state she's in. Her chest is still heaving, skin slick with sweat, and her pupils are blown wide. This sweet-looking girl is staring into the grimy pit that is Chase, watching as she wrestles with what to say. Chase can't think of anything and she is left with her eyes flicking over the girl's body.

She's short—most people are shorter than Chase—and her cleavage is practically begging to be stared at.

This sweet little redhead seems to be equally taken off guard and Chase is lucid enough to see that.

The girl breaks the silence first, stammering, "I'm so sorry—this is really weird—" and Chase interrupts her with a blurted, "It's not," and then they both stand in a silent stupor, staring at each other before that becomes too much. Chase feels her heart skip a beat despite how vaguely disgusting this whole thing is.

Heat blooms on her face on top of her arousal flush. She is likely red enough to rival the shade of the girl's hair. When she is flustered it shows all over her pale skin, her desire manifesting feverish and splotchy.

"Are you okay?" She eventually asks and sounds genuinely concerned. Chase can see something glittering in her cleavage. It is a silver necklace with a crucifix charm. As though the girl doesn't notice Chase's line of sight, she continues, "You just left in such a hurry and didn't come back. Like, I know it's none of my business, but you looked really bad—I mean, no offense."

Chase wordlessly stares and can't string together a coherent sentence. Honestly, she still looks really bad, but this girl is nice enough to not point it out right now.

"What's your name?"

The girl blinks. It seems she wasn't expecting that. Her doe eyes shift away and stare at some point behind Chase. Can she smell the cum on Chase's hands? Does she want some?

"I'm Emily," she says and then shakes her head before facing Chase again, "Just call me Emmy." Then, she smiles hesitantly as though attempting to gauge Chase's reaction. Unreal.

Emmy suits her. Chase notices she is a very pretty girl now that she's not hyper-focused on the exceptional rack in front of her. Aside from those big baby browns, Emmy also boasts a set of full lips and a long, sloping nose that hooks at the end. Chase swallows hard and immediately wishes she hadn't. Emmy's brows furrow with something unreadable and Chase suddenly understands she can only be so nice to the tall, lanky girl staring directly down her shirt.

Chase clears her throat and averts her eyes before she stares any longer. "I'm Chase," she does not say what it is short for, "and I'm fine. Promise." She holds up a pinky and grins.

Emmy gives her a long look and watches Chase's knobby finger. Reading her is impossible and Chase slowly begins to feel like a bit of a tool standing in the bathroom threshold, waiting to see what will happen. Emmy looks Chase up and down, taking in clothes that have been worn for days and the absolute mess that is her appearance. For once, Chase would like to be a bit shorter if only so she could look Emmy in the eye and avoid shrinking under that oppressive gaze.

As the silence carries on, Chase awkwardly clears her throat and drops her eyes to her shoes. Her pinky remains held up, just in case.

Emmy says nothing, but she lingers at Chase's side before leaving on quiet footsteps.

Notes:

Miss me? This is one of my favorite stories I've ever written and my only regret with it is that I never cut loose like I wanted to. This rewrite is going to fix that and all those little technical mistakes I made. This will be a bit different than the original My Girl and I hope y'all are ready for it <3

Chapter 2

Today, Chase has a routine appointment with the dean to discuss the terms of her attendance. It is later enough in the day that she is forced to find something to do to occupy her morning and when she wakes up, she immediately grabs her phone and navigates to Emmy's social media.

She is a popular girl. Almost every public post she's made includes her and a gaggle of friends, all of them equally beautiful and well-endowed in several areas. Most of her posts reveal a normal, twenty-something year old girl having a fun and fulfilling college experience. One girl seems to be Emmy's best friend based solely on how often they show up together. Chase decides they complement each other well with Emmy's fiery hair and this other girl's (Gia—according to the tags) deep, chocolate brown waves.

A thought rears up from the depths of Chase's half-asleep mind; she stands back, watching Emmy and Gia straddle each other, lips glossy with spit, their hands tangled in each other's hair.

Chase's mouth waters and she continues scrolling, now absentmindedly rubbing circles over her clit through her boxers. The contact feels diffused through the fabric, but it is enough to make her wet and needy. Chase reaches the summer months and is greeted with the sight of Emmy in tiny bikinis. Sun burnt and freckled skin and a distinct lack of men that makes Chase's heart skip a beat.

Could it be?

Maybe. Chase doesn't want to get her hopes up.

After some deliberation, Chase decides to look at Emmy's story from a throwaway account. It will just look like some bot and if she's lucky, Emmy won't think anything of it. Worst case,she gets blocked, but it will be worth seeing what she's been up to in the last twenty four hours.

The first slide is a picture of last night's sunset with a song attached. Chase closes her eyes and absorbs the music. It is so smooth and mellow she nearly passes back out. Once fully awake and sitting up, Chase watches the next slides. Emmy grabbing dinner. The phone eats first . It's kind of corny, but Chase finds herself more endeared to her than anything.

The next slide is from a few minutes ago and when Chase notices this, her heart freezes up with fear. She prays she isn't noticed and reminds herself how ridiculous she's being. There is no way Emmy would pick up on the fact that it's Chase watching. According to this post, Emmy and that equally gorgeous friend, Gia, will be grabbing breakfast at a new cafe that has opened up in the student union. She posted that under ten minutes ago. If Chase gets her shit together, she might be able to catch them.

As she frantically dresses and halfheartedly washes up, some voice in the back of her mind wonders what exactly she plans to do. Emmy's only impression of her is from the other day right after she finished jerking off. It must have been obvious. Figuring out what to say is a hurdle she will deal with later.

Once sufficiently presentable in a clean-smelling shirt and baggy jeans, Chase is ready to go.

It is overcast in a way that suggests it will rain soon and Chase pays it no mind. Maybe if she shows up sopping wet and sad-looking, Emmy will worry over her. A girl can dream. The walk to the student union building is quick, but the humidity is so high she is drenched with sweat by the time she reaches the doors.

The new semester has just begun so the space is full of students socializing and studying. Voices echo off the walls and Chase can't discern any specific conversations. She is never around big crowds like this if she can help it, but Emmy will be worth it. The cafe is on the other side of the big eating area Chase finds herself in and she immediately makes her way there.

Now that her prize is steps away, nerves begin to bubble up from deep within the pit of her gut. She can't see Emmy yet, but she doesn't dare enter the cafe.

The walls facing the eating area are glass and once Chase slinks along the perimeter, she sees Emmy and Gia sitting prettily with their lattes. From this angle, Chase can clearly see their profiles. Emmy with the gentle slope of her nose and thick eyelashes, Gia with her moles and pouty lips. Chase almost doesn't want to choose.

It would be painfully easy to slip inside and sit closer, but Chase restrains herself. Emmy is worth playing the long game with and Chase is patient. In order to not attract any suspicions, she sits against the glass wall and produces a book from her backpack. No one will notice her sneakily snapping pictures of the pair from the cover of her book. Anyone watching her through the glass would see but everyone appears too engrossed with their conversations.

Chase leaves when Emmy does.

The pair quickly walk from the cafe, carrying their coffees and chattering. Blissfully unaware of how long Chase has been watching them.

Chase follows them through the union building, never coming close enough to attract attention, but never far enough to lose sight of them. Today, Emmy wears jeans that hug her ass like that was what they were made for. As she talks, her hands wave in the air or twist at the ends of her hair. Chase finds herself mesmerized by all the movement. Once they leave the building, Chase lingers at the glass door, watching them walk off into the gloomy landscape.

In the dean's office, the fluorescent lights are buzzing incessantly overhead and Chase can't help but wonder if this is a calculated attempt to throw her off. She wouldn't put it past the dean to do something like that—Chase is not well liked among the faculty. It does not take long for the subtle drone to worm its way under her skin and she wonders if she could go insane, just from listening to the lights.

The dean is sitting across from Chase wearing one of the most foul expressions Chase has ever seen. The sour expressions have long lost their effect as Chase has grown used to them.

"You're attending," at first, it sounds like the dean plans to continue the sentence, but she stares intensely down at the papers after trailing off. Then, she grimaces and her face looks grotesque in the harsh lighting. Chase wonders if she has something against lamps as she glances around the sterile feeling room. Finally, the ancient woman continues, "The leadership class, the counseling, and the club. Have you picked out a club yet?"

Chase's first instinct is to say no, I don't know what club Emmy's in, but she knows it's a miracle she is even allowed to attend a club after what she did. Anything she wants to say will dig her a deeper hole than the one she's already in, so she manages a meek, "Oh, sorry." Frankly, Chase doesn't give a fuck and would rather not attend a club she doesn't care about, but she figures she can endure this small humiliation. "I haven't yet. I forgot."

The dean leans forward and props her elbows on her pretentiously large desk before rubbing her temples. She loves to act like speaking to Chase is a chore.

"You have to. It's one of your requirements for attending," the dean sighs and shuffles through the documents. "See, here, your therapist recommended it to us directly since you don't get out." There's an unspoken judgment she barely hides and Chase struggles against her knee-jerk instinct to bristle and snap back. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat and forces herself to look the dean in the eye.

Before Chase can think of something to say, the dean abruptly continues. "Frankly, I'm shocked they're letting you back into a club, even if it's separate from that other one you were part of. Just join something by the end of the week or we'll be forced to rewrite the terms of your attendance."

Chase nods , wonders why she's acting like she cares about going to school, and leaves the office as quickly as she can.

Just being in this building makes her head throb. It is spotless, all pristine white tile and impeccably painted walls. It probably looks very nice in the pictures of the campus online or while families pass through while touring. They never stay long enough to notice the strange chemical smell mingling with the stale air. It seems as though the janitors didn't quite wipe their products up. If Chase squints, she can barely make out a film covering the surface of the tiles on the floor. The administration can pretend all they want, but every aspect of the university is slowly crumbling.

Funds will be allocated to their sports and engineering department—whatever is left over trickles down until the budget is exhausted. Apparently, they aren't willing to pay to clean the mold infesting the dorms and bathrooms.

Chase leaves the building feeling vaguely unsettled and it is still just as overcast as it was earlier. The clouds are slow moving and meandering across the gray sky. Everything seems to be hanging so low Chase can't help but feel a little anxious while standing under the close, heavy sky. Although it hasn't yet rained, she can smell it in the air.

The rest of her day is freed up aside from some homework she'll get to later. The gray world is her shitty oyster.

After some deliberation, Chase elects to continue examining Emmy's online life from the comfort of a nearby bench. If anyone passes by, it will just look like she's hunched over her phone. Ever since that fateful first day, she has not been able to get Emmy off her mind. This morning at the cafe did nothing to help and now her head is spinning with all the possibilities. It is almost laughably easy to find more of her social media and Chase nearly texts her to be more careful. Everything is public. Maybe she's the sort of girl who doubts anything like this would happen.

Most of the posts Chase finds reveal the same things she found in her earlier searching. Friends, outfits, scenery wherever she goes.

A small part of Chase recognizes that she is beginning to go down a slippery slope. It is easy to play off casual rifling through public social media, but any more than this will look increasingly suspicious. A memory pushes into the edge of her consciousness like a nail digging into her eye. Isn't this how it began last time?

During the meeting, the dean looked more hostile than Chase expected and for the first time, she wonders if she can trust her memories of the incident. She is so unnerved by the notion she momentarily forgets her task of stalking Emmy through social media.

Her phone is off and Chase is walking along the sidewalk before the thought has a chance to fester in her mind.

Chase's thoughts tend to fester as open wounds do—bacterial and infectious. A perpetual sense of dread follows her and she feels she's been tense and vigilant for as long as she can remember. If she relaxes, she does not know what will happen. She wonders what memories and poorly suppressed urges would fight their way to the surface of her mind. Sediment stirred up from the bottom of a filthy lake. Chase does not believe she'd like to recall anything buried. It was likely buried for a reason.

She manages to make it back to her apartment before the rain falls. The small living room looks like it's been hit by a tornado—scattered clothes are draped over every surface and half-unpacked clutter turns the carpet into a minefield. The filth is vaguely comforting.

Her usual hobby rotation—jerking off, perusing obscure porn sites, or experimenting with pills—has no appeal after that unsavory meeting. The little homework she has can wait until later; there's a group project for that bullshit leadership class among other minor assignments. Although she won't start, Chase checks the group project's information on her laptop. It's nothing worth noting, just some ridiculous horseshit that will evaporate from her mind the moment it's finished, but one thing stands out. She is partnered with Emmy. What are the odds?

Chase leans back in her rickety office chair and regards the screen carefully. It beckons her to continue digging around Emmy's online presence.

Before she can succumb to the urge, her phone vibrates on her nightstand. There are a precious few people who would bother with texting her and only one of them is worth Chase's time. After glancing at the text on her screen, Chase grabs a coat and walks out into the rain.

Chase prefers to keep to herself most of the time, but she has a friend (or, something close to that), contrary to how isolated she would like to be. Laura is likely the only person in the world who is more of a loser than Chase. Keeping her around is a nice ego boost when she needs it and a reliable source of weed.

They meet each other at a local park, squatting together in the piles of wet leaves under an old stone bridge. The rain comes down in sheets around them and it does not take long before Chase's shoes are soaked. She can smell the trench foot already.

Laura hands her a pre-roll and watches like a hawk as Chase lights it.

"So," she begins in a way that suggests this conversation will be aggravating to sit through. Chase bites her tongue and allows her to continue, only because she is getting free weed out of it. There is a lot she'd do for free shit. "How's school so far?"

"Are you being for real right now?" Chase scoffs and takes a long drag. There is something so relaxing about smoking outside in the rain, especially once she tunes out Laura's presence.

That comment earns her an eye roll and Laura snatches the joint from her.

"Rude."

"Says you," Laura rolls her eyes and inhales deeply. "But—there's another girl, isn't there?"

Chase fights the instinct to freeze up. There is a tone in Laura's voice that oozes a faked concern that implies, the school wants me keeping tabs on you. Not for the first time, Chase briefly wonders if she is just being paranoid, but she would not put it past any of them. The administration or Laura. Guess they really don't want a repeat of that last incident. Chase scoffs at the thought and considers leaving Laura under the bridge, alone with the grime and her subpar pre-rolls.

Instead, Chase shakes her head and puts on her best nonchalant mask. "No," she says a little too quickly. "Not after last time."

Laura holds her gaze with a knowing look before handing the joint back to her. Chase grabs it like it's a life preserver in the treacherous waters of this shitty conversation. Laura's eyes are the same muddy blue-gray as the world outside the space under the bridge. No matter what she says next, Chase already knows her hunch is right. She will need to watch her tongue around her.

Then, Laura sighs and produces a second pre-roll from the depths of her jacket. She lights it and takes a drag, her voice growing lazy when she says, "Sure, man. I'll believe you. I don't wanna fuck around with you if you pull some weird shit like that again, though."

Chase suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.

"But, I know that face you're making," Laura continues with a slow and knowing smile. "You got that dumbass look to you. She must be fine as fuck."

That is a gross understatement. Chase deflects. "So I'm allowed to look, huh?"

"Oh my God," Laura groans and ashes the joint. "You know what I mean."

Chase furrows her brows. There is a particularly nasty spot on the ground that she would like to shove Laura's face in. When she glances back at Laura's face, she is staring at her eagerly, playing absentmindedly with the split ends of her mousey brown hair. She must not have many friends if she's this excited about Chase's chosen jerk-off material for the semester.

After finishing off her joint, Chase supposes she can indulge Laura's need for conversation and she says, "It's some girl in one of my gen-eds." She shrugs and holds a hand out for another pre-roll she knows Laura has. Once it's in her hand, she lights it and takes a drag. The weed is exceptionally bad, but it's free. "A redhead."

Laura raises her eyebrows at that. "Never knew you were into those."

"Haven't tried one out yet. Gotta sample all the flavors, or something."

That drags a laugh out of Laura and everything feels a little more manageable. Not even the cold mud seeping through her shoes can sour Chase's high. A smile comes easily to her lips—not because of Laura's companionship, but at the thought of the possibilities Emmy will bring. Chase makes a mental note to watch some redhead porn when she gets home.

"You're such a freak man," Laura snickers and shoves playfully at Chase's shoulder. "You gotta tell me—" she barely finishes the word before erupting into a fit of laughter. "You gotta tell me if the carpet matches the drapes, y'know."

Laura is either delusional or nice enough to pretend Chase actually has a chance with Emmy. Having someone around to assume she's drowning in bitches may be the confidence boost she needs to go through with any of her fantasies.

"I'm not telling you shit."

"Whatever," Laura lazily rolls her eyes and stares pointedly at the roach in Chase's hand. "Give me that shit—I can save it."

Chase straightens up and holds it high over Laura's head. "Take it from me, bitch," she sneers and is swept away in the dizzy rush the high gives her.

Laura stretches up uselessly—Chase likely has six inches on her. She is not strong in any sense of the word, but her height is enough to make Laura give up. An abrupt thought wells up from some pit in her mind. Chase can't help but wonder how Emmy would look standing in front of her like Laura is, her eyes hazy and red.

"You're too fuckin' tall," Laura gives in and backs away. "But seriously—don't do anything stupid."

Way to ruin the moment with another allusion. Chase feels the effects of her high curdle like sour milk in her head.

"Whatever man," Chase mutters before taking a final drag. Laura barely looks up before Chase ashes the remnants of the joint above her head. She turns and leaves before she can watch the ash fall into Laura's hair.

"Do you just wanna go over topics?"

Chase blinks and she sits in the classroom, desks shoved together, and staring vacantly at Emmy. She looks irritated—Chase must have been zoned out. She mumbles an awkward sorry and rubs at her temples.

Emmy snorts out an uneasy laugh and exchanges a glance with another girl sitting with them at their makeshift table—Chase recognizes her as Gia from before. Although she feels disoriented from her momentary blank out, Chase still notices and greatly appreciates the two girls' outfits. Emmy wears a baggy shirt, but her hair is up today, exposing her neck and again, that delicate crucifix necklace. Gia is showing a bit more skin and Chase is having an increasingly difficult time keeping her eyes focused on a respectable area.

Gia faces Emmy and gives her a pinched smile. Chase recognizes the look. The look at this weirdo kind of look. Mercifully, she keeps her thoughts to herself. Emmy is far more skilled at feigning a polite interest in Chase.

"We could meet at my place and knock everything out in one night," Gia offers, only addressing and facing Emmy.

Chase bites back the urge to pull a face at her while her back is turned. It is hard not to feel a little left out and she just mimics Emmy, nodding whenever she nods, giving the appropriate bullshit responses when needed. Frankly, she barely knows what they're discussing. Emmy is already becoming an unwise distraction.

While she listens and attempts to keep up, Chase glances into her mostly empty bag to discover her phone is dead because of course it is.

"Does that sound good to you?" Emmy looks pointedly at Chase from across their table, her big doe eyes staring through her.

Chase stifles a shudder and quickly nods. "Yeah, that's chill."

That's chill? Who the fuck says that?

Gia and Emmy exchange another loaded look before Emmy's eyes return to Chase. She expects an awkward tangent of conversation, but Emmy simply shoots her a soft smile. "Sounds good," she says. "I don't mind sticking around after class either."

Gia does not look convinced, but she does not say anything when Chase gives her a wavering smile.

Then, she redirects her full attention to Emmy, and Chase is effectively blocked out of the conversation. That is not too unwelcome as the topics are mind-numbingly dull. Chase can't help but wonder if Gia is purposely trying to make Chase dislike her. Regardless of her interest, Chase pays enough attention to learn bits and pieces about each of their lives. They went to high school together, they're planning on being roommates, and Gia knows Emmy better than anyone .

Despite Gia's vaguely hidden hostility, Emmy remains kind to Chase, even as she continuously neglects to chime in. No one makes a big deal about her presence in a way she didn't know she needed. Being ignored is not fun, but Emmy is not shooing her away. It is a little pitiful to acknowledge the thought, but Chase realizes she is content enough being so close to Emmy.

Someone asks, "What are you studying?"

It takes Chase a moment to realize the question was directed towards her. After hurriedly clearing her throat, she says, "Computer science," and the two girls make halfhearted oohing sounds.

Emmy smiles and that seems genuine at least—but then Chase is unsure if she's making that up or not. She says, "That's cool! Aren't you graduating soon? What do you wanna do with that?"

Chase's first thought: she knows some details about me—when I'm graduating—which means she's looked through my socials or asked around about me.

Then, her mind focuses on the excited interest. Not even Gia's sour expression tarnishes Emmy's intense stare. Chase does not think she has ever had anyone give this much of a shit about what she's doing.

After ignoring her heart skipping a beat, Chase replies dumbly, "Yeah, I'm a senior." There is a pause; the class has ended and Gia is already standing, poking at Emmy's shoulder and trying to silently convey that they should leave now .

Despite Gia's quiet insistence, Emmy remains seated and focused on Chase as she continues, "I don't know what I wanna do yet."

It's a small miracle Gia represses her eye roll when Emmy responds, "That's real, I'm not sure what's next either, so you're not alone in that."

Finally, Gia intercepts, "Are you still coming?"

Emmy looks up at her and shrugs. "I don't think so—you wanna walk me home, Chase?"

Chase swallows thickly and prays it is not as obvious as it feels. It feels a little like her brain suddenly short circuits. Walking Emmy home will reveal her address. Walking her home implies she lives much closer to Chase than she realized. Chase will be able to drive or walk by anytime she wants and play it off like Emmy's house is just on her way to campus. Maybe it is. Maybe Chase has been unknowingly walking by Emmy's house everyday since she's moved in. The notion has her shivering and momentarily squirming in her seat.

Instead of doing what would be safe and turning Emmy down, Chase smiles and nods. "That sounds good," she says in her best flippant tone she prays hides the excitement she's feeling.

As they leave the classroom, Gia follows close behind until they leave the building.

Emmy lives very close to campus, and therefore, Chase's apartment.

In the succeeding days, Chase drives or walks by. If she gets caught, she decides to use some our neighborhood isn't the greatest or you're just in my route kind of excuse. Every time she cruises past Emmy's red brick house, an ache blooms in between her legs.

Chase has had crushes before. She has even done something similar to this, she thinks, or she has at least thought about it. Doing something like this this early on is unusual. A small part of her recognizes this is not good and that she needs to stop while she is ahead of it. She grows dizzy with want and the haze does not clear until she arrives home and slumps in her desk chair, hand furiously pumping in between her legs, and animated porn on her laptop, starring red haired girls with big, trusting eyes.

A few evenings later, Chase sits in her car outside of Emmy's house and tells herself this is normal behavior. It is growing quite late and therefore, it will be more difficult to talk herself out of discovery if she is caught. It is at the point of the night when the first party goers begin making their way home, stumbling drunkenly or driving wildly under the influence. Emmy's porch light is on. She must either be home and waiting up, or she's gone.

As Chase nervously fidgets in her seat, she catches a glimpse of her eyes in the rear view mirror. Her brown irises are invisible in the darkness of her car. She is too tall for the cramped sedan but can't afford anything else.

Just as Chase is beginning to come to her senses and debate leaving, there is movement inside the house. She is not sure if Emmy has a roommate or not, but she holds out hope. Emmy comes out a moment later, clad in a tight, sporty get-up that has Chase grabbing her steering wheel so tightly the leather squeals.

Despite the low temperature, Emmy does not cover herself and begins walking in the direction of a nearby strip mall. Her black shorts hug her ass like they were specially made for her and her long, red ponytail bounces as she walks. Chase narrows her eyes. Can this girl really be that stupid? Walking around like that makes it seem like she wants this kind of attention. Chase almost can't believe her eyes. Someone could really hurt her.

There is a gym at the strip mall and Chase drives there before Emmy reaches it. By the time Emmy walks into the parking lot, Chase has her car shut off and she waits by the door, facing away and nursing a cigarette.

Emmy pays no attention to her as she passes and the moment she opens the door, Chase slinks up behind her, appearing like Emmy's guest and getting into the gym without needing to stop to talk to the front desk worker. The maneuver is risky as hell; Chase's heart pounds deafeningly loud as she pulls away from Emmy as they enter the gym. Her hoodie is over her head and she knows her silhouette makes her pass as a dude—so Emmy doesn't think twice when Chase walks briskly away toward the free weights.

The fact that she just did that is such a bad sign Chase almost feels like she's going to be caught. There is a line somewhere—a point of no return. Chase is unsure of where it is exactly but she is lucid enough to understand she is getting dangerously close. If she sits back and really analyzes her choices, the situation does not make sense. She has known Emmy for barely a week. But she's been so nice—when was the last time a girl was this nice?

As Chase awkwardly hovers near a rack of dumbbells, she counts at least four other people in the gym. Although she has no desire to interact with anyone, she is grateful that her presence is not out of place. Chase sits on a bench and faces the wall of mirrors, pointedly ignoring her own reflection and instead focusing on the sight of Emmy on a stair master. Tight ass and defined calves stand out to her even from across the room. No matter how risky and stupid this is, Chase decides it is worth it.

Blending in is necessary, but Chase finds herself immensely in over her head. She knows she sticks out like a sore thumb with her lanky build and weak frame not even the hoodie can hide. The rest of the people here definitely look more fit than her. It takes an embarrassingly considerable amount of effort to go over to the weights and act like she has the slightest idea of what she's doing.

Emmy, of course, looks effortlessly good over in her claimed corner of machines. That ponytail is really doing something for Chase. With her hair up, Chase can easily see the sweat shining on Emmy's neck. Then, her eyes travel slowly down to her legs and she slowly forgets about the rank smell in the air and the humiliation of pretending to know what she's doing.

Chase finds herself unable to keep a straight face and she faces the floor, covering her mouth tightly, and she urges herself to be normal . Emmy has nice—if not perfect—ass. Chase is then hit with a vivid mental picture of bending Emmy over her lap and spreading her cheeks, examining her tight little holes, and shoving her spit-slicked fingers into whichever appeals to her more.

Fuck.

After a while, Emmy gets off of the stair master and turns, presenting Chase's mirror with her flushed face and tired smile. Chase wants to see that bright smile directed up at her right before shoving her cock down Emmy's throat. It is a miracle Chase does not cum right there, untouched and in the middle of the gym. Emmy walks toward the bathroom and Chase follows her in.

When she slips into the bathroom, she nearly skids across the damp tile and her face burns. Emmy's fiery hair disappears into a stall, her body wrapped in a soft white towel. Chase lingers at the door for a moment. She feels like an intruder in this sacred space. Unpleasant memories bubble up from deep inside her. High school P.E. class. Getting shoved out of the locker room naked because someone said they caught her staring. There is no one else in the bathroom and once Emmy starts her shower, Chase enters.

Other than her obvious aversion to conversation right now, Chase is grateful there is no one else here also because it seems other women have a sort of sixth sense that gives her intentions away. Like Gia during class. Emmy seems to lack the same sense that tells every other girl to stay away. Chase wonders what it is about her that gives her away and makes them so wary. There must be something in her eyes. Perhaps she is not as good as she thought at hiding her dangerous and predatory thoughts.

Chase enters the shower stall next to Emmy's. The water is hard and loud enough that her presence remains undetected and unquestioned. If she strains and listens above the pattering stream and groaning pipes, she thinks she can hear Emmy running soapy hands over her slick tits. If Chase had a dick, it would be violently hard. Her clit is alert, perked up, and ready for attention. Chase decides to neglect herself for a moment.

In her mind's eye, she can clearly picture Emmy and she mentally pieces together her naked body based on her social media posts and her own warped imagination. Ideas are always better than the real thing and Chase understands this. It is easier and more fun to ignore this fact. So, Chase envisions fat, hanging tits and peachy nipples. She decides she would prefer seeing them both hard and soft—then, her mind offers the mental image of dousing Emmy in freezing water to make them stiffen. The phantom soft weight in her hands is enough to make Chase finally touch herself.

Emmy clears her throat and Chase is reminded of how close they are. Still, she desperately wishes she could see her. It is quiet aside from the water and late enough that most of the die-hard gym bros have gone home. Is Emmy a night owl? Chase hopes she is—it would be something they have in common, just another reason for Chase to go after her. They could stay up all night and fuck and watch movies and fuck some more.

Chase's fingers slip down her body and she leans her back against the wall. Her hands trace a familiar and comforting path over the hard plane of her stomach and the wiry hair leading down to her cunt. She gingerly drags her fingers over her pussy as Emmy begins to hum over the sound of the water. It is a soft, airy tone that would not be noticeable unless someone was straining to listen (which Chase is).

Despite the filthy film of soap scum and buildup on the tile walls, Chase slumps down and sits under the spray. Her fingers drag back and forth over her cunt, never slipping inside or touching directly on her clit, and the teasing contact is slowly rendering her breathless. Emmy continues humming, blissfully unaware.

It is murky and dark within the stall. The hot water sends a thick cloud of steam into the air and it is almost unbearably humid. Although she can't see well without her glasses and in the darkness, Chase can smell the wet, organic scent curdling in the hot air. Bacteria festering in the grout. Overfilled and unattended trash cans full of used tissues and tampons. Chase feels as filthy as her surroundings as she shoves a fist against her mouth and bucks her hips up against her hand, grinding against her fingers.

Emmy is not doing anything and she is not visible—it is the simple knowledge that she is there that is doing it for Chase. It is the way Emmy is nice to Chase in class when Chase frankly did nothing to warrant that kindness. Chase wants to believe Emmy would still extend that kindness if she knew about everything Chase has done. Chase cums hard at the thought and gasps into her sweaty palm before knocking her head back against the wall in her excitement. It does not take long before the water runs cold, but Chase does not dare to move until she hears Emmy crank off the faucet and leave the stalls.

Chase exits the gym, still soaking wet, and drives by Emmy's house one more time, just in case. The lights are off.

 

Chapter 3

On Friday morning, Chase wakes up and resolves to join a club.

This is probably the last thing she wants to do, but the dean's bemused expression has been plaguing her mind ever since their meeting earlier in the week. Chase currently stomps towards her class, her clenched fists shoved deep in her jacket's pockets and her jaw stiffly set. Sleep was elusive last night and the impending anxiety of asking around about clubs kept her awake and stewing in dread until the early hours of the morning. One silver lining keeps her going—if she plays her cards right, there is a chance she can figure out and join whatever club Emmy is a part of.

Like the rest of this week, it is rainy and dark out. Staying motivated is next to impossible in these conditions, but Chase has something to work for now. She blends in seamlessly with the horde of students escaping the rain. When she reaches the leadership classroom, her shoes are full of water and her jacket drips from it. She would rather die than be caught hauling an umbrella around—then Emmy strides in, perfectly dry, an umbrella in hand. Well, Chase supposes she would tolerate it for Emmy.

Emmy sits across from Chase at their makeshift table and she is kind enough to not point out Chase's shivering or drenched clothes. She deposits an armful of books on the table right as Gia enters and the two launch into dull conversation. Chase can't imagine they have missed much in the twenty-four hours they've been apart, but she supposes she can't judge when her steadiest friendship is with a butch she barely tolerates. During their conversation, Emmy occasionally glances over at Chase and gives her a soft smile that makes her chest ache with need.

On the other hand, Gia's looks are more loaded, shiftier, and Chase recognizes the scrutiny she's under. Despite her total non-interest in the conversation, Chase begins listening out of spite. She'll be damned if she lets Gia get in the way of her and a nice piece of ass.

When Gia asks if they can meet up to start their project after class, Emmy shakes her head and says, "I gotta go to a meeting right after this."

Chase perks up and asks, "For what?" The question sounds a little too eager—a little too much like she's fishing for information—but Emmy just sighs and smiles.

"Botany club," she explains solemnly while exchanging a look with Gia. Chase only catches a glimpse, but she sees Gia quickly roll her eyes as Emmy speaks. "We're doing some experiments with fertilizer. The big reveal is that the plants grow better with the fertilizer—who would've seen that coming?"

"I wouldn't have guessed you're into plants," Chase responds with all the charm of a freshly salted snail.

Although it really isn't that funny, Emmy affectionately rolls her eyes and snickers to Gia's horror. Chase is left feeling all warm and fuzzy in a way that simultaneously excites and terrifies her.

"It's not really that I'm into plants; I just needed to join something to keep my parents off my back," Emmy elaborates and suddenly reaches over to Gia, absentmindedly toying with the silky ends of her hair. The motion is so smooth and practiced Chase nearly does not process what she's seeing.

Her response comes delayed—her eyes are trained on Emmy's fingers twisting around Gia's glossy, chocolate waves. Flashes of baby pink shine through Gia's hair. Emmy's nails. Perfectly manicured and pink.

Eventually, Chase asks, "Do you know if they're letting anyone else in?"

Emmy shrugs and looks at Gia, who just holds her stare with a tense and unreadable expression. Her phone is clutched tightly in hand and it is angled away from Chase. Suddenly, a cold fear grips her heart and she is struck with how badly she wants to know what is on Gia's screen. Is it what she did? Is it the article?

"I think so?" Emmy says and glances at Gia's screen. Nothing happens—maybe she's just overthinking this. "I don't know. If you're interested, you can come with me after class."

It is a miracle Chase does not disintegrate on the spot. Not even Gia's exceptionally sour expression ruins the moment.

Emmy continues, blissfully unaware of Chase's short circuit, and she smiles, "Introducing you is the least I could do after you walked me home. So gallant."

Now, Chase knows it's showing on her face. Heat blooms in her cheeks and ears and neck until she is certain she is beet red. She can't muster a response aside from a hoarse, "Uh, yeah," and the nerves force her to avert her eyes.

Gia expels a weary sigh at the sight but does not offer her thoughts. By the grace of someone watching out for Chase, Emmy does not react to the odd behavior. Chase hears the smile in her voice when she says, "Alrighty, it's a date then!"

It has been five ish minutes since class started. Chase is not sure if she'll be able to survive the rest of the period without imploding. A part of her is convinced she's making things up because this could not possibly be happening. Things like this don't happen to girls like Chase. Yet Emmy sits across from her, making faces whenever the professor says something cringy or angling her notes so Chase can see her shitty doodles. It seems too obvious. This has to be platonic—maybe Emmy is just one of those girls that is extra nice to everyone. The kind of girl who would cry on behalf of her lonelier classmates way back in elementary school. Chase grits her teeth and avoids Emmy's glances as the class lumbers on.

Halfway through the class, it is time to begin taking notes. Emmy scoots closer to Chase in order to see the projection on the wall and she comes so near their shoulders almost touch. Chase feels her heart furiously pounding within her chest. The force of it is unusual and she finds it hard to believe no one else can hear it.

To ground herself, Chase sucks in a massive breath through her nose. The technique backfires as a light, clean scent curls into her lungs. Emmy's smell. Chase immediately struggles to bite her tongue. Only pervy freaks say you smell good to a girl just minding her business.

"Do you have a pencil?" Chase does not process the words at first until Emmy sighs, "Chasey," and then Chase's brain erupts.

Staring her directly in the eyes is impossible after that atomic bomb of a nickname and Chase's response is awkwardly delayed. "A pencil?" She asks dumbly while her eyes flick everywhere but Emmy's face.

Emmy nods and her full lips pull into a knowing smile. It feels like she's reaching into Chase's head and rifling around for the perfect way to get her wrapped around her finger. Whatever she's referencing, it is working.

"Yeah, a pencil, please."

Chase nods a little too quickly and digs through her mostly empty backpack, grateful for the distraction.

Once she produces an unbroken pencil from the depths of her bag, she presents it to Emmy and tries to restrain her shudder when their fingers brush together during the hand off. Chase finally manages to look up when Emmy clears her throat and says a sweet, "Thanks," before looking away.

Somehow, the remainder of the class passes without incident, though Chase thinks she is more tense than she has ever been in her life. That breathy, quiet Chasey causes her to analyze every movement, every word that comes from Emmy's lips. Every small and knowing gaze through hooded, dark eyes. All the subtle ways she angles her body towards Chase. The hypnotic way she continuously crosses and readjusts her legs.

Gia continues to shoot Chase suspicious looks, but for whatever reason, she keeps her words to herself. Chase despises seeing that look on women. It should not sting as much anymore, but she is more sensitive than she would like to be. It is the look that screams I know what you are/I know what you're doing/I know what you will do to her.

Chase carefully avoids Gia's open examination while berating herself for how quickly that look gets under her skin. It brings back unpleasant memories. Other women, other crushes, all of them looking at her like that. She supposes she can't be too upset about receiving those looks when her fantasies are as foul as they are. It has been worse lately—with Emmy—and Chase knows her impulses are on the brink of growing out of control.

It is not a good thing, but Chase has always been prone to addiction. Obsession follows and the spiral always leads her down.

The class is abruptly dismissed just as Chase begins thinking about her deluded routine anxieties. Gia stands immediately.

"Do you think you can skip the meeting today?" She asks, pointedly avoiding Chase's stare. She clutches her things in front of her chest almost protectively. "I wanna talk to you about something."

Emmy perks up as she gathers her things. "What something ?"

" Bad something," Gia says through clenched teeth. "I'll tell you in a sec."

Well, Chase clearly isn't wanted here. She silently shoves her notes into the gaping maw of her backpack while Emmy stands and says, "Wait—no. I've gotta take Chase today. Unless it's like, life or death."

The force of Gia's blatant exasperation is enough to make Chase take a step back. "I mean it's not life or death but it's not great," Gia sighs and holds Chase with a suspicious stare. Chase feels a little like she's in trouble and her heart threatens to drop right out of her chest. "You should come over tonight."

Emmy finally seems to have all of her things together and she straightens up, shouldering her backpack and agreeing, "I will! I think I'll have something to share."

Chase does not know what she means by that and she forces herself to not get her hopes up. Gia relents and leaves without a word for Chase. Chase glances around the classroom. It is empty and she is alone with Emmy once Gia leaves.

Although she anticipated an awkwardly silent moment, Emmy immediately circles Chase and pokes at her backpack. "This is really small."

You wanna know what isn't small? Chase holds her tongue and turns to face Emmy.

"It's just empty," she says and shows Emmy the inside that boasts a whole two pencils (three or four broken pencils) and a clump of loose paper.

"So you just carry around," Emmy forces Chase to turn back around and she braces herself by holding onto her narrow shoulders while looking into the backpack. "Some pencils—some broken pencils, and paper? You're a weirdo."

Chase shrugs as nonchalantly as possible and her face instantly ruins her bravado when she turns red. "It keeps things simple."

To Chase's dismay, Emmy continues digging through her bag and Chase is forced to back away before she unearths something unpleasant.

"So, uh, when's the club thing?" Chase sounds like a shrunken version of herself. She wants to beat herself to death.

Emmy glances around at the empty classroom and hurries outside into the quiet hallway. Despite being half a foot taller, she feels a bit like a dog at Emmy's feet.

It is difficult to determine exactly when women began having this effect on her. It feels like it's been forever. Teachers and youth group leader when she was a kid. There was just something about seeing slivers of bare skin and smelling floral, grown-up perfume when the nice church ladies bent over her shoulder. Maybe there is a parasite living deep in her brain, feeding off the pure hunger Chase feels whenever she sees a woman. She's always been hungry for something—it's easy to assume it's sex.

Now, the impact is affecting her everyday and she is left nearly salivating as she stares down at Emmy. There is no one in the hallway—no cameras in this old, run-down building. It would be so easy to crowd her against the wall and cage her in. Watch that warm light in her eyes get snuffed out permanently as Chase uses that kindness against her.

"We really don't need to get there for another thirty minutes," Emmy says while scrolling passively on her phone.

Chase hums thoughtfully. "You think they'll give a shit if I actually show up?"

Emmy glances up and snickers. "So you want me to take time out of my day and take you in, just so you can skip? That's not very nice of you."

Chase grins a bit too wide and almost can't believe Emmy is going back and forth with her. When was the last time this happened? Has it ever felt so genuine?

"Well—I guess you're pretty enough to change my mind about that," Chase says and it sounds a lot worse when she says it out loud.

Emmy momentarily flushes and it happens so quick Chase debates whether or not she actually saw that. Without missing a beat, Emmy fires back, "Maybe I don't wanna change your mind."

Their voices echo in the cramped hallway and Chase is struck by how different she sounds with Emmy. Lowering her voice and keeping the rasp at bay is not a conscious decision. "So you don't mind if I skip?"

Emmy glances over her shoulder and rolls her eyes. "This is dumb—you're dumb, Chase."

Now, they have reached the door leading outside and Emmy opens the umbrella as she steps out. It is still pouring and Emmy stares pointedly at Chase.

"You wanna hold this for us?"

Chase snorts and takes it while trying not to come across as flustered as she is. It is a wonder Emmy is still speaking to her at all after seeing firsthand how awkward and stuttering she is. "Why can't you hold it?" Chase attempts to joke and cringes at the effort.

Still, Emmy smiles at that and gestures to Chase. "Look at yourself, don't be silly."

Chase wants to be a lot more than silly but she holds her tongue.

Emmy elects to spend their free half hour at a local coffee shop across the street from campus. Everything about this feels oddly reminiscent of a date—though Chase wouldn't know, she's never been on one if her goldfish memory is anything to reference. The interior of the cafe is comfortable and feels as though they have stepped into someone's living room for a latte. Low lighting and tinted windows make Emmy look dark and mysterious. It looks like she belongs here in her brown coat and professional looking heels. All of her fiery hair is pulled back and pinned away from her face. Chase suddenly wishes it was socially acceptable to take pictures of people unprompted.

Emmy instructs Chase to find them a good table for people-watching while she orders. Whenever Chase doubts she can like Emmy more, Emmy does something like that.

Chase's chosen corner has two plush, overfilled armchairs, a table, and an unobstructed view of the street. The second Chase relaxes in her seat, she is hit with a warm, satisfied feeling she can't name. It feels a little like whenever she's high and about to jerk off to her favorite porn.

Emmy looks like a painting standing at the counter. Her smile reaches her eyes as she speaks to the barista. Chase finds herself perfectly content with watching Emmy instead of the outside world.

As Emmy approaches the secluded table with their drinks in hand, she does a little dance and twirls before setting the cups down.

"Ta-da," she exclaims and sits on her chair. "Wow, this is comfy. You have fantastic taste in chairs."

Chase grabs her cups and tentatively sniffs at it. Emmy rolls her eyes. "It's chai, since you're not a coffee person ."

A testing sip confirms Emmy's good taste and Chase goes out of her way to thank her. The gratitude mostly stems from the sheer absurdity of today. Half of Chase is convinced she'll begin hearing her alarm soon and she'll wake up with spit sticking to her face and a fleeting remnant of this too good to be true dream.

"Is it good?" Dream or not, time is not slowly down enough for Chase to really think about it. Emmy is sipping her frozen monstrosity and gazing expectantly at Chase over the mountain of whipped cream on the drink.

Chase takes another drink. Spices and warmth. "Yeah."

Emmy relaxes into her chair and regards Chase with a curious expression.

"So, Gia says you're kind of bad news."

This is information that surprises no one. Chase stiffly shrugs and cringes away from the mental spotlight shining on her.

"And you're quiet."

Chase does not even know what to do with herself when she is put on the spot like this. "I guess so," she says vaguely and swallows hard enough she's certain Emmy hears it.

"What, do you not like me or something?" There is a blatant sarcastic amusement in Emmy's tone, but hearing it still makes Chase's hackles raise.

"No?" Already, she stumbles over her words and gets instantly distracted by the force of her blush. Her skin feels feverish to the touch and she nervously giggles. "I mean—I just get nervous."

Emmy's eyes narrow knowingly. Chase can't comprehend why Emmy would drop the Gia-bomb without going anywhere with it, but it seems like the issue will be left unaddressed for now. Chase will just have to live with the knowledge that Gia knows and could tell Emmy at any moment. Emmy could look into things herself if she really wanted to. Chase's heart seizes up and a sly smile spreads across Emmy's face.

"So you get nervous around girls? That's cute."

She must know exactly what she's doing to Chase. A strange boldness surges within Chase and she blurts, "Can't help it when it's a girl like you." It comes out wrong, stumbling and unpracticed, yet Emmy is still taken off guard.

"Are you trying to charm me or something?" Emmy smiles despite Chase instantly thinking I'm tryna do something a lot worse than just charm you . A flushed, red dusts the high points of her face and she continues, "Not that I would mind or anything."

---

Unsurprisingly, the botany club is tucked away in some forgotten science building. Peeling, yellowing paint adorns the warped walls. Chase is slightly too tall for the doors and dramatically ducks under each frame to make Emmy smile. In the short time they've been together today, Chase has learned that she really loves Emmy's smile. She also finds there is a lot she would do to see that smile. It is wide and bright with such nice teeth Chase doesn't think she'd mind seeing them flash against her strap.

"It's sort of gross in here," Emmy says apologetically as though it is personally her fault for how rank it is. Chase does not have the courage to admit a good hygiene day consists of a rinse shower and a healthy dose of axe. "This building is so old. I guess we don't get as much funding as I thought."

"It's not that much worse than the rest of campus," Chase remarks. It is true, though hard to tell judging by the surface. Even if the clean, pristine veneer is in place, the stench of decay clings to everything.

Emmy turns her nose up when she spots a patch of mold on an air vent. "Still—it's nasty."

"You'll get used to it," Chase says. Although it is vaguely irritating, Chase can't help but feel a little endeared each time Emmy flinches away and shoots disgusted looks at anything that bothers her.

"I don't know if I ever will," Emmy says with the stubbornness of someone accustomed to the finer things in life. Chase can see it now—the good Christian girl experiencing her first taste of real life in university. It would make good porn, in Chase's expert opinion.

Inspired by her train of thought, Chase abruptly asks, "Do you smoke?" She's just curious—it doesn't mean anything.

Emmy shrugs and gestures to a nearby door. This must be the place. They step inside and cling to the back wall as students fill into the space.

Finally, Emmy answers, "I haven't done a lot of things." When she turns and spots Chase's thoughtful expression, she sighs and elaborates, "My parents were kind of crazy."

Although they are slowly being surrounded by students, Chase wants so badly to lean in and ask that question. So, you're a virgin, then? A speaker walks up to a low podium and clears his throat, instantly foiling Chase's perverted plans. His presence prompts Emmy into finding them seats and soon they are sitting shoulder to shoulder, staring dutifully ahead and pointedly avoiding each other.

Chase is not able to pay any attention to the speaker. Her mind is racing circles around itself, throwing scenarios and theories at Chase until she grows dizzy. I haven't done a lot of things .

That could mean any number of things.

I haven't fucked, haven't smoked, haven't been drunk, haven't masturbated, haven't came, haven't experimented, haven't been in a relationship.

Chase watches Emmy from the corner of her eye. The crucifix necklace is still there—silver glimmering on Emmy's freckled chest.

Then, Emmy turns and catches Chase staring. Her deep brown eyes bore straight through Chase. It feels like she's been caught with her fingers stuffed inside herself.

For an irrational moment, Chase wonders if Emmy knows . Gia knows—that much is obvious—but Emmy would not be speaking to Chase if Gia told her.

"I take it you don't usually come to stuff like this?"

Chase dumbly shakes her head. "Not really."

Emmy shrugs and her smile continues, though now Chase wonders if it's a carefully placed mask. Distantly, she recognizes how paranoid her thoughts sound, but she can't stop herself from speculating. It's only natural, especially since she is in over her head.

By the end of the session, Chase is torn between wanting to jump Emmy and run for the hills. Feeling like this is terrifying, but she is eager enough to continue pursuing it. Emmy stands once the speakers have finished and she drifts to a large group of people clustered at the front of the lecture hall. Chase lingers behind, clutching her backpack tightly to her chest and observing quietly.

Emmy returns with good news; Chase is in the club. Then, she leaves again, fluttering between groups and chirping away with her acquaintances. A familiar surge of envy curls through Chase but she stifles it in favor of watching. Emmy works the room like she's known these people for years. Chase concedes she is friendly in an innocent way. She talks freely with the naivete of someone who's never been exposed to—well, anything.

Being ignored stings a little despite Chase knowing it is not targeted. There is that forbidden feeling again—the violent obsession resonating throughout her chest. Emmy wanders over to a group of men, laughing in a high and breathy way that makes Chase's hackles raise. She seems to be having a friendly conversation but Chase knows the look the men are giving her. She has looked at Emmy like that and she knows what they're thinking. Irrationally, she glowers, I'm the only one who can look at her like that.

Before she can convince herself otherwise, Chase is out of her seat and slinking up behind Emmy. Emmy doesn't notice her—she leans against the wall and stares idly down at the top of Emmy's hair. At her very uneven part.

The conversation she's found herself in is horribly mundane. Chase can't fathom why people force themselves to endure small talk.

They're discussing majors. The same script Chase has heard since she began college.

"What are you studying?"

Emmy answers, "Political science."

Half-hearted oohing from the gaggle of men surrounding her. "What're you plannin' on doing with that?"

"I'm not sure yet," Emmy sounds confident even in an unpleasant situation like this. "I'm hoping to work with the career advisor and maybe force my dad to help hook me up with an internship."

One of the boys raises his eyebrows and the expression looks sinister in Chase's eye. He replies, "So, you're from money," and laughs.

As though it's the funniest thing they've ever heard, the other guys join in and snicker at Emmy. It is a very odd feeling. Chase isn't sure what to say but she figures she should say something.

"I guess I am," Emmy says without missing a beat—as though their laughter sailed straight over her head. "I definitely need their help every once in a while."

"Hey—maybe you should slip your dad my number, we're studying the same thing," one of the other boys pipes up.

All of their faces are blurring into a vaguely mediocre man shape in her mind. To her delight, this particular man is shorter than her.

Emmy pauses to think about it before shrugging. "I don't know if I can. I don't know if you're seriously asking, but I'd have to ask. Do you want me to?"

One of the male watchers murmurs something that sounds like wow, she's dense, and Chase bristles. It is too difficult to tell if Emmy is purposely playing dumb, or if their ridicule is simply not registering. Another whispers I want her to do something else for me and Chase seethes.

"Yeah, I'd like that. I can take you out for a drink and really butter him up if you'd like."

Emmy's body language is difficult to read from behind, but she seems subtly tense.

"I would rather not, actually!" That confirms the tension. "I'll just talk to him when I see him next."

The propositioner rolls his eyes while his peers regard him coolly. What will he do? He has to say something that will retain their respect. He says, "How about I just take you out because you're beautiful?"

Emmy shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry, but I'm focusing on school." A chorus of sighs follows.

Chase can't watch this ridiculous conversation anymore. She steps forward and taps Emmy's shoulder.

"Can we leave?" She asks bluntly and pointedly does not acknowledge the group around them. Apparently, her sour resting expression is enough to keep everyone's mouth shut.

Emmy grins up at her and agrees.

Chase feels a bit like a knight in shining armor as she guides Emmy through the lecture hall. The entire time, Emmy holds onto her arm like she's been glued there.

Neither of them feel the need to speak until they leave the hall and are seated on a bench in a secluded hallway.

Emmy breaks the silence while staring at the blank wall opposite them. "Thank you. I really never know how to turn them down."

Chase does not really know what to say. "You have a lot of problems with that?" Chase has to assume she does. Every beautiful woman she has ever met deals with shit like that. Correction, all women. Chase fights back a grimace as she recalls her more unsavory run-ins.

Emmy shrugs. "I guess so. Like, earlier this week, I asked one of my guy friends to help me download stuff and he made it weird," she drags a weary hand over her face. "I don't know. I guess you just got used to it."

Chase can't bring herself to acknowledge any of that statement aside from the middle. "You need help downloading stuff?"

Emmy nods dismissively. "He acted like I was stupid for asking that."

Chase scoots closer to Emmy, though there is still a respectful amount of distance between them. She is inches from brushing against Emmy's soft arm but there is still enough space for it to seem casual and unplanned. Then, Emmy abruptly shifts until the space is closed and Chase is trying not to get flustered at the feeling of Emmy's warm arm pressed against her.

"I promise I'm not stupid," Emmy says seriously. "I just don't want to think that hard—and I'm just paranoid that I'll download weird shit by accident. This is so dumb."

Although Chase is internally vibrating, she feigns nonchalance and nods. "I can do it for you."

An idea is blooming in her mind. It is one of those ideas she should never entertain, but it is growing harder by the day to recall why she shouldn't. There is a line she absolutely should not cross. If she goes through with the budding plan, she doubts she will be able to come back from it. What does she have to lose?

Chase throws caution to the wind and says smoothly, "It's the weekend. You can just give it to me and I'll take it overnight to make sure everything's running okay." She is distantly impressed in her ability to keep the wild excitement suppressed in her voice.

Emmy nods, none the wiser, and says, "That actually sounds perfect." To punctuate herself, she presses a warm, flat palm against Chase's arm.

All the blood in Chase's brain instantly drains and is redirected to her clit. After taking the laptop, she clears her throat and stands. "I know where you live," she murmurs, ignoring how odd that statement sounds. "I'll drop this off tomorrow afternoon."

When Chase gets home, the sun is beginning its descent and making way for the cold darkness tonight. A cold front is due to hit tomorrow and the temperature is already in a freefall. The weather seems fitting as Chase paces outside, Emmy's laptop in hand and her mind stuffed with contradicting thoughts. Brooding outside like this feels a little juvenile, but she has a lot to think about.

Some detached part of herself understands this is her point of no return. If she does this, there is no coming back from it. Now, it is just a question of whether or not her sexually morbid curiosity will win against her better judgment.

Chase goes inside as her breath begins coming out in visible puffs. She has already made up her mind and that small voice urging her to stop grows smaller and smaller until it is snuffed out for good. Chase sits at her desk and opens Emmy's laptop with a clinical detachment. The eager, already-wet part of her is held back as her calculating half takes over.

It takes no time to download the things Emmy needed. A required program for one of her classes. An assortment of files. No problem.

Once she has finished her known objective, she grabs a flash drive with a specific type of malware.

Downloading it to Emmy's laptop takes less than five minutes. It feels very anticlimactic once it's done, but Chase knows it won't be long before she reaps the benefits. Chase double checks the connection on her computer. The confirmation makes something twist in her gut. Remorse— this is wrong . Still, she falls asleep and dreams of nothing.

---

Chase returns Emmy's laptop to her home the next afternoon.

As she approaches the door, Chase catches a glimpse of herself in the glass. Her reflection has certainly looked better, but it is too late to turn back—Emmy has seen her and is swinging open the door just as Chase begins adjusting her hair.

There is probably nothing that could distract Emmy from the thick stench of weed clinging to Chase's dark, well-loved jacket. Not even a few heavy spritzes from her favorite flavor of axe helped offset the smell.

Emmy looks considerably better in her tiny white tank top and pink plaid pajama pants. It looks like she has just rolled out of bed and she radiates warmth. Chase realizes she would do heinous things to laze around with Emmy on a Saturday morning.

"Oh?" Emmy appears surprised to see her, but not upset. "I didn't think you'd come by so soon."

"Nah, here," Chase hands her the laptop and attempts to stifle how eager she feels. She can see the outline of Emmy's nipples through her top. She does not trust herself to keep from staring.

"Hey." Emmy's soft tone coaxes Chase into looking back at her and those barely hidden tits. Chase is greeted with the sight of genuine appreciation on Emmy's face. The expression is so real Chase almost feels bad for what she's done. Then, she stares at Emmy's fat nipples and stops caring. "Seriously, thank you. You kind of saved me yesterday, too."

"It's nothing," Chase says despite the fact that she's realizing Emmy's happiness is everything to her.

"No, really. I wanna do something for you," Emmy says firmly and her eyes quickly flick down Chase's body. "Are you free next weekend?"

Chase is always free. "Yeah."

"Come with me to a Halloween party, please," Emmy says. She has interacted with Chase enough to likely deduce she avoids parties like the plague.

Chase almost says no and then her eyes move without her permission. Emmy's eyes are openly pleading and she leans forward very slightly. Her body language is begging Chase to concede.

"Okay," she says and tries not to smile when Emmy's face lights up.

---

It is almost two in the morning.

This is not an unusual time for Chase to be awake. In fact, her hunched over her desk, staring at her computer, is a regular sight. Her head is throbbing from the lack of sleep and her back is screaming at her to get up and stretch, but she can't bring herself to move. If this goes on any longer, she'll have to figure out how to piss in water bottles. It's gross, but she doesn't want to miss it.

It has been a long night and paranoia has begun to fester in Chase's mind. It is too easy to visualize being caught. The police would be quick to detain her again—especially since she has a history. How quickly would they get here? Chase grimaces as she recalls all of Gia's side eyes. Then, she reminds herself that Emmy would have done something by now.

Thinking of Emmy helps her stay out of the anxious spiral that threatens to pull her under. The mere thought of her outfit from this afternoon has Chase growing wet without needing to touch herself. Emmy must have done that intentionally. She has to know what she's doing to Chase.

When the screen changes and displays a room Chase has never seen before, it takes her a few long moments to notice. She freezes when she realizes what she's looking at. She supposes a part of her doubted it would work.

It is not what Chase expected. Emmy seems to have just moved in—the few decorations visible are not placed anywhere with intention and there are neat stacks of boxes pushed against the wall opposite Emmy's laptop. It is clean, slightly lived in, and mostly devoid of color. The laptop faces the blank wall and shows a full sized bed shoved in the room's corner. It seems Emmy likes everything cozy and close together. That's good news—Chase wants to get a hell of a lot closer to her and soon. There is a window with closed blinds above the bed.

Emmy flutters around her room seemingly without purpose until Chase notices her fingers drifting under the hem of her tight top.

Instantly, Chase sits up in her chair and her back pops in protest. This can't be happening. Things like this happen in porn, not her shitty real life.

Upon further examination (and Chase is doing a lot of that), she spots a towel wrapped around Emmy's head.

It takes a while before Emmy sits down but Chase is patient. She enjoys the view as she waits, tempted to touch herself but deciding to restrain herself. This is their first time—it should be special. It is late at night and Emmy may not give Chase the material she wants, she does not get her hopes up.

Chase could opt to see Emmy's screen, but she would rather watch her and allow some things to be up to chance. The pursuit is everything. The uncertainty and the unpredictables are as necessary to the hunt as it is to breathe oxygen. Through the grainy, pixelated display, Chase drinks in the sight of Emmy's full, pouty lips and narrowed dark eyes. She is browsing, looking for something, and when she finds whatever it is, her brows raise slightly. Chase is becoming addicted to watching all of Emmy's tiny subconscious movements. She is probably the only person who notices all of this.

Emmy sits motionless for a moment with her chin propped up by a fist as she stares at the screen. Chase shrinks back under the weight of her gaze. It is another irrational, baseless thought, but it feels as though Emmy's eyes are traveling through the tech. She crawls into Chase's head and digs up her brain through her impaled skull, probing within and unearthing all the vile things Chase has done and has yet to do. Then, just as Chase physically feels the presence of phantom fingers peeling at her skin, Emmy leans back in her chair and huffs.

She is very still in a way that quickly unnerves Chase again. Her deep eyes are locked onto the screen as Chase shifts uncomfortably. Somehow, she is growing wet while untouched and under imagined scrutiny.

Emmy relaxes further and in a move Chase could not have anticipated, she drags her nails over her body. Her breathing is quicker and more labored. She swallows hard before reaching into the neckline of her tank top and squeezing one of her tits so hard it makes her eyes water.

Chase did not know what she expected. Maybe a glimpse of a naked Emmy once in a while. What are the odds she jerks off in front of the laptop? Chase is momentarily floored. She is immobilized in her chair and her eyes are the only things that move, staying glued to the screen and wondering if this is really happening. Chase expected some browsing, maybe homework. Of course she wanted this in the back of her mind, but she assumed it was such a small possibility it was foolish to desire. Now, with Emmy's perfect round tits on her screen, Chase is suddenly so turned on she does not know what to do with herself.

Emmy might as well be sitting here in Chase's room. She feels so impossibly close despite the terrible quality. Her tits heave with the force of her breaths and her red hair gleams in the overhead light. Chase notes with some delight how small her tits are. They would fit perfectly in her hands and she can almost feel their weight.

A hand snakes down and disappears within her boxers as she watches the sight unfold. She wants to squeeze Emmy's tits until she whines. She wants to pinch and pull at her puffy little nipples to see if she cries.

Chase keeps the pressure feather-light as she touches herself lazily. On screen, one of Emmy's hands disappears over the swell of her tits and down her stomach, traveling south until it's out of view. Chase sits up further in her seat, her fingers stiff and her mind singlehandedly focused on Emmy. When Emmy finally touches herself, Chase does not need to see it because it is all over Emmy's sweet face. Her lips fall open and she gasps like it's her first time being touched. Chase knows she could waste hours experimenting with the sorts of noises she could coax from Emmy. All those quiet whimpers and whines—louder moans and begging, pleading, and crying. Chase wants to watch her come apart in every way she knows how, and then she'll learn more just to continue Emmy's torment.

Chase's clit is rock hard under her fingers when she finally gives in and ceases the teasing circling. It almost feels like she's been edging. If she wanted to, she could rub one out and have a satisfying nut within seconds—but she holds off. She wonders how long she would last if she was with Emmy. Probably half a second, at least . Seeing those pretty little tits would be the end of her.

Then, Emmy throws her head back and exposes her throat. If Chase squints through the dim light, she swears she can see Emmy's pulse fluttering away. She wants to go there and walk up behind Emmy, crowd her into a wall and grind her dick against Emmy's fat ass while putting her fingers on her scared pulse.

Chase understands that this is it for her. After this, the spiral will most likely be fast and hard. This time, she risks a nasty landing at the bottom. But maybe, maybe , she can make this one work.

Chase's fingers drift lower and slide through the mess of collected pre-cum.

It did not work last time, but that wasn't so bad. Chase sincerely considers everything that ordeal put her through and she figures she could do all of that again. The consequences would be more severe this time but she thinks it would be worth it. Emmy is shaping up to be a prize of unreal proportions. A perfect slut in the making.

Emmy's head falls forward and her hair hangs like a fiery curtain about her face. She is gasping and breathing hard as though she's cum while Chase was distracted. Then, she groans long and hard and shudders uncontrollably. Chase gasps aloud when she realizes she just witnessed it.

Chase imagines Emmy looking up at her with these same gooey, dumb eyes and immediately she understands it was over before it ever got this far. She was doomed the second she laid eyes on Emmy. Chase cums hard at the thought and her hand grows sticky with it. Her mind reels as she recognizes this as the point where everything will be set in motion.

Time is a circle and Chase falls into bed with thoughts of repeating all the things she has done before. Maybe she can get it right this time.

 

Chapter 4

In her four years attending this university, this is the first time Chase has ever had to prepare for a party she actually wants to attend.

Since she has begun this endeavor, she has dug through her closet and turned her dirty clothes basket inside out countless times. She has limited herself to checking Emmy's webcam only twice so far despite the overwhelming urge to park in front of her computer and just watch. A part of her wanted Emmy's outfit to be a surprise, but then she realized she could subtly plan her costume to play off of Emmy's.

Thinking of Emmy's reaction is all the justification she needs.

Oh, Chase, how'd you know I was gonna be wearing this? You know me so well.

Something like that.

A vacant, stupid smile stretches across her face as she speculates how the night will go. Tonight has been fantastic so far in Chase's humble opinion. Two hours before now, Emmy turned on her laptop to play music while getting ready. Once again, Chase was taken fully off guard when she noticed her screen displaying Emmy's room. The odds of this happening are so low she can hardly wrap her head around it.

Once the initial shock passed, Chase sat back and watched as Emmy tried on what seemed like half of her closet. It was oddly intimate. Despite the nonsexual nature of Emmy's fleeting touches, the sight of her hands brushing against her soft skin was enough to get Chase hot and bothered. She sat motionless before the screen for several long and quiet minutes as Emmy rubbed lotion into her skin.

Chase did not get to see her completely nude—but the visual feast she got was almost equal.

Emmy has a lot of costumes. Most of them appeared well-loved and old—probably left over from other Halloweens. Cat ears and tail. Princess dress—try it off the shoulder, sluttier. Some spandex wearing superhero. A sexy secretary complete with lingerie peeking out. Eventually, she settled on a skimpy version of a cheerleader. Chase only really knows she's a cheerleader from the pom-poms.

After choosing her outfit, Emmy disappeared into her bathroom and Chase forced herself to turn her computer off. If she didn't, she risked wasting the entire night just watching Emmy.

To distract herself from the cocktease in her computer, Chase turned her attention to the issue of her costume.

It takes an ungodly amount of deliberation and pacing in front of her closet before she decides on a classic: Ghostface mask and an all-black getup that would make her mother explode. It is distant from Emmy's costume, yet still close enough to start a conversation if Chase points it out. She figures she can play the role of a movie buff for the night.

It is time to leave. A little later than the time she agreed to pick Emmy up, but not so late she looks careless. Late enough she does not appear desperate for pussy.

Before she leaves, Chase stands at her bedroom door, her sneakers on the threshold, and she wonders if this is a stupid idea. It seems like it is a little late for her to start worrying about things like that but this feels realer. This party is happening at some sorority in the heart of campus and there is a nonzero chance she runs into someone who knows . For the umpteenth time, Chase forces herself to relax and she reminds herself that Emmy is the only one who matters right now. As long as she remains in the dark, no one else matters.

Time for her allotted panic moment. Chase deliriously conjures up the mental image of someone coming up to her at the party and cornering Emmy, asking, Don't you know about her? About what she did? Imagined Emmy turns to her and the betrayal in her eyes feels so real Chase physically flinches.

Chase blinks. She is still standing in her room and staring down at her hands. The irritated skin around her nails throbs as she examines herself. Half chewed hangnails and their kin populate her pale and knobby fingers. Tendons and blue veins stand out against her pallid skin. As she watches, she absentmindedly flexes her hands and closes them into fists, overly aware of how her skin stretches over her knuckles. It is difficult to imagine Emmy wanting to hold onto her when she looks like this.

Chase elects to walk to Emmy's house. They live close enough and Chase would like to leave her options open. If she doesn't need to worry about driving, she can cut loose and drink heavily. Or, she can convince Emmy to try to keep up with her. Either way, she'll be happy. There is something she has up her sleeve she must be mostly sober for, so it all depends on where the night takes her.

Excitement buzzes through her body and it seems to increase with every step she takes towards Emmy's house. The chill in the air does nothing to ruin her mood. Although it is late enough the moon is high in the sky, Chase feels refreshed and energized. Ready to seize the day and seize her girl.

By the time she reaches the short stairs leading to Emmy's porch, she is practically vibrating with anticipation. Despite how often she has driven by, this will be the first time she will be able to see inside. This is a big moment. She is a firm believer that a home says a lot about a person.

As she stands nervously at the door with her corny mask in hand, Chase barely registers when Emmy swings the door open.

Despite how much she watched as Emmy got ready, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her cheerleader outfit in person.

The computer is a nice tool, but it can't translate that light, slightly sweet strawberry fragrance clinging to Emmy. The pixels can't display the soft flush adorning her cheeks and the indents from where she's recently worried her lip. She looks like she's glowing (maybe Chase is biased) and gift-wrapped in her skimpy costume. It is difficult to rein in the urge to look her up and down like a piece of meat but she manages. She's playing the long game—it will be worth the wait in the end.

"Hey," Emmy greets because time refuses to slow and accommodate Chase's leering. As if her very presence wasn't stunning enough, she does a little twirl that stops Chase's heart. "How's it look?"

Chase does not trust herself to be honest but she manages to choke out a weak, "You look good," before turning around and marching off of the porch.

It is a small mercy Emmy doesn't run to catch up with her because her face is flaming until they reach the sidewalk.

When Emmy catches up behind her, she walks so closely Chase feels the heat radiating off of her. "We're driving, right?"

Chase considers the poor state of her sedan. She considers her plans. If she drives, she definitely can't drink more than one shitty beer, but she'd get to see Emmy in a vulnerable state and remember it with perfect clarity.

The walk back to Chase's apartment is quick and Emmy merrily chatters the entire time. Gia will be there and some of Emmy's other friends. Chase has little interest in actually getting to know anyone, but she can fake surface level conversation if that's what Emmy wants from her. Chase has quickly found that for the right woman, there is very little she would say no to.

Emmy waltzes in front of her, stepping over the cracks in the sidewalk while her little white skirt flips up in the wind. For modesty's sake, she wears skin-tight shorts beneath, but they're so small and sheer Chase can make out the polka-dots on her panties. The light is dwindling as they walk and it doesn't take long before Emmy shivers in her unseasonable outfit. Miles of leg are bare and exposed while her arms and chest are hardly covered. Chase looms behind her and debates whether or not she should give her a jacket. It's hard to want to miss out on this view.

Chase's sedan sits before them—the world's shittiest chariot.

Emmy awkwardly hovers next to the passenger door until Chase takes the hint. Then, she suddenly recalls the mountain of trash on that side and she maneuvers around Emmy, mumbling, "Hold on," before she half enters the car and shoves everything into the backseat. Moving the mass of shit was not wise—an earthy, slightly sweet mildew scent wafts from its passenger side resting place. Chase personally does not mind the smell (she is vaguely comforted by it) but Emmy makes a face she can't hide in time.

"Okay," Chase huffs once the seat is halfway clean. This is moderately embarrassing but she supposes she will survive. If nothing else, Emmy at least does not say a word about her surroundings as she settles in her seat.

"Comfy," she says.

Chase gets in the car before she passes out. All of the blood is draining from her brain into her clit. Again, she wonders if this is real and as she backs out of her parking spot, she pinches herself. Emmy is still there and staring intently at Chase's profile. Her deep brown gaze is a tangible thing Chase has no hope of escaping.

Most of the drive is spent with Chase doing everything in her power to keep from staring at Emmy or noticing the remarkably terrible state of her ride. Somehow, Emmy does not mind or she is just exceptionally nice and does not say anything. The silence never persists for long as Emmy rambles.

"So," she begins carefully as Chase navigates toward the house. "How long have you had this car?"

Is this a weird, roundabout dig on her car? "Since I was sixteen."

Emmy carefully studies the side of Chase's face. The weight of her stare is almost enough to make her veer into the ditch. Finally, she asks, "How old are you now?"

"Twenty-one."

There is an eager ooh from Emmy and then: "So you're legal?" The smile in her voice is glaringly obvious.

Chase snickers and glances at her from the side of her eye. Although she's too nervous to look at her head on and make eye contact, Chase clearly spots the calculating and excited light in her eyes. Immediately, Chase is struck with how unusual this moment is. Three months ago, she would have never predicted this.

Soft music provides the soundtrack for their night drive through the winding neighborhoods in town while the stars become more bright with every passing second. Since she does not ask Emmy about her age, it is easy to pretend she's naive, virgin jailbait despite knowing she's old enough to drink. Her fantasies never hurt anyone and everything is proceeding perfectly. This is a moment from a movie—from Chase's deepest desires and her most treasured dreams.

"Somethin' like that," she murmurs after a long period of just taking in Emmy's presence. Who cares if she takes a little too long to respond—it does not seem like Emmy will ever speak up if she's uncomfortable.

Change of subject. "What're you supposed to be?" Emmy blinks at her, squinting through the darkness at her costume.

"Oh—this is just Ghostface. I didn't really have anything," Chase explains and jerks her head toward the mask lying in the backseat.

Emmy twists and leans over the center console to take a look. Chase steals a glance. Emmy's thighs are so soft and round Chase nearly drives into a tree. "Wait—that sort of matches with mine. Do you remember how the first movie was in high school?"

Chase forces out a snort to cover the impulse to say no shit—I planned that . "That's kind of a reach."

Emmy scoffs. "Do you not want people to think we planned this?" She is far too skilled at maintaining a straight face while spewing sarcasm. It takes Chase a moment to realize she isn't being serious.

Emmy continues, either uncaring or unaware of Chase's state, "Have you even seen any of these movies?"

Chase tries to remember. There are gaps, mostly from recent years, and she can't think of anything. "Maybe. I don't really know."

Emmy shrugs and flippantly says, "Well—guess we have to have a movie night soon."

Chase does not know what to say to that. When her silence persists, Emmy says, "Thanks for coming, by the way. You're gonna have to watch over me a bit if you don't mind."

Chase barely suppresses a laugh at that. "What do you mean by that?"

Emmy raises her brows, teasing, "Make sure no one tries anything. I'm nervous about drinking."

A small part of Chase really can't believe her ears. "Don't tell me this is gonna be your first time."

Silence and averted eyes confirm her suspicions. If she were alone, she would fall to her knees and thank whichever pervert incel deity is clearly watching over her.

"Well," Chase manages to keep the eager, hungry tone from her voice. "I'll be there. You know you don't have to drink though." She only says this because she feels like she has to. If she had it her way, she would force it down Emmy's throat.

Emmy flushes a little harder at that and shrugs. "I don't know yet—I'm pretty nervous. I know that makes me sound like a loser."

"Not really," Chase says and the fight to maintain her forced nonchalance is a nearly impossible feat. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a train of thought has gone off the rails.

Chase speculates as she pulls into the driveway. Cars line the street already—they're a bit late. Emmy remains in her seat even once Chase takes the key from the ignition.

"Thank you for coming, by the way."

Chase looks at Emmy and does her best to hide her blush. "Yeah—I wasn't gonna do anything."

Emmy's eyes flick up and down Chase's seated body. It is impossible to know what she's thinking at this moment. Despite the music from the party bleeding through the exterior walls and reaching them, it comes through the car muffled and diffused after passing through so many layers. It is very quiet all of a sudden in a way that makes Chase wonder if something will happen. Then, Chase realizes that even if nothing happens, she can intervene. She can force things to happen if she plays her cards right.

"What do you usually do on a Saturday night at the beginning of the semester?"

Watch you on my computer and jerk off while thinking of shooting loads all over your face and making you thank me when I get it in your eye.

"Not this, usually. I'm not really that interesting."

Emmy rolls her eyes and that tension is gone as quickly as it came. Chase is left wondering if she imagined it. "I think you're pretty interesting," Emmy says, smiling, and she opens the door. "Anyways, I don't think a lot of people would have just offered to look at my laptop for free like that."

Chase exits her side of the car and gives their new surroundings a quick inspection. It is more crowded than she anticipated, which is both good and bad. A baggie in her jacket's pocket weighs her down as she takes in the sight of the mansion.

"I really don't mind," she says and circles the car to stand at Emmy's side.

"Well, consider this as a payment for your services. Unless it sucks, then don't think about it."

"Whatever you say."

The inside of the place is just as grand as its exterior. It is all a little tacky if you take a moment to look closer, but Chase isn't here for that. With her mask on and Emmy hovering at her side, she feels like she could get away with anything. Multiple possibilities for the night's events well up in her mind. There are some wild cards concealed within her jacket's many pockets. A baggie of ketamine, just in case. A joint. She can't decide whether or not she wants to be sober for this monumental moment.

The vast living room contains multitudes of bumping, grinding, sweaty bodies that are so close together they melt into one ever-changing being. Music pounds so loud it snuffs out the sounds of the drinking games in the various rooms and the alcohol-fueled competitions going on outside. The acute stench of weed and something sickly, organically sweet curls through the hazy air. Everyone is horny, smoking, drinking, and dancing. Chase glances at Emmy. She looks more out of her element than Chase expected.

It is easy to glean confidence from the anonymity the mask gives her and the filter provided by the loud music. No one looks or listens in when Chase bends down close to Emmy's ear. "Have you ever been to one of these?"

Emmy grimaces; she's been caught. She stares down at her shoes and Chase's eyes follow. White, pristine sneakers that are already getting dirtied from the sorority's sticky floor. "No," she answers sheepishly before backing against a wall. "Is it that obvious?"

Chase smiles without it looking like an animal baring its teeth. "You look uncomfortable," she says, blunt.

"Not really," Emmy says just as she is forced to shift out of the way of a group of drunks, coming closer to Chase. "I just don't really know what people do here. At things like this, I mean."

"Is that why you wanted me to come?"

Emmy looks away and nods. Chase can't tell if she's ashamed or embarrassed or nervous or all three.

Chase suppresses an overly-excited smile. She knows she won't be able to hide her thoughts if she lets herself crack. Her mostly indifferent facade remains in place and she says, "Usually, you just drink and fuck around at things like this."

"I really thought people were exaggerating," Emmy says and she sounds embarrassed—she isn't meeting Chase's eyes. For the first time, Chase feels she has the upper hand.

"So is this like, your first party ever?"

The volume inside forces Chase to remain hunched over, her lips close to Emmy's ear as they speak. Despite the amount of people here, this moment feels profoundly intimate and Chase commits it to memory. No matter how this turns out she will always have this to think back on fondly.

"Yeah," Emmy says and emits a nervous little laugh. "I know this makes me seem like I've been living under a rock but it's just because of my parents."

Then, Emmy looks up at her. Her big brown eyes are wide and there is a thoughtful frown gracing her lips. Chase immediately feels bad for reasons she would rather not dissect.

In a moment of uncharacteristic boldness, Chase suggests, "You should start making up for the lost time. No one needs to know what you're doing."

Chase catches sight of a small smile before Emmy rubs a hand over her face. "You're right" she says while staring into the constantly moving crowd. "Let's go before I lose my nerve—and you have to drink first."

Chase holds up her keys. "I'm your ride. I'll drink one with you and then that's it."

Emmy flushes hard but it is difficult to make out in the low light. Again, Chase finds her unreadable. Her wheel of uninformed guessing lands that expression somewhere between vaguely disappointed but she doesn't want to explain why and feeling hopelessly out of her depth but she's come too far to back off now.

"I know Gia's here," Emmy says quickly. "I just don't want her to see me really drunk with you while you're sober."

Chase's eyebrows raise a little and she is endlessly grateful for her mask.

When Chase doesn't respond, Emmy continues, growing more nervous and jittery the longer they cling to the wall. "She really doesn't like you for some reason and she means a lot to me and I just don't want her to think I'm stupid or something."

Chase holds up her hands. A part of her wants to see what she could get away with right now. Emmy's clearly regretting what must have been a spontaneous decision to come and she's in a more vulnerable state than Chase has ever witnessed. The anxious rambling tells her everything she needs to know.

"Okay—if I drink with you, we're gonna have to get another ride home or we can walk."

"How far is it?"

Chase checks on her phone. They've been here for about ten minutes and they haven't moved from their chosen spot against the wall. "Half an hour."

Emmy mulls it over while watching the crowd.

"Okay. You don't have to drink. Honestly, it's crowded enough I don't even know if we'll see her."

Chase nods. "I'll still have one with you."

Emmy looks up at her and smiles. Pearly whites and big baby browns.

"Why are you so nervous about Gia anyway?"

Emmy shrugs and affectionately squeezes Chase's arm. The movement is so unusual and sudden Chase flinches.

Emmy might be the kindest person Chase has ever met—she answers without acknowledging the awkward flinch as though it didn't happen. She doesn't look at Chase differently or avoid meeting her eyes.

"I just—" Emmy begins and stops, looking intensely at Chase before averting her eyes in favor of studying the pictures on the wall behind them. "I don't know. I know it probably looks like I have all my shit together, but I really don't. I just don't want her to be disappointed."

"I promise I'm not as bad as she's thinking I am," Chase lies smoothly and gently leads Emmy away from the wall. "I think you need a distraction and that's what I can be here for tonight."

As they leave the perceived safety of the wall, Emmy wraps her hands around Chase's wiry bicep and she gets on her tip-toes to murmur, "I don't wanna lose you in this crowd."

Emmy ends up knowing some of the party goers which does not surprise Chase. Getting stopped every few steps by Emmy's endless friends would be irritating if it wasn't obviously easing her nerves. No one gives Chase a second glance as she hangs behind and to the side of Emmy. Close enough to keep watch over her, but not so close it looks suspicious. Whenever Emmy decides it's time to leave, she reaches out for Chase again, wrapping around her arm like it's an anchor in the sea of bodies.

At some point, they find themselves in a massive kitchen that could probably fit Chase's entire apartment. More people drift around, snooping through drawers and lifting expensive pieces to resell after nursing tomorrow's hangover. The kitchen island is the center of the space and it is covered in liquor bottles and loose plastic cups. Everything looks like it's been there for ages—there is spilled, sticky liquid on the counter and the sink reeks of bile. Chase tries not to gag. The mask is beginning to backfire—all the assorted smells are mingling into a vile mixture trapped within the mask's fabric.

While Emmy is distracted with looking around, Chase makes a beeline to the shot glasses. There are less people here, so she removes the mask and sets it on the least sticky part of the counter. After consuming a shot and perusing the options, Chase mixes Emmy a lemonade/vodka situation that will probably be bearable to drink.

As though she's been summoned, Emmy slides up behind Chase and touches her again, this time tracing her fingers briefly along Chase's back as she circles around her. Gooseflesh erupts in her wake.

"Hey," she says, already looking a little less anxious after some socialization and escaping that god-awful crowd in the living room. She stares eagerly at the shot glass. "What's this?"

Chase tells her and pours a second shot. "I'll take it with you," she says and doesn't mention the shot she just took. What she doesn't know won't hurt her.

When Emmy lifts the glass, everything begins feeling much more real. Of course, Chase has been perfectly aware of her actions during this period of getting to know Emmy, but this is not something she believes she's ever done. The ketamine in her pocket weighs a thousand pounds every time she recalls its presence. Drinking with her girls is something she's never gotten close enough to do. This is unprecedented. If she succumbs to the call of harder drugs, she doesn't know if she'll be able to stop.

Despite the increasing risk of what she's doing, Chase needs to see Emmy drunk. The more she thinks about it, the more necessary it feels to her. She needs to be the one who forces that first fiery mouthful of shitty alcohol down her throat. A formative experience guided by Chase's hands. She needs it like water.

"C'mon," Chase murmurs and dips her head down for Emmy to hear her easier. "I'll go first?"

Emmy nods and shifts closer although it isn't necessary. The kitchen is very warm—in both temperature and light—and Chase thinks she can make out a sheen of nervous sweat clinging to her neck.

Emmy brings the glass to her nose and Chase mirrors the movement. The lemonade smells sticky and cloyingly sweet but that sharp, overbearing hand sanitizer scent is there, poorly hidden under the artificial lemon.

Chase dips the glass and the mixture launches down her throat. Taking shots while being watched is always an awkward affair. Chase hates the feeling of eyes on her exposed throat. Emmy looks up at her expectantly when Chase finishes.

"It's not bad," she says. She has definitely had worse. Maybe she should want better for Emmy for this first time, but she can't find it in herself to care. "It's not even that much, I promise you."

Emmy pauses momentarily, likely weighing her options. They have known each other for maybe two months and Emmy's instincts must be crying out. Old warnings are welling up—Chase can see it in her eyes as she stares into the glass. It sinks in that this must be one of those moments that will change trajectories. Emmy will either succumb to whatever draws her to Chase, or she will put an end to this, one way or another.

Then, Emmy takes the shot and makes a face like she's been burned. It all happens within a few seconds.

Emmy grimaces and Chase outright laughs at her expression. It feels as though a massive weight has been lifted from her chest and some detached voice in the back of her mind insists she chose you.

"How is it?"

Emmy scowls at her and jerks her head toward the vodka. "It's bad —I need more."

It does not take long for Emmy to grow hopelessly tipsy. Chase is maintaining a pleasant high courtesy of her lint-covered jacket joint. It slowly becomes easier to ignore the aspects she hates about the night and focus on Emmy instead. Although her intentions may not be the best, Chase finds she wants Emmy to have a good time.

Another shot (this is three so far) and Emmy is a pliant, needy thing clinging to Chase's arm. Chase would be lying if she said it bothered her.

The alcohol has also made Emmy bold and her hands constantly flutter between resting flat on Chase's chest and gripping at her bicep. Each touch feels carefully calculated and coordinated to make Chase lose her mind.

At some point in the night, Chase decides to wander around the mansion with Emmy on her arm. The living room is still packed and Chase carefully avoids it. While navigating the long hallways and various drunken obstacles, Emmy leans heavily into Chase. She can't be that drunk—can she?

After some exploration, Chase discovers a small room near the back of the home without a large crowd. There is a large, squashed couch shoved against a covered window. The stench of weed is so strong here Chase suspects she's destroyed a carefully and lovingly created hotbox situation. Before someone snaps at her for leaving the door open, she ushers Emmy inside and shuts it behind her.

Emmy has another drink—this will be her fourth—and this one is a beer.

"Where'd you get that?" Chase snickers at her and sucks in a lungful of hazy, smoky air.

Emmy shrugs and takes a sip. Judging by her expression, it is not her favorite. "Some guy gave it to me."

"Do you always just take drinks from random guys?"

"It was closed—do I look drunk?"

Chase searches for a place for them to crash. There really are not many people in this room. It's small—just the couch, shelving, and some chairs currently positioned in a semi-circle around a T.V. Some guys are playing Wii bowling. Some other guys are sparking up. Thankfully, no one seems to care about the room's new additions and Chase claims the couch in the back for them.

Once they reach the couch, a new dilemma introduces itself. Chase is unsure of how to approach the chilling on the couch with your drunk classmate scenario.

Emmy solves the problem for the both of them by stretching out along the cushions and draping herself over the back. Chase sits a respectable distance away only because she doubts she would be able to keep her hands to herself otherwise.

"You don't look drunk."

Emmy sits upright and holds Chase's gaze. "What?"

"Earlier—you asked if you looked drunk."

"Oh," Emmy rolls her eyes. "If I don't look drunk then what do I look like right now."

Chase short circuits. "You look fine." Then, quickly, "Do you feel okay?"

Asking is only a courtesy. Emmy barely has control of her body. That was a lot to drink in under a half hour— especially for such a lightweight. Chase is met with the sweet sight of a blotchy, flushed face and big, watery eyes every time she looks over.

"Just fine?" Emmy does not waver from looking Chase directly in the eye while asking this. Then, her expression hardens into a playful glare before breaking out into a soft, sleepy smile.

Chase is not sure what to do. Her heart feels like it's stopped and maybe she's dead already—maybe this is heaven. A drunk, needy girl pliant in her palm. There is nothing better than this. She stutters and stumbles over her words before she manages to mutter a weak, "You look hot." She has never felt more like a loser than now but she wouldn't change it for the world.

Emmy grins at that and finishes off her beer. When she sets it on a side table, she turns back and stretches her legs across Chase's lap. Their warmth almost instantly sinks in through Chase's jeans and she shudders. Although she's taken the mask off, it is dim enough in the room to hide how red she gets from the simple movement.

Someone new enters the room—two someones—and Emmy perks up immediately. Chase turns to see who the new additions are and to her dismay, it's Gia walking shoulder to shoulder with a specimen of a man. Their body language is something unlike Chase has ever seen.

Before Chase has a second to pull together a story, Emmy launches from the couch and falls into Gia's arms. It seems she's forgotten her earlier anxiety. Chase awkwardly remains on the couch. Suddenly, that game of Wii bowling is very interesting.

Although she's feigning inattention, Chase eavesdrops in between nursing her joint. This is not good. Emmy is slurring her words, stumbling, smiling stupidly. It will not be difficult for Gia to connect the dots once she sees Chase. For a moment, she seriously considers abandoning Emmy. That would look even worse though and she reluctantly remains seated while Emmy and Gia chatter away. So far, so good; her presence hasn't been noticed yet.

Gia wraps her arms around Emmy's shoulders and props her chin on top of her head. Chase is instantly, disgustingly jealous and she seethes as she watches from the side of her eye.

"I didn't know you were gonna be here," Gia says once they untangle.

Chase suddenly does not want to listen. This is immature and unnecessary, but maybe it's the weed getting to her head.

Off to the side, Emmy says, "I didn't come alone," she snickers and Chase's heart sinks. "I'm with your favorite ."

"Oh my God."

Chase feels eyes on her and she forces herself to face them without pulling a face. That ketamine baggie feels like it's burning through her pocket. With her luck, it might fall right out of the jacket. Chase rises and looms over the pair. From this angle, she can see straight down their shirts.

"Hi," Gia says with a pinched smile.

"Hey." Chase has no idea what to do. Technically, she hasn't done anything wrong, this probably just looks bad. "I'm her ride," she says belatedly and Gia squints at her.

"Are you high?"

Chase bristles. "A little—it won't be a problem."

Gia does not seem convinced and squints suspiciously at her before turning to Emmy. "What is wrong with you?"

"What?"

Chase really does not want to be here.

Gia sighs and grabs Emmy by the arms. "Do you wanna go home? I can take you," she says very seriously.

Emmy glances at Chase and shoots her a reassuring smile. "No, I'm having fun," she says and pulls away from Gia, backing into Chase.

Gia throws her hands up and says, "You're coming over tomorrow so we can talk though, okay?"

Emmy shrugs and gives her the same sleepy smile she's been giving Chase all night.

"Okay, it's fine though."

Chase feels like she is missing important context. What does Gia know? The temptation to grab her phone and look herself up is unreal. That information can't be that accessible.

Because she feels like she needs to do something , Chase tells Gia, "I can like, let you know when I get her dropped off."

Gia gives her a long, unreadable look. "Okay," she says after an uncomfortably tense silence. Chase can't read her at all and can only hope this makes her look halfway decent.

Emmy pulls Gia away and Chase decides she is finished interacting with her for the time being. Whatever they're talking about, it's none of her business.

Once Chase throws herself back on the couch, she wonders what the odds of running into Gia were. Now that she isn't under that intense scrutiny, she subtly stares at the pair as they distract each other. Chase can't get over Emmy costume. Even in the dim and hazy light of this back room, she looks like an angel here to bless the grimy party goers. Her skirt is so short it looks more like a belt.

Gia looks equally gorgeous much to Chase's irritation. She's a werewolf—a sexy one, of course—complete with fuzzy ears and some tasteful face paint. Her outfit is composed of a furry coat, sharp stiletto nails, and pants so tight they look like they've been painted on.

Running into Gia has been a mildly sobering experience. Chase is unsure of how she should proceed with the rest of the night. She checks the time—it's only midnight now. She figures she can get away with staying out until two before people start getting suspicious. She doubts Emmy will last that long judging by how she wavers where she stands with Gia.

"Chasey."

Chase glances up and Emmy is abruptly standing in front of her.

"Yeah?"

Emmy gestures with her head to the door. "Gia left—she'll come around, I promise."

Chase decides not to think about what Emmy means by that and braces herself as Emmy slumps onto the couch.

"I'm sleepy."

"Really?" Chase watches motionless as Emmy leans heavily against the back of the couch before sliding toward Chase's shoulder. "Don't go to sleep."

By the time she says this, Emmy's cheek is smashed against Chase's shoulder and the rest of her body is curled into a ball at her side. Every part of her is either touching Chase or close to her. She is incredibly warm and feels like a heating pad tucked against Chase's side.

It's a miracle Chase recalls how to speak during a moment like this. A familiar heat is beginning to pool in the pit of her stomach. It was inevitable.

"Okay," Emmy mumbles and presses her face against Chase's hoodie. "You smell like weed."

The very notion of Emmy smelling her makes Chase have to squirm a little to adjust her pants. Her clit is rock hard and unfortunately pressing up against a fold in her boxers. Even more unfortunately, Emmy does not miss when Chase shifts. She pulls away and holds Chase's gaze with a knowing smile.

"What was that?"

Somehow, Chase flushes harder. Maybe she should have kept the mask on.

"Nothin'."

Her voice is coming out hoarse from the weed and her nerves. Emmy does not seem discouraged.

"No," she says, still smiling, and her voice is airy and breathless. "I saw that. What, are you nervous or something?"

Emmy should be the nervous one—tucked up against Chase's body on a sagging couch, weed smoke curling in the air, alcohol in her system, everything mingling and sucking away her brain cells and voice of reason. Those four drinks must be hitting hard. As she thinks this, Chase is struck with a horrifying thought. What if Emmy is just doing all of this because she's drunk? What if she remembers all of this when she wakes tomorrow and regrets it and never speaks to Chase again?

Chase truthfully does not want to know—she needs to and she asks, "Are you being nice 'cause you feel bad?"

Emmy shifts where she sits, leaning closer. "No," she says and then she sits up before lazily straddling Chase's narrow hips.

"Would I do this if I felt bad?"

This is not happening. Chase's breath seizes up. "You're drunk," she whispers as though in a trance. Focusing on anything apart from the soft weight pinning her down is impossible. To look away from Emmy's large, hypnotic eyes right now would be a crime deserving of death.

Emmy nods and slides her hands experimentally up Chase's torso. The light touches betray how nervous and out of her element she is. As Chase sits there, dumbfounded, Emmy brushes the hair away from her forehead.

"They call it liquid courage for a reason, don't you think?"

Words evade Chase like never before. Her hands remain glued to the couch cushion. If she touched Emmy right now, she genuinely does not know if she'd be able to restrain herself. Some of Chase's most beloved jerk-off fantasies well up to the surface of her mind as Emmy plays with her hair. Watching her swallow her strap. Making her cry. Watching her shower. Recording them fucking and making Emmy watch it. Fleeting snapshots from her recurring fantasies flash through her mind until she sincerely wonders if she'll cum untouched.

"You're drunk too," Emmy continues and is completely unphased by Chase's silence. One of her cold palms rests against Chase's cheek. "Your face is all warm—or, are you just that nervous?"

Despite the other people in the room, Chase swallows hard and can't shake the feeling she's being put on the spot. Her hands reluctantly rest on Emmy's hips. Her clit instantly throbs .

"I'm not nervous," she replies in a voice shakier than she's ever heard from herself.

Emmy's hands are ice cold when they both cup Chase's face. "I think you should get me another drink. And you can have a sip. Because I'm so nice."

"Okay," Chase can't deny her despite it probably not being the best idea. She can act like she has everything under control but she knows the truth. She has gone too far and is in over her head. As Chase stands, she feels an overwhelming sense of deja vu.

Chase buries her doubts and succumbs to the voice insisting to indulge herself. Do what you want for once. Drug that pretty little redhead and watch what noises she makes when you touch her in her sleep. Once inside the kitchen, she elbows past the entangled couples surrounding the island.

If she stops and takes a moment to assess the state of the house, it kind of disgusts her. Everyone reeks of whatever they're using and sex. The air itself smells sexually charged if such a thing is possible. The few girls taking shots are covered in smudged makeup. They're too far gone to notice or care. The laughter coming from their corner is so loud and sharp it makes Chase's head throb.

For courage, Chase takes a shot and begins weighing her options. The ketamine beckons her to grab it like a cursed, sentient object. If there ever was a line she shouldn't cross, it is this one.

Emmy is so far gone already and Chase doubts she will remember much of the night. While standing motionless at the counter, her hand in her pocket, Chase wonders if she should save it for another night. If Emmy drinks something spiked, she'll have to take her home soon after.

Before she can waste more time arguing with herself, Chase grabs a random tall boy from the fridge without looking and sprints to the nearest bathroom.

It is disgusting in here. Chase is certainly not the most hygienic, but this is on another level. There is a condom draped almost lovingly over the edge of the overstuffed trashcan—full of tampons and tissues with suspicious stains. It is quieter in here, easier to think, but the bass still pounds through the walls. Chase tilts her head back and stares up at the ceiling. Despite just taking that shot, she feels like she's sobering up from the gravity of what she's about to do. If she is going to do this, it needs to be now. Chase looks at the can she grabbed. It's one of those obscure, probably banned brands. It is too late to go back to the kitchen, so Chase decides to just apologize if Emmy comments on the taste. She cracks the can open, takes a painful sip, and sprinkles the powder in. It isn't much—Chase is approaching this like an experiment.

The walk back to the room feels like it is in slow motion. Everyone else remains operating at their normal speed as Chase drags her feet. It feels as though everyone is watching her, even as she slips back in the dark room.

Emmy is sprawled out on the couch, carefully watching the current game on the T.V. Then, when she doesn't move as Chase sits, Chase momentarily panics and nudges her.

"Hey. Are you asleep?"

Emmy makes a pleased, sleepy groan and rolls over. Chase is sitting next to her head and from this angle, Emmy tits are squished together and perfectly framing the necklace between them. Her top is riding low, skirt flipped up, and her eyes drooping. Chase does not trust herself to look any lower—she doubts she would be able to restrain herself.

Emmy says, "No," and then she sits up to take the can from Chase. "What's this?" She asks and immediately takes a sip before waiting for Chase's answer.

In the dark, murky air of the room, time comes to a screeching halt. Chase is not sure what she thought would happen, but Emmy seems fine. A slow smile is stretching across her face. It reaches her eyes—but it is difficult to make her precise expression out. This dim room is a double edged sword—no one has to see how red and flustered Chase is, but now, she can't fully appreciate Emmy's reactions. Speaking of Emmy, she is looking at Chase expectantly. She must have said something while Chase was zoned out.

"What?"

Emmy giggles and takes another sip. "Did you take another shot?"

Chase nods and can't take her eyes off of Emmy's throat as she drinks more. Now, she is drinking in earnest, holding the can in one hand while the other rests close to Chase's thigh.

When she finishes the first half, she sets the can to the side and wets her lips. "This isn't very good."

Chase actually laughs aloud at that and then immediately wonders what the fuck is wrong with her.

Before the thought can further sober her, Chase disregards it and leans into feeling that boldness that comes from doing something terrible and getting away with it. There is a certain confidence to be gleaned from this. Chase gives herself to it, stops caring about the consequences or the opinions of everyone around her. She will never see these people again if she can help it and Emmy will hardly remember a thing. Chase brings her hand up to rest on Emmy's cheek. "It was all they had."

Emmy leans into Chase's palm and smiles. She must be feeling it now—her body relaxed and detached from her floating mind. It is not much, but Chase does not want to risk more than she already is. "I forgive you," she sleepily slurs and her eyes begin to close. "Only 'cause you're so cute."

Chase flushes hard at that and tells herself it is only the drug fucking with Emmy's head. "Don't fall asleep," she says to Emmy's immense irritation.

"Why not?" She clings to Chase, fully draped over her on the couch.

"I gotta take you home, it's gross in here."

Emmy shrugs and blearily looks around the room. "I don't really care right now."

Chase stands and drags Emmy up with her. Chase isn't particularly strong, but Emmy assists her in between stumbling until she's on her feet.

"You'll care in the morning when you wake up here," Chase says and her hands struggle to remain on the acceptable parts of Emmy's body. She squirms and stumbles and shuffles around Chase, hellbent on escaping. Chase keeps her hands poised. It would be too easy to let them wander and grab handfuls of ass or thigh.

As Chase guides Emmy from the room and through the mansion, she catches a glimpse of them in a mirror. Chase looks like some horror movie wraith in her all black attire and grim, serious expression. She looms over Emmy, standing slightly behind her. A shadow she can't shake. Emmy hangs off of Chase's arm and her vibrant hair drapes around her face like a curtain. That slutty costume of hers is threatening to fall off her shoulders and Chase suppresses the urge to slip one of the straps off, just to see if Emmy would notice.

Somehow, they manage to leave the party without raising any suspicions. Emmy still has the spiked can. Chase tells her to finish it and she does without question.

It is frigid outside and their breath comes out in visible puffs as they make their way to Chase's car.

Emmy is absolutely feeling it now. When they reach the car, she slumps over the hood, involuntarily arching her back and presenting her ass to Chase.

"Are we going home?"

Chase did not expect to stay the night with her, but now that she's thinking about it, it would be a good idea. She'll get to go in Emmy's house and see how she lives. Probe within her most vulnerable and protected spaces. The bedroom, her bathroom. She'll get to see what shampoo she uses, the food she eats, the clothes she wears when she's home, the brand of tampons she uses, Chase could go on. When she opens the car door for Emmy, she grips the handle so hard her palm aches when she pulls away.

Although she's still slightly baked, her focus on Emmy makes her feel sober enough. Emmy currently lies in the backseat with her head resting on Chase's balled-up hoodie. Neither of them speak as Chase drives. The radio is quiet and all Chase hears are the soft sounds coming from the backseat and the rush of blood in her head.

The drive is mercifully quick. By the time she pulls into Emmy's driveway, her mind feels mostly clear. She reaches back and puts a testing hand on Emmy's thigh. Feverish skin. It is a little fucked up, but Chase wants to watch over her as she recovers and comes down.

"Are you awake?" Chase keeps her voice low as though she speaks to a spooked animal.

Emmy stirs and gazes up at Chase through her heavy lidded and droopy eyes. "Uh-huh," she mumbles and looks down at the hoodie-pillow. "Can I keep this? So comfy."

Chase nods and gets out of the car before she does something to Emmy.

Despite Chase lingering closely behind her, Emmy stumbles past the threshold of her front door. Before she has a chance to trip, Chase stabilizes Emmy by holding onto her shoulder. Her efforts are rewarded with a breathless and satisfied sigh. Chase doesn't have time to short circuit and dwell on the interaction, so she follows Emmy into her house for the first time.

It is not exactly what Chase was expecting. This is becoming a theme in her exploration of Emmy. Everything she assumes ends up being false. Instead of the girly, pink haven she envisioned, Emmy's house is shockingly normal. It is not as clean as she thought it would be—but it seems to be clutter rather than the genuine filth Chase thrives in. Although the space is clearly still being unpacked, there are signs of Emmy strewn everywhere. A handmade blanket draped over the back of a well loved couch. Glow in the dark stars scattered across the ceiling. Chase feels like she's stepped into Emmy's heart—it is suddenly too intimate and too real.

Unaware of Chase's profound reaction to being let in the house, Emmy goes directly to a room near the back of the home and Chase follows, unsure of what to do now. She has gone so far already and it would be too easy to go further. Now, it is just a question of whether or not she wants to wait.

"C'mon," Emmy calls from within her room and Chase snaps out of her vacant staring.

She steps in and is greeted with the sight of Emmy struggling to wiggle out of her costume. The top is tighter than Chase expected and Emmy can't seem to pull her arms free in her drunken state. Since it is mostly off of her torso, Chase can see her bra and all the creamy skin that little costume was hiding. A few moles are scattered across her soft stomach and waist. Chase stands in the doorway, frozen in place and doing everything in her power to resist the siren call of her clit.

Emmy holds up her trapped arms and sighs desperately. "Help me out?"

Chase would not say no if a gun were held to her head.

Everything feels jarring and amplified as Chase helps Emmy free her arms. Each movement makes everything fucking jiggle and Chase is convinced she will cum in her pants by the time tonight is over. Once Emmy's arms are freed, she is left in a bra, her skirt, and socks.

"I'm so tired, oh my God ," Emmy groans dramatically and drags a hand over her face.

Chase does not know what to do right now. There isn't anything she can do while Emmy is still awake, so she says, "You should sleep."

Emmy hums and glances at her bed. "Maybe—yeah. I feel funny. Does it always feel like this?"

Chase guides her to bed. It feels surreal—like she's tucking her in. Once Emmy is under the covers, she squirms around for a moment before throwing the remainder of her clothes at the closet. Chase belatedly realizes Emmy is nude under the covers.

"Oh—"

"Sorry," Emmy grins and happily squirms within the blankets. "It's really hot."

"It's okay," Chase murmurs and her voice sounds odd and thick in her ears. "Uh, but, no, it doesn't usually fuck people up this much."

"Is there something wrong with me?"

"No," Chase looks down at her hands and wonders if she has the restraint to go there and pull back before getting caught. "I just think you're a lightweight. Just drink more water next time."

Emmy pauses in her content writhing before shrugging. Chase desperately wants to tear the blanket off of her. "I knew I forgot something," Emmy says slyly before yawning.

"It's okay, don't think about it."

Emmy murmurs an exhausted, "Okay," before her eyes slip shut.

Chase looms over her for a long time. Sleep comes for Emmy almost immediately and when Chase experimentally snaps in front of her face and pushes her, nothing happens. Just under that blanket, Emmy's nipples are brushing against the fabric and her bare cunt is exposed. In sleep, her face goes slack and her lips part the smallest distance.

Chase backs away before she can convince herself to stop listening to the increasingly quiet voice of reason begging her to take her time. She is playing it safe, playing the long game. She wants to touch her so badly her palms tingle with anticipation. She could touch herself right now and place her hands on Emmy's covered thighs, but she doesn't trust herself to stop there.

Chase leaves, her head clear and anticipation for tomorrow hanging over her head. Waiting makes the heart grow fonder.

 

Chapter 5

In the beginning, there was the theater department's auditorium, and Chase.

It is a grand structure when compared to other art institutions on campus. All of the seats are upholstered in a red, velvety fabric and are supported by reclining wood frames. The lighting is meticulously managed and bolstered by the stagehands working behind the scenes. The acoustics in this room are unreal. High rafters and catwalks are hidden near the ceiling, concealed in the darkness above where the audience can’t see. Everything smells like it's been here for a hundred years—which it has, so it's easy to overlook the musty fragrance permanently infused into everything.

Chase drifts through the dim lobby. Everything feels as though it's diffused—like she's looking in through a grimy lens. It's a dream, though it's impossible to know that at the moment. Both a dream and a memory, Chase finds herself caught between the striking deja vu of the sight of the space and the inexplicable feeling of dread washing over her.

A girl's voice echoes through the small lobby. Her name is on the tip of Chase's tongue. Unable to do anything else, she follows the ethereal voice down a long and familiar hallway. The door she finds leads to backstage.

When she steps through the threshold, she finds the space empty. She did something, or, she's about to do something. Or she's done something here before. The answers evade her and she is left wandering the empty building, led on by a soft and achingly familiar voice.

When Chase wakes up, her phone is ringing.

For a few long moments she lays there and desperately prays for sleep to take her under again. It doesn't work. Chase lifts her phone. There is a missed call from Emmy.

"Oh— fuck ."

Memories from the night before begin to trickle into Chase's awareness until she's rendered horrified by her carelessness. Drugging Emmy so early and going home with her and fucking getting away with it? This is absurd—this is unreal.

Before she has a chance to throw her phone across the room and focus on what she did last night, it begins ringing again, impossible to ignore.

Chase drags a hand through her greasy hair. Her heart is pounding in her chest like it wants to burst through and strangle her itself.

Chase answers with a choked-off, "Hey?"

"Hey," Emmy sounds rough and Chase can't tell if it's from crying or a hard sleep. Either way, her heart seizes up as Emmy sighs, "Sorry, I know it's super early."

That is the furthest thing from Chase's mind. She checks the time. It is past noon. "It's not really—what's up?" Keeping her voice steady is an Sisyphean endeavor.

There is another sigh and some shuffling on Emmy's end. Chase can picture her dragging herself from the comfort of her bed and stretching as she rises. She is likely still nude from the night before. Just thinking of it has Chase's clit stiffen in her pants.

"I was wondering what happened last night," Emmy begins and Chase chooses to think it's a good sign she isn't yelling or upset with Chase. "I don't really remember that much."

A massive weight is lifted from her shoulders and Chase has to fight the urge to fall to her knees and cheer. She manages to casually ask, "Do you feel okay?" For now, she avoids the what happened question since she has no clue how to answer yet.

"Yeah? I think so. My head is killing me and my mouth is dry as hell, but other than that, I think I'm fine."

"You just overdid it."

"You think?" Emmy scoffs and lets out a dry laugh. "I don't ever wanna do that again."

Chase pauses and weighs her options. Since she woke up so abruptly, her brain feels slow, like it's still powering up. She recalls her boldness from the night before. How she openly flirted with Emmy without fearing embarrassment and rejection. Accessing that part of herself is out of her reach while sober and she is left awkwardly saying, "You can just drink water next time. Uh—if you even wanna do that again I mean."

"Ugh, maybe ," Emmy groans and then pauses awkwardly. It takes a long minute before she continues and the entire time, Chase is nearly vibrating with the force of her paranoia. "I think I remember being kind of weird last night."

At first, Chase hears: I think I remember you being kind of weird last night . Her heart stops and then the words process in her mind and she asks, "How so?" Nothing can help her predict how this conversation will go and how much Emmy knows.

Perhaps she's recalling those lingering touches she left on Chase's arms. The way she straddled her in front of those people in that back room. Chase would not forget any of that even if you held a gun to her head and blew her brains out. The fond memories cause her clit to swell with urgency.

As Emmy talks, Chase melts back into her bed and slips her hand down her boxers. For a while, she remains outside and drags her fingers through her dense bush. The movement is hypnotic and familiar. The pressure is light and teasing enough to keep her wet, but not hard enough to make it obvious in her breathing and voice.

"I just wanted to say sorry for last night," Emmy blurts quickly and Chase can envision how she must look right now. Hunched over in bed, chewing anxiously at her lip like she does when she's chipping away at her homework in front of the laptop. "I think I remember being really weird and uh—forward. I feel so bad because you went out of your way to help with my laptop and I just took you to some lame party and got shit-faced in return."

There is a certain guilt in her voice that just does it for Chase. It becomes clearer just how religious Emmy's background is. The insanely exaggerated guilt and immediate need to confess. Chase gets it—she's been there. While Emmy continues, Chase presses her fingers against her clit and bites back a gasp.

"Don't worry about it," she manages to interject and mask the arousal in her voice. It is difficult to multitask like this when she has a throbbing clit between her legs and a teary, guilty mess on the other end of the line.

"I don't know," Emmy sighs heavily as though the weight of the entire world rests on her shoulders. "I just wanna make it up to you, y'know?"

Chase touches herself when she says, "Ah, yeah," and is only halfway paying attention. Most of her brain cells are dedicated to thinking of Emmy and the tiny sleeping shirt she's probably wearing right now.

"Well, anyways, I think you should come by at some point so I can make it up to you. I'll make us lunch or something."

Chase grinds her fingers harder against her sensitive clit and fails to suppress a quiet groan. "Sorry," she stumbles over her words, heartbeat kicking up and her mind racing. A small part of her kind of wants Emmy to know what she's doing. "But really, it's okay."

She wants to accept that invitation more than anything. This forced air of nonchalance helps Chase restrain herself and she declines to acknowledge the invite, just to see what Emmy will do.

There is another pause from Emmy's end and more shuffling. In Chase's mind, she is shuffling into her bathroom and putting Chase on the speaker while lazily going through her morning routine. "No," she finally says, "I insist. I can make us some pasta so if you don't come, you're seriously gonna miss out."

Thinking of Emmy in her kitchen, wearing a cute little apron and cooking up a meal for Chase is enough to make her almost cum instantly. She pulls her hand away from her clit like she's been burning and that roiling, exponentially growing warmth subsides until she feels like she can think clearly again. Her fingers cautiously return to her clit.

She says, "Okay," and mutes the phone so she can freely jerk it without worrying about being caught. Emmy begins speaking again, expressing again how sorry she is and how grateful she is that it wasn't quite as bad as she thought and how she'll be sure to make the best pasta dish Chase has ever had and the whole time, Chase pumps her fingers over her clit, working herself until she's breathless and writhing in bed. In the end, it is Emmy's voice that does Chase in. She says something about how she'll play some music, maybe they can do karaoke, and her tone is so sincere and nervous Chase cums to the sound of it.

At the end of the call, Emmy asks when Chase wants to come by. Sheepishly, she asks, "How about today?"

Chase's eyebrows raise and she wonders, not for the first time, if her feelings are reciprocated. "Like, now?"

A long pause. "Uh—maybe. If that's okay. If you're okay with watching me cook."

Chase can't think of anything else she'd rather spend her day watching. "Yeah, okay. I'm gonna shower but I'll be there later."

"Okay," Emmy says and they both fall quiet for a few endless moments before Emmy murmurs, "Bye, Chase," and promptly hangs up.

Chase remains sitting in bed with her phone in hand for a handful of slow minutes after the call ends. Without seeing Emmy, she has no idea if this is something she should be looking forward to. It is her paranoia talking. That remorse was genuine and Chase suspects Emmy remembers far less than she realizes. Chase lets out a massive breath and forces herself to leave bed. Rationally and as she mulls over the conversation, she doubts she has anything to worry about.

However—Gia is still in the picture and too unpredictable for Chase to ignore. She is an issue that needs to be resolved if Chase wants to go anywhere with her budding plans. From what she has observed, Emmy has a small handful of close friends and is friendly acquaintances with half the campus. Gia is her closest friend. They go back to high school and beyond—extra curriculars together, planning to room together soon—the bond between them is strong enough to be concerning.

The fact that Gia has not revealed what she knows is more concerning. Chase figures she either is planning something big with the information she has, or, Chase is overthinking all of this.

As she steps into the bathroom, she looks in the mirror and really takes in her reflection.

Maybe it shows in her eyes. Gia might just have some hunch bothering her. Or maybe she just really dislikes butches. Chase does not want to think she knows and these theories are plausible.

Chase certainly looks suspicious. Her hair is tangled and greasy from a few days without washing and the constant, anxious way she plays with it. Dull brown eyes are ringed and weighed down with heavy, purpled bags. Chase leans close and turns her face, watching the harsh lighting above the mirror shine down on the gaunt plans making up her cheeks and jaw. The slender, ski slope of her nose and the faint freckles there.

It is time for a shower and Chase removes her glasses. Everything becomes soft and fuzzy around the edges and she isn't forced to acknowledge her appearance. Life would be easier to navigate this way, she thinks. Not having to see people in the frightening clarity the lenses provide and instead reserving such an intimate sight for whenever you get physically close. Chase wonders if people would treat her differently if she still looked the way she did in high school—when she went by a different name and wore a different face for the sake of appeasing every single person around her.

The longer she spends in the shower, the less concerned she feels about Gia. A plan is beginning to take shape somewhere in the back of her mind and she will dissect it later. For now, she hurriedly goes through the motions in order to get to Emmy's house as soon as possible.

After the shower, Chase stands nude in her room and stares vacantly into her closet. This could be an important day. The drawer containing her strap harness and modest assortment of dildos is opened and gazing up at her.

Packing feels like a step further than what they're ready for, but it is achingly tempting. She envisions Emmy cooking, focusing on something while facing the counter, and how she'd walk silently behind her and slap her dick on her ass.

Ultimately, Chase decides against it despite how tempting it is. Instead, she unearths a clean shirt and a nicer button down to wear over it. Then, some jeans that aren't falling off her ass, complete with a belt, and she finishes with her favorite shoes. It feels a little like she is preparing to go to her first day of school. She supposes she should not question the behavior Emmy coaxes out of her.

A spritz of shitty, overly astringent drug store cologne later, Chase is ready to go. She elects to walk over despite how bitterly cold it is today.

If it weren't for the wind, the temperature would be much more bearable. It becomes very cold, very quickly here and Chase quickly realizes she should have worn a hat or gloves. The transition between fall and winter is pathetically brief. The leaves are already on their last days, clinging desperately to the thin, spindly branches of trees. The ones that have fallen have been reduced to a mulchy layer covering the sidewalk. Chase steps in the mushy brown sludge.

It will continue growing colder and instead of snowing, the landscape will be transformed into an icy, silent realm. A few days will be severe enough to trap everyone inside and render the roads a dangerous obstacle. Chase spends the remainder of the walk imagining a universe where she gets whatever the hell she wants. In this ideal reality, her and Emmy get iced in together while working on something for their shared class.

The power goes out and with it, the heat, so it isn't long before Emmy is forced to huddle with Chase for warmth. It is probably a little uncomfortable for her, but she endures it because Chase is so warm and respectful, even though her mind is racing with everything she could do.

By the time she stomps up the steps to Emmy's front porch, her ears and nose are numb from the cold and her breath escapes her in opaque puffs. The reflection staring back at her from Emmy's glass front door looks like she's been flash-frozen. Chase touches her ears. She really should have worn a hat.

Her limp hair does little to protect her hair and it suddenly occurs to her she may catch a cold from this—walking around outside right after washing her hair. That would be profoundly embarrassing if she got sick while at Emmy's.

When she finally knocks, Emmy answers almost immediately as though she's been waiting for Chase.

The first thing she notices is how much better she looks and a sigh of relief escapes her.

"Hey!"

"Hi," Chase manages a strained smile and hopes she doesn't look too weird. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," Emmy pulls her inside and immediately leads Chase towards the kitchen. "It's really cold out there."

Chase shrugs and her eyes drop to Emmy's ass as she walks into the kitchen. She talks about the lunch—Chase is barely listening, she's too taken by the sight of Emmy's ass in the tiny denim shorts she wears. Chase is a bit early and the meal is not done yet, so Emmy instructs her to sit at her kitchen island and be her cooking entertainment.

"Can I get a tour after?"

Emmy monitors a simmering sauce like it's her firstborn. "Of the place?" When she asks, she doesn't bother looking away from her diligent stirring.

"Yeah," Chase answers and she feels those familiar nerves creep in. She has not been able to shake the dream since she woke up. It has followed her all day like an ill omen.

"Sure—didn't you see when you brought me back?"

"I didn't really snoop around honestly."

Emmy snickers and finally looks at Chase, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms under her tits. Chase has no idea if that was intentional, but it forced her chest up and the position of her arms practically begs Chase to look.

"Really," she says slyly and leans forward, propping her elbows on the island. "Seriously though, I am really sorry."

"Don't be." Nerves bubble up within her and combine with the strange feverish feeling roiling in her head. Now she genuinely regrets leaving without a hat.

Emmy squints at her. "Whoa—are you okay?"

Chase frantically nods and holds up a hand. "Yeah. Just cold."

"Oh my God!" Emmy gasps and instantly hurries out of the kitchen. Chase declines to follow. She remains perched on her stool while cupping her warm cheek. Emmy quickly returns with a blanket.

"Here," she says and drapes it around Chase's shoulders. "Take some of this." She hands Chase liquid cold medicine.

"Is this the drowsy stuff?"

"Uh—yeah, I think so."

Chase considers how this could benefit her. Maybe she could convince Emmy to let her sleep here. Better yet, they could start watching movies and sleep on the couch together. Before thinking further, Chase takes some and gratefully gives her the medicine.

"Sorry," Chase eventually says sheepishly.

Emmy waves it away and returns her attention to the sauce. Now, she dumps the pasta in the pot. It's a smaller shape—Chase's preferred pasta shape size. Maybe Emmy's reading her mind.

"Don't be. Why'd you walk though?"

Chase shrugs. "I wanted to think about shit."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Last night, I guess."

Emmy momentarily stiffens before turning to face Chase. Her thin brows are pinched together as though she's worried. "I seriously am sorry."

"Why do you keep saying that? What do you remember?" It is a little too direct for Chase's taste, but she is desperately curious to know what Emmy remembers.

Emmy averts her eyes in embarrassment and her face instantly flames red as her hair. "Not much," she says vaguely.

"Oh, c'mon," Chase pleads dramatically. She figures she needs to diffuse the tension somehow. "I promise it's not gonna bother me."

Emmy stares pointedly at Chase in that intense way that makes her skin crawl. "Okay—uh, this is so embarrassing, I'm sorry."

Chase shakes her head and leans forward, propping her chin up on her hands. "It's okay."

"I think I sat on your lap," she quickly confesses and hides her face. "I was also just flirting with you a lot I think."

Then, before Chase has a chance to answer, she whirls around and takes the saucepan from the stove.

"It's done," she announces without facing Chase.

As she plates the food with her back turned, Chase remains calmly silent. That paranoia is slinking away. Emmy only remembers what she did—not at all what Chase was doing in the shadows the entire night. Now, all Chase has to do is wait for Emmy's thoughts on the matter. How she feels will influence how Chase proceeds.

Once Emmy has the two bowls in hand, she gestures for Chase to follow her into the small dining area off the side of the kitchen. Outside, the sky is deepening and gray. No matter how this goes, Chase finds she does not want to have to walk in whatever weather is incoming.

Emmy avoids Chase's eyes like an evasion expert.

Initiating conversations is out of Chase's area of expertise, but she knows she needs to at least say something right now. "Hey," she murmurs and stabs at the steaming food with a fork. "Don't worry about it."

Emmy holds her gaze as Chase tries the dish. It is good enough to make her want to get down on one knee.

"This is really fuckin' good."

A small smile pulls at Emmy's lips.

"Like—even if you did anything weird, this would make up for it."

Emmy rolls her eyes and hides her face again. "It's just not like me."

Chase speaks in between mauling her meal. It is kind of hard to care about how unhinged she probably looks when she's growing so tired from the medicine and eating something other than fifty cent instant ramen. "Is that something that bothers you?"

Emmy takes tiny, thoughtful bites. "I don't know," she says after a long pause.

"Maybe you're thinking too hard about it," Chase says dismissively.

"Maybe," Emmy echoes.

The meal passes without further incident and Emmy does not seem to have any more to say about last night. Chase is unsure of how to proceed from here. She doesn't think she has enough to go off of yet. When they finish, Chase offers to rinse the dishes and Emmy grows flustered from the thought.

She follows quietly behind Chase as she stands at the sink. The weight of her eyes is something oily and tangible, resting around Chase's neck and keeping her eyes dutifully forward. The thought of looking Emmy in the eye right now is unfathomable. Would she find the truth there and would it be the truth she wants? After putting the dishes in the dishwasher, Chase turns and Emmy takes her by the sleeve.

"C'mere," she says and pulls Chase. "Let me give you that tour."

Chase sees all the things she saw the night before. Now, she is being lured by exhaustion and she's warm from the inside out thanks to Emmy's cooking. Seeing everything in daylight (even in this overcast gray light) makes it feel realer. She's been here, but Emmy is sober, conscious, and willingly letting her in.

"This is my room," she says and ushers Chase inside.

It looks the same as it did last night but it feels different. The blinds are closed and the only light comes from a lamp standing in a corner beside her modest desk. Emmy goes to her bed and sits on the edge. Chase awkwardly lingers near the door, unsure of what is expected of her right now.

"Can I be honest with you?"

Again, Chase's heart feels like it stops. She forces herself to relax and ends up leaning back against the wall, all too aware of her inconvenient height.

"Yeah." Her voice comes out throat. There is an apology stuck in her throat. Sorry for stalking you and spiking your drink and playing these weird mind games with you today. Maybe it's the cold medicine talking.

After a long and tense silence, Emmy pats the bed beside her and says, "C'mere. You should sit."

Chase hesitantly approaches. She is reminded of the nature documentaries she's seen where skittish animals are lured in with food. Emmy is the perfect bait.

Once she sits at Emmy's side—close enough to feel the warmth coming from her—she stubbornly keeps her eyes focused ahead of her. Chase watches the side of her face. The nerves are obvious in her tight expression. Whatever she is about to say, it is difficult for her. Chase feels familiar anxieties swirl within her but there is an undercurrent of excited anticipation. Something is about to happen, good or bad.

"So, I know you said not to worry about it, but I just really want you to know I'm not always like that," Emmy begins and cracks her knuckles, always moving her anxious hands. Even when she speaks, she does not look at Chase.

"Why's that so important?"

Emmy sighs, "Well, after the party."

"What do you mean?"

Emmy runs a hand over her face. She looks weary. "I was all weird and clingy. And we were both kind of drunk—at least, you were for a while—so it just seems messed up."

Chase is frozen as she watches Emmy's profile, taking in her narrowed eyes and the way she is still wringing her hands.

"I don't know how many times I gotta tell you it didn't bother me."

Emmy turns and blinks at Chase with a reserved expression. "Okay," she says quietly.

The silence that they fall into feels loaded in a way Chase can't decipher. It takes a long time before Emmy breaks the quiet and in that time, Chase wrestles with her thoughts.

"Maybe I shouldn't admit to remembering it."

Chase blinks and looks up. Emmy's eyes have shifted into something more expectant.

"It's okay," she says carefully. There is nothing to indicate what sort of waters she treads right now. Then, boldly, "Do you regret it?"

"No," Emmy says and dryly laughs. "I'm really glad it was with you and not some random creep."

There is something about the way Emmy says that and smiles immediately after that has Chase's hope swelling within her. It is an innocent and testing sort of smile. It screams show me what you are in Chase's eyes. It is too hard to resist after holding back for so long. If she keeps awaiting an explicit invitation, she may be left hanging forever.

Before she can think of all the things holding her back, Chase scoots closer to Emmy and brings a hand up to her face. Emmy grows instantly stiff and her eyes widen the closer Chase gets. Those big brown eyes frantically dart between Chase's eyes and her lips. Time feels as though it's been slowed to the speed of a sunset as she leans forward to kiss Emmy.

That irrational part of her mind is louder than ever before. She knows, it insists, she knows and she still wants you .

It makes sense at the moment.

As Chase dips low enough to brush her chapped lips against Emmy's mouth, Emmy wrenches away as if she's been burned. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated and like black pits—although Chase is closer than she's ever been, she still can't read her expression. What she's just done sinks in and Chase stands abruptly.

Emmy touches her lips and yells, "Wait!" as Chase makes a break for it.

Distantly, Chase is aware of Emmy calling after her as she escapes. Her heart pounds painfully hard and it is impossible to think about anything else.

She knows she isn't into girls she isn't into you she isn't into people who stalk and manipulate and drug her because of course she isn't.

Chase throws open the front door and jogs out into the downpour. It began raining as they spoke in Emmy's room, but she had no idea she would be walking out into this. She also had no idea she would try to kiss Emmy like a dick brained loser, but what can you do?

Before she gets too water-logged or caught by Emmy, Chase elects to jog home.

Running does nothing to help how mortified she is. Her face is flushed and blotchy by the time she reaches home—partially from the temperature and exertion, but also because of what she's done. Things with Emmy will never be the same. That delicate balance has been ruined, all because Chase couldn't keep it in her pants. How hard would it have been to just put it off?

When she steps into her warm apartment, dripping with water and shivering. That cold medicine is working overtime. It seems the cure to the drowsiness is failing in kissing your crush and horribly embarrassing yourself.

"Fuck."

Chase slams the door behind her and slumps to the floor. A puddle forms where she sits.

"Fuck!"

Time to dissect what just happened. Panicking time is over.

Chase forces herself to stand and she goes immediately to her bedroom to shed her soaked clothes. She will definitely be sick after this, which would suck if it weren't so perfect. This is a good excuse to skip. She can possibly take a week off if she bothers to get a doctor's note and is as dramatic as possible.

Then, she goes to her bathroom and gets in the shower. The warm water helps the pounding in her head subside and it clears her mind the slightest bit.

Emmy rejected her because she was surprised, knows about the incident, or she's straight. Maybe she views her as a friend. Regardless, Chase figures she has thoroughly screwed herself. Forcing a kiss on someone is a bad look no matter what—especially in Chase's case, considering everything.

Chase methodically goes through her shower routine as her phone incessantly buzzes on her sink counter. Giving up while she's ahead is the smartest choice. For all she knows, Emmy could already be calling the dean about it and then the cops would be here soon after. The thought nauseates her.

Once Chase leaves the shower, her phone has stopped ringing. It seems Emmy has given up. Chase can't help but wonder about what she wants to say. Probably chew Chase out for that.

The rest of the day passes at a snail's pace. Chase is a live wire of electrified nerves, too paranoid to relax and enjoy her various hobbies. She attempts to watch porn and she just thinks of how soft Emmy's lips were. When she checks up on Emmy's laptop, she finds nothing. Jerking off is out of the question. She could clean up her place or go out and do something, but every idea leaves a sour impression in her mind. She finds herself in her room as the sun goes down, hours later, her head pounding from sickness and anxiety.

After a few agonizing minutes, Chase looks her name up out of curiosity.

Rationally, she knows everything is still out there, but it has been more than a year and people have moved on. No one could prove anything. It was her word and her parents' money against that girl's. It wasn't a good look and there was the whole investigation, but no one proved anything .

Chase repeats this in her mind as she types Chase Anderson into her search engine.

She just looks up her name, doesn't attach her university or anything to the search, and it still yields the few articles and the one, incredibly suspicious picture the journalists fell in love with.

The brief search tells her everything she needs to know. It would be nothing for Emmy to look into her. Gia absolutely knows. One of them must know someone in the theatre department. Her blood runs increasingly colder and she nervously runs her fingers through her wet hair. Her mind accelerates faster than she can bear and her body feels more exhausted now than it has all day. She restricts herself to the bed and her nose begins running more and her head throbs harder. She supposes this is what she deserves after pulling what she did today.

Another moment passes and Chase decides to at least smoke herself into a mellow high instead of wallowing. It will be hell on her lungs, especially since she's coming down with something, but she can't bring herself to care.

After grabbing her box of supplies—the stash and her pipe and lighter—Chase makes herself comfortable in bed.

Chase takes a drag, then another, and another, then suddenly everything that has occurred today feels like it's been happening to someone very far away. Chase is just watching from a safe distance. None of this matters. She leans back and allows her high to take over—liquifying her limbs and spreading that addictive warmth through her.

Although she doesn't want to check her phone, she still wants to see how Emmy's doing after earlier. Chase turns her computer on and connects the display to the small T.V. facing her bed.

Emmy is there—what are the odds?—and looking as pretty as she did when Chase left her.

She is not doing anything particularly interesting but Chase is still on the edge of her seat. Despite everything that happened, Chase's clit almost instantly grows hard as a rock. She watches Emmy through her webcam but she is not doing anything but sitting there, studying some opened textbook the width of a brick. Every so often, her dark eyes flick up to look at something on her screen before she returns to reading.

Chase melts back into her covers. Watching this on a big screen is crazy. Chase reaches down and rubs herself through her sweats. She is so wet the sensation feels heightened despite being through the thick layer. She still wants Emmy on her knees and staring up at chase through her heavy lashes.

Chase tilts her head back and groans, loud and hoarse and unabashed. She always hated having roommates and muffling herself with a hand over her mouth. It always felt like it reduced her to a whimpering, panting mess with her palm covered in spit.

No matter what she knows, Emmy has no idea Chase is watching her. This knowledge makes Chase feel this awful combination of extremely turned-on and violently ashamed.

Maybe she should go back to Emmy's place and apologize. If it's the last time she ever sees Emmy, she could take some of her things as mementos of their brief time together. Or, Chase could slowly regain her trust and be even more careful. Emmy would be worth the long time investment. If she manages to pull this big comeback off, she could strike at the perfect moment, like at a sleepover—or something. Rational thinking is out of the question now that Chase's brain is mush from the weed and all the blood draining to her engorged clit.

Chase can't help but wonder what Emmy wears to sleep. What she saw last night was not Emmy at her most natural. Chase would like to imagine she sleeps nude every night, but it isn't realistic. Shorts, panties and a big shirt, maybe that hoodie Chase gave her.

Fuck .

A burst of fluid seeps from Chase and she can't resist shoving a hand into her sweats. She has never been able to tease herself for long.

Her mind runs circles around itself, offering increasingly depraved fantasies as she watches Emmy thoughtfully chew her lip onscreen. The fleeting images come as flashes, bursting brightly behind her eyelids before fading away, only for a new and worse imagined scenario to take over. She envisions Emmy bent over her lap while her fist pushes deep into her warm, sloppy cunt. Chase gasps at the thought—so immersed within her mind she swears she feels the wet heat engulf her hand. Then, the vision ebbs and it is replaced by Emmy on her knees, Chase's hands fisted in her hair while a thick, long strap disappears down her throat.

Chase tumbles head over heels into the black pit of her mind, unable to linger on anything for long. She gorges herself on dreams since the real thing has never been further from her reach. Fisting Emmy and plowing her from behind like a dog and fucking her dumb, slack face until her mascara bleeds into her tears and runs down her face with her snot and the saliva bubbling from the corners of her overstuffed mouth and biting down on the soft, velvety insides of her thighs until she tastes blood. She owns a few toys she would like to try on Emmy. She's never had the opportunity—not one that would be safe to execute, but she allows herself the indulgence of imagining it. As she imagines shoving one of her monstrous dildos into Emmy's tight cunt and a second in her ass, Chase rubs herself harder. She swallows hard and can't hold back any of her breathless whines when she pictures using a vibrator on Emmy. Her desk would be a good place to tie her down—legs spread and restrained to the table legs.

Chase opens her eyes after a long period and studies the screen. Emmy has paused in her studying and she stares vacantly at the wall above the screen while twirling a pen in her fingers. She's painted her nails since Chase left. They're a deep, rich navy. Emmy doesn't know it, but that's Chase's favorite. Whether Emmy wants it or not, it really feels like they were meant to be.

Chase can't find it in herself to move as Emmy lifts the pen to her lips and thoughtfully chews on it. Her lips look so soft and Chase cums so hard she wonders if she'll pass out.

It must be the budding cold within her that momentarily makes her blank out, but Chase comes back to her senses an unknown time later. The first thing she processes is the sticky mess inside her boxers. It rubs into her thighs like some fucked up moisturizer. Chase forces herself to stand despite her pounding headache and the sudden exhaustion urging her to stay in bed. The fog of weed offsets that post-nut clarity and introspection, so Chase turns the T.V. off and goes to the bathroom without dwelling on everything that has happened today. That can be a problem for tomorrow.

Once inside her bathroom, her medicine cabinet beckons her to raid the shelves for something stronger. No—she can save those for Emmy if she's careful.

Be for real.

Eye contact with her reflection is jarring in this state. Chase recovers and grins at herself. It is all teeth—straight from the braces she had to wear through middle school but still a bit stained from how much she smokes. Her face is gaunt, made up completely of angles and none of the softness she reveres on Emmy. She prefers it this way most of the time. Being indistinguishable from a man. Or perhaps she sees herself differently. She doesn't know for sure and is too high to care deeply.

The high is beginning to get to the point where she grows irrational—though she supposes she didn't stand a chance with her tendency to obsess over thoughts.

Chase leans close to the mirror, close enough her breath fogs the glass, and she stares piercingly into her reflection's dull eyes. Those familiar brown eyes look the same as they did that day. They have the same hazy, deluded light that they did in that picture. The realization does not bother her as much as it should.

 

Chapter 6

Chase wakes up the next day with a fever.

A part of her is not surprised and another part of her figures this is what she deserves after trying to force a kiss on Emmy. The memory circles her mind as she shuffles to the bathroom around noon, pointedly avoiding her buzzing phone and the haggard reflection in the mirror. At least the sickness gives her an excuse to miss out on the class she has with Emmy.

In the shower, the heat almost makes her pass out and she wonders if she's being divinely punished for what goes on in her head. When she closes her eyes, she sees the shock on Emmy's face. Perhaps her memory is distorted from emotion and shame.

Chase feels bad—not because that was something she should not have done, but because of the reaction she got. Their first kiss had gone so differently in her mind. There is some small comfort in the fact they at least didn't actually kiss, though that may be more awful.

Emmy attempts to call her a few more times before texting.

Chase, I really think we should talk.

Oily nausea roils through Chase's already upset stomach and she vomits. She should have known this would happen. Girls like Emmy do not like girls like Chase. Girls like Emmy are usually straight—the straddling at the party meant nothing. Emmy was drugged, drunk, and out of her mind.

What now?

Chase wipes the remnants of bile from her lips and stands at a snail's pace. Her brain feels like it's doing back flips in her skull. A strange pins and needles sensation prickles over her damp skin, constantly oscillating between feverish and cold. Chase somehow manages to shuffle back to her bedroom without hurling a second time. After fighting the swirling vertigo threatening to pull her under, Chase looks at her phone.

Is this bc Gia???

Pls call me back.

Chase does not call her back and instead listens to the voicemail Emmy left.

Hi—uh, Chase?

Chase puts the recording on speaker and sets the phone on her chest while her other hand snakes down into her sweatpants. A little bit of a cold never stopped her from jerking it. Emmy's voice sounds slightly distorted from the phone's poor quality, but it is a good enough replica Chase can imagine her face as clear as day.

I feel like this is something to talk about in person, but if you answer I'll talk about it over the phone, okay? I promise it's not what you think. Please call me back.

Emmy falls silent for a few long moments and Chase finds herself almost holding her breath. Her fingers cease dragging through her pubes.

Bye—Chasey.

The voicemail ends.

In the following days, Emmy attempts to call Chase two more times, but she declines to leave a voicemail. Chase cherishes the first she sent and masturbates to it until her clit feels like its been skinned.

One visit to the local urgent care later, Chase learns her cold is actually strep (because of course it is) and severe enough she needs to miss class. It feels as though someone out there is watching out for her. Chase is morbidly reminded of Sunday mornings a lifetime ago and she shudders at the thought.

Avoiding Emmy is as simple as following the doctor's orders.

Despite needing to steer clear of her, Chase does not necessarily want to. Truthfully, she finds herself dreaming of her, waking up in the middle of the night with a wet mess in her boxers and Emmy on her mind. She's obsessed, she thinks, and some detached part of her that still recalls the consequences of what happened before cries out in livid protest. Chase ignores it and buries the memories of the auditorium and the first girl who captured her attention this way.

Chase misses Emmy. Their easy conversation. Her wide brown eyes and bright white smile. The way her ass looks in jeans. God.

As Chase aches for what she feels she's lost, she distantly understands she's being a coward. The cold lifts and her head clears with each day. It won't be long until she needs to return to class.

The morning before her grand return, Chase huddles in bed and stares outside her frosted window. It is growing very cold as the semester lurches on. This happens every year, but Chase isn't used to it yet. She's from down south where winters were mostly slush and snow. The ice and wind are something she will never tolerate.

Chase grabs her phone and lazily rolls within her warm covers. She sleeps nude sometimes and right now, she can't help but wonder how Emmy would look in contrast to her body—the terrain of hard angles and knobby limbs composing Chase. Despite how much she's watched her on her webcam, Chase hasn't seen Emmy nude for more than a few seconds. The pixelated poor quality does not do her justice and Chase desperately wants to see her in person.

Her hands automatically navigate to Emmy's social media. Chase feels absent from her body as she stares at what Emmy's doing. Her and Gia are in class. Gia really is fine as hell—maybe that strep is sticking around longer than Chase thought.

The thought makes her grimace and she clicks away, scrolling idly through Emmy's public accounts and examining how she interacts with people. Sometimes men comment on her posts. She really should private her accounts. It seems like she's perfectly content to reply to them and Chase still can't determine if she's into it or not.

Based on what she saw at the club meeting, she wants to assume not, but assumptions have come back to bite her in the ass before and she is already on thin ice with Emmy.

After cumming to one of Emmy's selfies, Chase drags herself out of bed and takes an antibiotic. Tomorrow, she'll have to decide whether or not skipping is worth it. Seeing Emmy means confronting her odd behavior and candidly, she would rather not. But the thought of seeing Emmy could be enough to sway her.

Chase pulls up the voicemail for what feels like the millionth time.

Bye—Chasey.

It is impossible. Chase can't face her and skips what is supposed to be her first day back. She spends the day catching up on work remotely and monitoring Emmy's laptop. It feels unfair—unearned, but she doesn't have anything else to do as the day drags on.

It almost feels as though Emmy is sitting with her like they're on a study date.

Emmy ends up in the library at some point during the long, cold evening and she sits in one of the reserved study rooms, surrounded by her notes and staring intensely at the screen. If Chase gets turned on enough, it becomes easy to imagine she's about to lean over and ask for Chase's notes.

Chase swallows hard and squeezes her pen. On her phone, she pulls up the voicemail again.

Bye—Chasey.

The hours crawl by and Emmy tucks her laptop away for the journey home. Chase busies herself with imagining everything that could happen tonight. For now, she's sick of worrying about what will happen the next time they see each other. It feels too good to stray from her train of thought.

Chase barely manages to catch up on her assignments before Emmy's screen reconnects with Chase's computer. She freezes in her chair when she sees how Emmy looks.

It must be later than Chase thought—she's losing time.

Emmy's eyes are ringed with dark exhaustion and her lips are full and irritated from anxious chewing. Is she studying? Chase's morbid curiosity urges her to take a peek at her screen, but she resists.

Chase eagerly scoots forward in her rickety office chair. It is very late now and her room is dark aside from the migraine-inducing glow of her computer screen. Getting up and looking away just to turn on a light is unthinkable right now. What if I miss something?

Then, Chase realizes she can just record the footage and save it for later.

It feels so obvious Chase wants to kick her own ass for not coming to that conclusion sooner. Getting swept up in the novelty of a live performance clouded her judgment and she missed out on so much flawless footage.

Chase takes several deep, shuddering breaths to ground herself. Sure—that was a stupid mistake for someone literally studying computer science, but her ego isn't that wounded. Emmy just can't ever find out.

Instead of immediately recording, Chase decides to wait until she begins groping her tits. She can be patient. Her hands stay out of her sweats and she restricts herself to rolling her hips.

On screen, Emmy's eyes light up and she sits up. If her past performances are anything to reference, Chase knows it won't be long before she starts bouncing on her fingers.

Chase wishes with everything she has that she could go to Emmy right now and show her how much better her fingers are. Better yet, a strap—something long and thick enough to tear through her. Take her virginity in the worst, most painful way possible.

The moment Chase thinks it, her mind kicks into overdrive as Emmy begins breathing hard, already working her fingers below the line of the webcam's sight.

She envisions Emmy taking it in the ass before her pussy. Chase truthfully just wants to see her bent over or on her hands and knees. Face down, ass up. She's seen Emmy walk in front of the webcam in nothing but panties and a shirt before—she knows how good that ass is and she thinks she'd do just about anything to see her dick slide between those cheeks.

It is hard not to think of Emmy secretly being in on it as she cups her fat tits through her shirt. It feels like she's boring into Chase's mind with a microscope, peering into the folds of her brain to dissect exactly what she's thinking when she stares at Emmy like that. Maybe she sees straight through the screen as Chase reacts. Her personal porn star, whether she knows it or not, Chase starts rubbing herself as the screen recording starts.

Emmy chews her lower lip and screws her eyes shut. Chase can guarantee she'd do better than whatever the fuck Emmy's doing right now. Still, it's a hot enough sight it makes Chase have to bite back a pathetic little groan.

She can hear Laura in her head: You're down bad.

Chase rolls her eyes and stares at Emmy as she wets her lips and tugs her nipples through the shirt. It pulls a soft whine from her and Chase perks up, nearly launching out of her rickety office chair.

Emmy does it again and another one of those sad noises escapes her. It looks like she's pinching herself quite hard. It must hurt a lot. It looks like Emmy likes it a lot.

Chase doesn't know what to do with this revelation.

After tucking that sight somewhere in the back of her mind to collect dust, Chase leans forward and drags her hand over her pussy. Emmy bites down hard on her lower lip and whimpers. Chase mirrors her and the pain is enough to make her gasp. She wants to sink her teeth into Emmy and see if she makes the same sounds for Chase.

Chase should tell her exactly how to hurt herself. She wants to see her wrap her hands around her lithe neck and squeeze hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. No matter how hard she tries, Chase will tell her it isn't enough—it's never enough and Emmy's face changes colors. She's flushed then not and Chase blinks hard, forcing the imagined sight away but it's too late—she cums with a strangled gasp and her boxers are quickly soaked with it.

The aftershocks pulse through her and she breathes hard through it, bracing herself with a hand on her desk and staring pointedly at her lap. Onscreen, Emmy fingers herself and twists her puffy nipples until she cums with a quiet sigh.

---

The next night, Chase feels so pent-up she feels she needs to do something drastic. It doesn't matter that she's beat herself raw—it isn't enough. Now that she's gotten a taste of the blood spilled in the water, she feels it's impossible to stop.

Chase finds the Ghostface mask buried in her closet and she holds it, considering.

Maybe Emmy's home. She would like to see her again and not on her phone screen. Being caught would be so hard to explain and would immediately land her in a jail cell. The mask could help—but God it's corny.

Chase checks Emmy's social media. Nothing. Gia's reveals more to Chase's immense relief. It doesn't seem like she'll need the mask at all.

Emmy and Gia are together; Gia posted a selfie a few minutes ago from a local liquor store with Emmy at her side, clinging to her shoulder and grinning.

Chase stares at her with a pang before the image automatically advances and shows the next; Gia in her car with an assortment of beautiful specimens. Emmy is in the passenger seat cradling a bottle of cheap, strawberry lemonade flavored vodka.

Before she can convince herself to do something reasonable, Chase leaves her house and walks out into the frigid night.

The late hour makes her feel like she'll look suspicious, so she elects to enter as confidently as possible. It isn't like there are police patrolling all the time around here. The key isn't a problem. Chase knows there's a spare somewhere after Emmy flippantly mentioned it to Chase at the party.

In case I can't find these later, she slurred while dangling her keys (Chase noted they were attached to a carabiner at the time) and staring into Chase's eyes. After she said that, her mouth pulled into a sly smile and she took another drink.

Chase inhales hard through her nose. She needs a level head right now for what she's about to do, especially since it almost feels like something possessed her to jump to that decision.

The air is bitingly cold and Chase distantly regrets leaving in such a hurry. Then, she wonders if she's walking right into her demise. Emmy could have changed her mind.

Chase skids to a stop and nervously checks her phone. The sheer anxiety makes her hands so clammy she nearly drops the device. Emmy has posted something—she's at someone's house and they're all drinking.

Thank fuck, Chase thinks and pockets her phone. She could really go for a joint or two or one million right now.

The sky is almost completely dark save for the familiar scattered stars across the horizon. It's a new moon. Chase feels like she's navigating fully by instinct—a predator carefully stalking its prey. Just like she's operating on instinct, Chase does not know what she expects to do when she arrives at Emmy's house.

Thinking that far ahead does not seem important at the moment despite the distant voice insisting it does. An overwhelming sense of deja vu threatens to snap her out of her deluded state, but she shakes it off, only vaguely unsettled.

A few cars speed passed her as she makes her way to Emmy's home. On the way there, she checks both Emmy's and Gia's social media repeatedly. Just to make sure she's still in the clear. Chase almost can't believe her luck when she arrives at Emmy's home without incident. As far as she can tell, Emmy is busy drinking and socializing the night away.

After stepping up to the front door, Chase stares at the reflection of herself she finds in the glass storm door.

Chase doesn't think she's ever been happier to be apart from Emmy than right now as she takes herself in. Coming here was an impulsive decision like a knee-jerk reaction. So she left without paying attention to her appearance. It has been a minute since her last shower. The strep was severe enough to keep her in a delirious state for days—she really should have washed up before this, but it's too late now.

Strands of mousy brown hair hang over her sweaty forehead and she sheepishly pushes her glasses up her nose bridge and avoids the dead look in her eyes. Searching for the spare is a good enough distraction.

Everyone leaves their spare keys in the same places. Chase checks under the mat as casually as she can manage. Not there. Higher—maybe the door frame—there it is, stuck to the frame with a magnet glued there. Chase takes it and internally thanks Emmy for being so predictable where it matters.

Paranoid thoughts poke at the edge of her consciousness. What if Emmy comes back? The kiss attempt would be a lot easier to explain. Breaking in is so ridiculous Chase almost just turns back and calls Emmy, but then, she thinks of the judgment and the unease and she unlocks Emmy's door.

Chase checks Emmy's social media. She is still with Gia and their shared friends. As of ten minutes ago, they are watching some shitty Twilight-esque vampire movie, all of them nursing their own bottles of wine. It doesn't seem like Chase will be interrupted unless Emmy is good at driving drunk.

Once inside, Chase is unsure of where to begin in her searching. Truthfully, she has no goal, only to have a piece of Emmy to tide her over until she works up the balls to talk to her again. It is impossible to know when that will be, if ever, so Chase wants her trophy to be a good one.

Some distant part of Chase's mind understands she's being dramatic and that Emmy's reaction was not as bad as she thinks, but accessing that voice is impossible when faced up against the swirling dread in her mind.

Chase drifts around the living room, studying the space in detail in a way she hasn't yet been able to.

Two couches face each other with a low coffee table between them. Neither of the couches match, but they both look like they've been passed down. Emmy mentioned something about her parents—an overbearing mother?—something like that, and Chase wonders if any of the furniture is from her distant family. Then, Chase recalls that crucifix necklace she always wears. Does she still go to church, or is it just an aesthetic choice? Chase could understand the latter—the silver cross looks like it was meant to rest in her cleavage whenever she wears those pushup bras and low cut tops Chase has grown to love.

Chase used to have to go to church. It is something she vaguely remembers but doesn't care to. She conjures a mental image of Emmy wearing her Sunday best. A sundress, probably. Long enough to be modest but still flowing around her ankles. Chase can't remember if white shoes come before or after Easter, but her imagined Emmy wears white kitten heels with her blue dress. Chase is suddenly struck with how badly she would like to choose Emmy's outfits everyday. If not that, then at least her underwear.

Past the living room, there is the kitchen and Chase meanders through the new, tight space. She looks in the fridge. There isn't much—some moldy plastic containers of blueberries and prepared portions of what looks like some chicken and rice situation. Almond milk and boxed wine. The freezer boasts empty ice trays and probably five pounds of frozen solid chicken. Chase is not sure of what she expected, but she feels a swell of satisfaction within her regardless.

The pantry is mostly empty and Chase assumes Emmy lives off of food from the union building or other places around campus. Judging by her clothes and attitude and car, she has a bit more money than Chase.

After stealing a protein bar, Chase wanders down the short hallway leading to Emmy's room and the bathroom.

First, the bathroom.

Chase has never been in here before and she shuts her eyes for a moment before turning the light on. She inhales deeply in the darkness, taking in the natural, unknown fragrance of the room. It smells clean but unused—there are no products she detects in the air. Chase flicks the light on. It is a small bathroom. There is a toilet, standing sink, some shelving, a shower stall, and a basket overfilled with dirty clothes. For a few long, quiet moments, Chase finds herself motionless and vacantly staring at the bulging basket. Emmy has a lot of clothes, surely she wouldn't miss something small.

Before she does something rash, Chase quickly leaves the bathroom and hurries into Emmy's bedroom. It is very quiet here and it puts her on edge. A hand twitches when she gets the urge to spark up. Very little would be stupider than that.

The full sized bed tucked against the wall and under the closed window is unmade and covered in pink blankets. A few stuffed animals are scattered around—most of them seem like bugs. A sparkly purple butterfly and fat bumblebee. Cute—Chase moves on, going to the closet.

It is a walk-in closet and Chase drifts inside as though she's walking through a dream.

As she takes in each rack of clothing, Chase's mind swims with the possibilities. Her eyes work on automatic as she envisions a dress up game with Emmy. Today, I wanna see you in those tiny denim shorts. Wear a black g-string and leave it sticking out of your slutty low rises. This shirt should be good—it's not too tight baby, no one's gonna be looking at your nipples anyway but me, I promise. Chase thinks Emmy would look exquisite in a pale shade of blue. Emmy seems to agree—a large portion of her clothes are in varying hues of blue.

Some nice luggage and several binders occupy the low shelves in the room. Chase crouches and opens a binder labeled High school. It is a scrapbook of Emmy's high school experience. Gia is everywhere. Chase looks passed her and focuses on a younger Emmy, bright-eyed and outfitted with braces. It seems like she has always worn that necklace and before college, her wardrobe was much more modest. Chase gets an inkling her parents were more controlling than she thought.

Emmy was in band. She played the flute. Many of the pictures feature a sixteen or seventeen year old Emmy wearing a deep navy marching band uniform. In the pictures of her mid-performance, she looks very serious and focused. Chase makes a mental note to eventually ask about it, maybe get Emmy to play her something, until she remembers why they aren't talking right now.

Her mood freshly soured by the memory, Chase leaves the closet and returns to the room. Instead of continuing her search for the perfect trophy, she crouches in the center of the room and presses her palms to the cold hardwood floor.

Talking to Emmy is inevitable. There is no way she can keep herself away from her after all she's done. Maybe not anytime soon, but still—eventually something has to give.

Chase rises and walks purposely into the bathroom, her mind honed in on a singular mission. She effectively blocks out any sensible, rational thoughts that would hold her back from doing this.

Gently, she rifles through the clothes basket, taking immense care to not jostle the clothes around too much. This is something so detailed it feels a little ridiculous to pay attention to, but Chase does not want to risk anything. She selects her item by touch alone, looking for the correct texture. When she finds it, she gingerly pulls it from the pile.

At this point, Chase sits cross-legged on the cold tile floor, all of her senses completely focused on the tiny thong resting in her hands. She feels like she holds something precious.

Chase examines the thong in the harsh overhead lighting. This was worn recently enough for the crotch to still be coated in that slightly wet pussy slime residue. Did she masturbate in these? Chase does not want to get her hopes up, but still, she raises the thong to her face and buries her nose in the crotch. Her eyelids involuntarily flutter shut and she groans as her brain catches up to process what she's smelling.

Before she can stop herself, Chase slumps against the wall and her legs spread wide enough to accommodate a hand squeezing between them. The thong's scent flood her senses, despite how faint it is. It's musky, Emmy's scent, and Chase thinks she might be getting a little high on it.

The slightly damp fabric somehow finds it's way into her mouth and she sucks on it without bothering to think of how she must look right now. A shudder rips through her as she grinds the meat of her palm against her throbbing clit and imagines Emmy coming in.

In her mind's eye, she indulges herself while growing dizzier from the heady fragrance, and sees her imagined Emmy bashfully look away. Nothing like the real reaction she received when attempting to kiss her, Imaginary Emmy tries to leave the room and Chase stands, still furiously rubbing herself through the fantasy.

Chase doesn't know what she would do first with her. Immediately, she thinks of bending her over her bed, asking if these are the same blankets she used as a dorky high schooler in band. Would Emmy cry? Or would she grow more flustered with each jab? Chase pushes her hand into her jeans as she speculates, breathing in the thong like it's oxygen. This is it.

Emmy won't miss something as small as this. Chase pushes her clit with so much pressure she cums prematurely. She shivers and rides out that rhythmic pulsing in her cunt until it subsides. Then, she pockets the thong and slowly rises.

After checking her phone and confirming that Emmy will be staying the night away, Chase lays on her couch, breathing in the cushions and grinding against her hand. She cums hard to the thought of putting a tracker on Emmy. Maybe, her apology could include a gift: another religious token like the one she so obviously takes comfort in. Another cross—one she could pin to her bag or attach to her key chain. Chase's hands come away sticky with her cum and she smears it into the soft throw blanket draped over the back of the couch.

It is not until the late hours of the night that Chase feels she snaps back to her senses and hightails it out of there. In the meantime—she exists in a haze. Drunk on Emmy's musky scent and the sharp taste on her tongue, Chase jerks off everywhere she can. It doesn't matter if she cums or not, she only wants the satisfaction of so thoroughly defiling Emmy's safest space. Her inner sanctum that is her bedroom. Even when she comes back to her senses, she does not feel as much guilt as she expected she would.

Chase desperately wishes she found a diary, but the thong will suffice.

One quick surveillance of the room later, Chase determines her presence will go unnoticed and she leaves Emmy's home as casually as she can manage. As she walks home, her thumb rubs circles into the thong's crotch deep within her pocket. The movement and temperature help clear her head and she feels nothing but an eager anticipation to get home and watch some of those recordings while huffing her newest trophy.

Chapter 7

By the time Chase decides she has had enough of hiding in her apartment, the campus is temporarily coated in ice from an unexpected storm. Classes for today and tomorrow are canceled. When she slips outside to spark up, the slab of concrete serving as her porch is so icy she instantly almost falls into a perfect split.

Being iced in is not ideal. So much time has passed without her seeing other people she feels she's beginning to grow stir crazy. As she mulls over her new freedom for the next two days, Chase idly smokes from the comfort of her bed and notes the dwindling stash in its designated box. If she's going to be trapped inside, she does not want to be without old reliable.

Her phone taunts her from her nightstand. Emmy has not reached out aside from the occasional text. Most of them have to do with the work Chase has been missing from sickness.

I emailed you the stuff we have so far for the presentation.

Also I sent you my notes.

Just in case.

I hope you feel better soon.

When she picks up her phone this time, Chase immediately navigates to her and Laura's texts.

I'm running low.

It does not take long for Laura to send a response.

in this fucking weather???

After insisting, yes—in this fucking weather—Chase sends Laura their rendezvous point and heads out into the icy afternoon, this time wearing her hiking boots.

Although it has been difficult adjusting to the unpredictable winters here, Chase appreciates when the ice clears the campus, leaving it and the surrounding area a strange and eerie ghost town.

The roads are too dangerous for cars aside from those stupid enough to try and Chase's walk to the nearby park passes without running into a single soul. The air itself feels absent of life—no birdsong rings out from the dead trees, no insects drone in the background of Chase's crunching footsteps, and there are few signs of the town's high population. Some homes have their curtains drawn away and the lights on but those are few and far in between. Everyone is abiding the storm.

Of the several parks in the area, this one is the largest with the densest tree coverage. Now, the foliage is a sad iteration of its former glory and Chase walks with purpose toward the abandoned playground. Laura looks like she's been frozen to the swing she sits on.

Chase jerks her head in greeting when she comes closer. "Hey."

When she speaks, Laura nearly jumps out of her skin and shoots Chase a heated glare.

"Hey, man."

It's cold. Chase does not want to be out more than absolutely necessary. She stares pointedly at the bag in Laura's hand.

"Jesus, dude," she mutters and hands over the weed when Chase's silence persists. "No hello, how are you?"

Chase rolls her eyes and checks the contents before producing her wallet from her pocket. As she counts her wad of cash, Laura stares intensely at her. It would be easy to ignore if she didn't smoke before heading out and her skin crawls with unease.

Eventually, she snaps, "What the fuck are you lookin' at?"

Laura defensively raises her hands and steps dramatically away. "You, chill out."

Chase hands her the stack of bills and waits for a better explanation.

"I heard you and that girl had a uh, misunderstanding."

Understatement of the year. Chase takes her glasses off and pinches the bridge of her nose. A Laura-induced migraine seems to be swiftly approaching.

"Something like that," she manages to say after a while.

Laura blinks vacantly up at her. "So?"

Chase is nearly overcome with the urge to set her hair on fire with the lighter in her pocket. "So what? What're you trying to say?"

"You are so defensive—holy shit," Laura sighs and crosses her arms, looking Chase up and down like she's appraising her. "Emmy just wanted me to ask if you're doing okay."

The very notion of Emmy and Laura interacting in any sense of the word has Chase immediately bristling. It has been many days since the last time she spoke to Emmy but it is difficult to shake the possessiveness she feels toward her. The thong is still in her bedroom, awaiting her return.

Chase forces herself to appear as nonchalant as she can manage when she asks, "How do y'all know each other?"

Her tone must not have been as subtle as she thought—Laura gives her a knowing stare before pulling her phone from her pocket.

"She follows me," Laura begins vaguely while scrolling. Chase impatiently waits for her to reach what she's looking for. It isn't what Chase expected. It's a picture from freshman year, back when her and Laura were roommates. Chase was not aware of a picture being taken; her profile faces the phone as she intensely studies her computer screen. The light from it casts a blue glow onto her face which looks less gaunt then than it does now. Chase resists the urge to back away from this picture of herself she's never seen. She didn't know Laura posted her those years ago. It leaves her feeling distantly unnerved.

"So, yeah. She just wants to talk," Laura says and pockets the phone. "You're making this way bigger of a deal than it needs to be."

Chase scowls and averts her eyes. Despite the temperature, her face grows hot. Reacting impulsively would make her look worse, so she bites her tongue and forces a shrug. "I kinda fucked up."

"Like how?"

Suddenly, Chase would rather bury herself alive than talk about that atrocious fumble, but she shoves the doubt aside.

"We almost kissed—I almost kissed her."

Laura stares at her with a tight, guarded expression. It is not difficult to speculate on what she's thinking. It definitely is not a good look after that last incident.

"Okay," she says. "So it's just a misunderstanding?"

Chase thinks of how she has behaved over the last few days. Recording copious footage from Emmy's webcam. Sneaking into her house. Stealing her used panties and jerking off on every surface she could think off without Emmy's knowledge. It may be far more than a misunderstanding, but Chase nods.

Laura throws up her hands as though the solution is obvious. "Dude—just talk to her then!"

Chase drops her gaze and stares at the pale earth beneath their boots. The yellowed grass is covered in a crunchy layer of frost. Chase nudges the fragile blades of grass with her boot and they shatter as though made of glass. She expels an exasperated sigh in a tangible puff.

"I miss her," she admits without knowing why she confides in Laura. Maybe she's higher than she thought.

"Talk to her," Laura repeats more firmly. "Listen—I'm going to a party tonight. You should come."

Chase can think of a billion things she would rather do. "Will she be there?"

Laura shrugs. "I don't know, probably. But if you see her, y'all will both probably be drunk and you can just talk then. If not, there should be good pickings for you."

Chase wants to turn up her nose at the prospect of choosing another woman, but she retains her neutral expression for the sake of appearing in control of the Emmy situation.

Laura texts her the address. It is tonight, so Chase has the rest of the day to dick around and stew in her anticipation. The party is at some fraternity. It doesn't seem to be happening for any particular reason but everyone and their mom is going. While monitoring Emmy's social media, she learns she will be there with a different group and Gia will be elsewhere. Luck thankfully seems on her side tonight.

The day lumbers on slower than Chase thought possible.

Time passes lethargically and she occupies herself by huffing Emmy's thong and masturbating. At some point, she pulls up one of the recordings from the webcam footage. This one displays Emmy on her bed, writhing around on her bed and half-covered with a blanket. Sometimes she leaves her laptop open and turned on while she drifts back to her bed. Chase can't tell if she prefers it or not. When laying down, Emmy's noises are louder, more breathless.

As Chase smokes some of Laura's weed, she lazily drags her fingers over her cunt. The thought of running into Emmy makes her stomach churn with dread. It will be dark, crowded, and alcohol will flow through their bodies by the time they encounter each other, but it isn't enough to quiet her nerves. What if Laura's wrong?

Some rational part of her mind knows she is playing this up, but she can't shake the anxiety. Jerking off helps only a little and Chase is left staring thoughtfully up at her ceiling with her hand shoved in her sweats once she finishes.

---

Laura meets her down the street from the looming mansion housing the fraternity.

"The fuck kind of party is this?"

Chase squints through the darkness at the estate. It is a grand structure that looks like it belongs on this manicured street. Even through the haze of falling flurries, she sees the packed front yard and notes that this is a much bigger event than Laura first implied.

Laura takes a final drag from the roach she nurses before crushing it into the slush under her boot. "A big ass one, apparently," she says and shoots a sly smile Chase's way. The darkness makes shadows fall over her eyes. "If you don't find Emmy, you could totally pick someone else up here."

Chase bites her tongue. She has zero intention of that no matter how good of a distraction it would be. Although it's impossible to know how she'll feel when she sees Emmy, she holds out hope she'll have the balls to apologize. A small part of her itches to check Gia's social media once again—just to make sure Gia really isn't coming.

When Chase's silence persists, Laura forces her to follow. The closer they come to the building, the larger it appears and the louder the cacophony inside becomes. Heavy, throbbing bass pounds through the walls and hundreds of voices carry through the air. People are packed inside like sardines.

"This place is gonna be full of bitches," Laura snickers, already giddy before they've gone inside.

Chase doesn't doubt it. She glances around and spots a gaggle of sorority girls of varying shades of blonde making their way into the front.

"Just have to get inside there."

"Do you know anyone here?" Chase sincerely doubts their presence will go unnoticed and she is not keen on dealing with aggressive, drunk men tonight. "Besides Emmy, I mean."

Laura glances over her shoulder at Chase and abruptly changes their trajectory. Now, instead of making a beeline for the front door of the mansion, they shuffle sneakily to one of the many side entrances.

"Not that I know of," Laura eventually answers and examines the new door. It's unlocked and they slip inside undetected—all eyes are busy watching the thick of the party somewhere deeper in the building.

The moment they step inside, Chase is nearly overwhelmed by the smell. It's an intense, distinct mixture of sweat, cheap and astringent body spray, and alcohol. It reeks as much as every other party has. As they walk through the long hallway toward the noise, Chase inhales the murky air deeply, forcing herself to acclimate. There is a smoky note in the myriad of smells in the space—someone (or several someones) is sparking up somewhere in the crowd.

All of the hallways come together in a massive living room. The ceilings stretch two stories high and serve as an echo chamber for the pounding music. The bass sounds like a living thing, heavy and heaving and coaxing Chase to come closer.

'Whoa," Laura grimaces at the sludge they've stepped in at the end of the hallway. "What the fuck? Dude, we got slimed."

Chase examines the soles of her boots and cringes at the sight. Someone either threw up over here or spilled something vile. The tread on her shoes is covered in something filthy and gummy. She squints at the floor. "There's just a bunch of shit," she sighs and looks into the perpetually moving crowd. The thought of going in there nauseates her but she subconsciously finds herself searching carefully for Emmy.

"You ever been to one of these?"

Chase shrugs. The music is increasingly loud and it is quickly becoming difficult to think straight. "Never in a frat."

"Me either," Laura throws another lazy smile over her shoulder. Chase isn't sure if she's just high, but she swears Laura's eyes are too knowing.

"Okay—"

"Find her, or get laid," Laura cuts her off and pushes Chase into the crowd.

That asshole. Chase is immediately swept up in the hoard of bodies.

It is a big room—this two story ceiling makes all the difference. The distant lights are so far overhead they look like tiny pin pricks of stars. The space is dark aside from ambient, warm lighting that thrums in time to the fast music. Chase allows herself to get taken away by the crowd. This is what she needs regardless of how the night ends. All of her thoughts will get suspended within a syrupy sweet pool of drugs. Chase gropes her jacket's pockets in search of something to take her mind off of the Emmy-induced anxiety threatening to take her out of it.

There is a half smoked joint and a tiny amount of GHB. Chase is surprised when she discovers the latter. This is something she intends to reserve for Emmy—or Gia, if she continues meddling. The joint will have to do until she feels like getting her hands on some alcohol. Chase lights it despite being in the center of the gyrating mass of bodies and deeply inhales her first hit. It is never an instantaneous effect but it comes after a few more quick drags, warming her entire body from the crown to the extremities.

Bumping and grinding is inevitable in a crowd like this but it still catches Chase off guard when someone's soft ass brushes against her crotch. Chase's mouth falls open in a silent fuck right as the song changes into something sexual. The beat is low, throbbing, and bolstered by a bassline so arousing Chase is surprised no one's acting more unhinged. The mess of bodies stops wildly thrashing and adjusts to the tempo change. Everything slows into a rhythmic pace and another ass grazes against Chase's crotch and she jerks back like she's been shot—accidentally bumping into a girl behind her.

For a moment, she looks just like Emmy in the darkness and Chase feels like her heart stops. She blinks and finally processes what her eyes have been taking in. Most of the crowd around her consist of women. Chase wonders if she's died and gone to heaven.

After she blinks herself out of her stupor, the girl who looks like Emmy is still standing in front of her, slowly rolling her wide hips to the beat. Now that she's really looking at her, this girl doesn't look that much like Emmy.

"Hi," Chase says, struggling to speak over the volume and wondering how to apologize for accidentally humping her.

The girl drunkenly wraps her soft arms around Chase's neck and she says, "Hey," in a voice so sweet Emmy almost leaves her thoughts. On instinct, her hands lazily come to rest on the girl's hips—the weed hits her hard now, warming between her thighs until it feels like she'll die if she doesn't find something to grind on now.

As though she's reading Chase's mind, the girl turns and backs her ass up on Chase, forcing her to either grind on her or retreat into the crowd. Chase is already here, so she indulges her, thinking of how much better Emmy would feel and closing her eyes to pretend it's her under her clammy palms. It feels good to slip away in her fantasy as the veil between that and reality blurs. The weed helps and the dim room. This girl might as well be Emmy.

Chase squeezes the ample hips in her hands and digs her fingers in hard. She feels like she's experimenting with her eyes shut and clit vying for attention. She presses down so hard and her thumbs push into the softest thing she thinks she's ever touched and the girl's throwing her ass back and moaning and everything's blending into the sultry music.

"What's your name?"

I don't know.

Chase snakes a hand up the girl's body and she physically drinks in all of that soft, velvety skin she finds. Her hand reaches further and finds the girl's lithe neck. Her fingers wrap around her throat—yeah, just like that—her thumbs find her lips and soon she cracks them open to slip inside.

I wish you were Emmy.

Chase presses down on her pretty girl's pink tongue.

"Say ah."

It is easy to think of pressing the tip of her dick on this girl's tongue instead of her thumb and she can't hold back. Those warm, wet lips wrap sweetly around her thumb and the girl sucks on her without being told and Chase cums on the makeshift dance floor with her hips pressed against a nameless piece of ass.

The girl suddenly stands stiffly upright and looks far too similar to Emmy in expression and asks, "Whoa, did you just—"

She never gets a chance to finish. Chase backs away and allows herself to get pulled into the crowd. The song changes again and the tempo abruptly doubles. It feels like she's been doused in icy water. It is time to find her way to some alcohol and attempt to forget that embarrassing ordeal.

Her eyes wander as she forces her way through the crowd, using her tall frame to her advantage. People part before her like Moses and the Red Sea.

It doesn't take long to find the edge of the commotion and Chase leaves the crowd, looking at it once before finding a kitchen. It looks smaller than it felt. After another hit, she finishes her jacket joint and finally feels like she's properly high. People bump into her left and right and she's so buzzed she barely registers all the unprompted contact.

In return for all the accidental contact, Chase experimentally reaches out as she meanders. It is almost too easy to casually lay a hand on an ass or the small of a girl's back. The most her victims do is glance over their shoulders and cast a worried, shifty look around.

Once Chase finds the large, packed kitchen, she searches every surface she sees for liquor. Laura currently leans on the counter, chatting up some fine piece of brunette ass who does not look even remotely interested. Judging by Laura's sly smile, it doesn't seem like her disinterest is noticed or acknowledged. Chase moves away as stealthily as she can. She is too high to deal with her right now.

Chase searches elsewhere and finds a few unopened beers she swipes. It is not her first choice, but one can goes down easily enough. It is difficult to make out exactly who is in here through the hazy, dim light, but she appraises her peers by their backs. Briefly, she feels a bit like a livestock judge and can't hold back a snicker. Shit—I'm really high.

At the end of the long counter serving as a bar, there is a group of girls nursing something from solo cups and giggling with each other. Chase catches a glimpse of—holy fuck—is that Emmy?

The girl who is probably Emmy momentarily turns and yeah—it's Emmy.

Before Chase does something impulsive, she backs away and grabs the nearest bottle to take some shots for moral support. After taking one and discovering she's grabbed one of her least favorite liquors—gin—she forces herself to take a second shot. They both burn like hand sanitizer poured down her throat. She has never been the best at taking shots. It feels like everyone stares at her throat when she struggles to swallow everything. It is too vulnerable and she suddenly gets that watched feeling again.

Chase looks around, glowering because she can't determine whether or not she's just overdoing it, and Emmy meets her eyes, smiling.

Chase flinches back and nearly stumbles into the crowd again until she softens under Emmy's gaze. Contradicting thoughts battle in her mind as she stews in the recent onslaught of alcohol. It was a misunderstanding, talk to her, you miss her, maybe she misses you.

Abruptly, it feels like the gin has soured in her gut and she regrets taking the shots as quickly as she did on top of being high. Chase begins making her daring escape because she's realized she can't do this—not drunk, not high, not ever—and she tries to slip away before Emmy notices.

"Wait!"

It is too late. Chase can't escape this time. In her inebriated state, she somehow managed to back herself into a corner. She turns and looks down—Emmy is right there, staring up at her with the kitchen still bustling in the background. They have found themselves in an alcove tucked away in the hallway stretching on from the kitchen. No one will bother them here and Chase is abruptly struck with how intimate the tight space feels.

"Stop avoiding me," Emmy says firmly. Despite her steady tone, Chase can tell she is at least a little drunk.

Chase swallows hard. "I'm not avoiding you," she lies. Her tone is so shaky she wants to slap herself.

"Yes, you are," Emmy insists and steps closer until she is inches away from caging Chase in. Although Emmy is short enough to be forced to crane her neck, her intense, dark stare is enough to keep Chase immobilized. "Can we just talk?"

Some detached part of her understands she's drunk and flushed from all the alcohol, her brown eyes hazy from the weed, and she can't bring herself to move. As Emmy keeps her pinned with her stare, Chase somehow manages to flush harder and she says, "I already know what you're gonna say."

"You don't know that!"

Chase winces like she's been slapped. Her head is spinning and the line between her unreliable inner monologue and the truth is hopelessly blurred. There is too much going on between the throbbing music, Emmy's raised voice, and the sight of endless bodies convulsing in the background.

Emmy throws up her hands, exasperated and more than a little drunk. The movement almost makes her stumble and Chase's entire being nearly pitches forward to help her if needed. Again, Laura's voice echoes from somewhere in the back of her mind. You're so down bad.

"I wasn't even mad," Emmy finally says and lowers her hands. The initial irritation quickly fades from her firm tone. She steps closer, backing Chase further into the alcove. "You left before I could even explain anything."

Chase finds herself unable to respond. When her silence persists, Emmy continues, "I wanted to say sorry."

"You shouldn't be the one apologizing," Chase says and her mind takes her back—the thong, the webcam, the fixation on her social media. It isn't like Emmy knows but Chase is suddenly overcome with the need to make things up to her.

Emmy shrugs and averts her eyes. Chase follows the line of her sight. She is staring intensely into the long hallway and before Chase can question her, Emmy begins sauntering away from the action. Chase follows.

Neither of them speak for a few long moments, content to let the party fill the silence for them. Chase idly takes in their surroundings as Emmy leads them deeper into the mansion. Some generic paintings are on the walls in between pictures of previous classes. Dark streaks run up the walls—mold or just discoloration. Every once in a while, Emmy glances over her shoulder to toss Chase a shifty glance. There is something about her expression that only serves to add more fuel to Chase's calculating mind.

Sure enough, Emmy stops them in an empty room and ushers Chase inside before they're noticed. When Chase steps in, Emmy follows and locks the door behind them.

"I need to talk to you."

Chase can't shy away from this conversation anymore and she reluctantly accepts her fate. The vial of GHB weighs a million pounds in her pocket. Emmy remains standing while Chase takes a seat on the edge of the couch in the room. This looks like it must be a media room. Emmy paces and wavers in front of a shelf stocked with DVDs.

"So," she begins and without the distraction of the loud music, her slurred words are much more obvious. "Gia told me about you and that theater girl."

This is not where Chase suspected this conversation was going and her blood runs cold. Old memories bubble up through the alcohol and weed sediment and Chase fights to keep her face neutral.

"Yeah?"

Emmy shrugs and stares pointedly at Chase. Her eyes are bright and her face is blotchy and red. Chase almost wants to slide her another drink, just to see what will happen.

"I wanna hear it from you," she says. "Gia was just showing me the articles—they seemed biased. I don't know. I don't want you to make me look stupid. I don't want her to think I don't know what I'm doing."

With every word she says, Chase calms until she understands how to navigate the situation. Thankfully, Emmy is already horribly drunk and it won't take much to slip her another—the final nail in the coffin.

While she is thinking about it, Chase digs through the mini-fridge in the room. She unearths some beer.

"I know how it looks," she says with her back turned to Emmy. Before she can stop herself, she puts the GHB in Emmy's can and hands it over. Emmy drinks and positions herself on the couch, none the wiser.

"It looks bad," Emmy remarks after another sip.

"I know—" Chase sits with her and stares at her lap, hoping it looks like she's remorseful instead of guilty. "There was just a huge misunderstanding," she eventually settles on saying. It is enough of the truth.

"Why wouldn't you tell me?"

Chase finally meets Emmy's eyes. Her expression is pained and guarded in a way Chase doesn't think she's seen before. It feels like Emmy wants her to say something but Chase can't put her finger on it.

"It's not something I'm really proud of," Chase says with a forced, dry laugh. Emmy takes a massive drink from her can. Is she feeling it yet?

"It was a long time ago," Emmy muses and wavers where she sits. It looks like holding herself up is becoming a conscious effort.

Not that long.

"It just looked really bad," Chase continues, emboldened. "I understand why—but that journalist really fixated on the actress and what she was saying."

Emmy slowly nods and sighs. The sedative quality of the drug is working its magic the more she drinks.

"I feel so bad, Chasey," she begins after a long period of silence and more sipping. Her words blur together and her head seems like it weighs a million pounds—as she speaks, she subconsciously tries to rest her head on Chase's shoulder.

"Why? I feel bad for never saying anything," Chase murmurs, vaguely aware that she's laying it on pretty thick, and scoots a little closer. Their shared weight on the couch forces Emmy to slump closer.

"The other day," Emmy barely elaborates before folding in half, wrapping her arms around her stomach and leaning forward as far as she can go.

When she doesn't continue, Chase asks, "What about it?"

"I flinched because I was surprised."

While Chase wants to pretend she isn't hearing what she thinks she's hearing, a small part of her soars with excitement. It is too good to be true—she does not want to get her hopes up. Am I making this up?

Emmy sits back up and shakily stands. Chase immediately follows because it's clear she won't be able to walk by herself. In her state, Emmy wanders outside of the room and back down the long hallway. They have not been away from the action for long and the music continues to serve as their soundtrack. People aimlessly walk around but none of them come close to the pair near the back of the home.

"I need fresh air," Emmy mumbles and tugs at Chase's jacket. "I think I drank too much."

As if she was not the one who did this, Chase steps in front of Emmy and sagely examines her face. Without meaning to, her hands drift up to reverently cup her jaw and turn her face towards the light.

Emmy keeps her eyes locked on Chase's as she is inspected. Her pupils are wide, dark, and they swallow up her warm brown irises. Mascara runs a little in the corners of her eyes and her lip gloss is smeared where she's drank. Chase's hands dwarf her face and her thumbs instinctively brush the moisture from below her eyes.

Emmy blinks and Chase realizes she has been silently staring at Emmy's face for far too long and she murmurs, "Do you want me to walk you home?

Emmy's eyes flick down and then immediately back up. She nods and the movement is so small Chase would miss it if she weren't holding her face.

"Okay," she struggles to pull away. "Let's go."

Once outside, it becomes much clearer that Emmy won't be conscious for much longer.

Despite her shakiness and confusion, Emmy continues nursing her spiked beer and Chase leads her away from the party.

"I feel so bad," Emmy repeats and drifts too close to the road. Chase grabs her arm a little rougher than she intended and Emmy responds with a content sigh. "I was just surprised."

Emmy does not live far from the frat and Chase estimates they have ten minutes before getting there. Hopefully, Emmy will remain conscious as long as she's moving.

Since she is confused and out of her mind, Chase indulges the conversation and asks testingly, "When I tried to kiss you?"

Emmy glances over her shoulder and her eyes lazily drift up and down Chase's lanky body. Her stare is a tangible thing crawling along her skin. Then, she looks forward and finishes off the beer.

"Yeah," Emmy finally answers and kicks at a rock on the ground.

"You drank a lot before I found you, didn't you?"

Emmy darts into someone's driveway to trash the empty can and when she jogs back to Chase, her face is flushed and she nearly trips over her own feet. Chase holds her arm and pulls her away. The drugs are all mingling and coursing through her system. Chase no longer trusts her to stand on her own.

"Hey, how much did you drink?"

Emmy shrugs and attempts to pull free from Chase's grip. "A lot, but it was only 'cause I was overthinking everything so much."

"What about?"

Emmy groans and futilely pulls against Chase. The resistance only earns her a tighter grip—a shorter leash. "Stop teasing me," she huffs and it makes Chase want to show her what teasing really is.

"Nah, tell me."

"You weren't talking to me," Emmy says and her voice is so small and ashamed it makes Chase want to wrap her arms around her. "I thought you were mad at me, or something."

Chase releases Emmy's arm and walks by her side. She doesn't speak and waits for Emmy to anxiously fill the silence.

Ever predictable and drugged, she does and continues, "I thought you got the wrong idea."

They have walked far enough from the party the music is no longer audible. The night is black and quiet and Chase has led them down a tree-lined street devoid of prying eyes.

"What's the right idea?" Chase asks in a low murmur and the volume forces Emmy to turn and face her.

Emmy averts her eyes sheepishly and wavers unsteadily on her feet. This is such a night and day difference from their usual dynamic and it's so drastic it almost gives Chase whiplash. She is beginning to realize she vastly prefers this.

"I think—I think I need to get home now."

Emmy stumbles, nearly introduces her face to the sidewalk, and Chase guides her away with a firm hand on her waist.

By the time Chase drags Emmy to her porch, she is half-asleep and delirious with confusion and nausea. Although she never got a clear answer, Chase is confident everything is working out in her favor. As Emmy struggles to unlock her door, Chase stands dutifully and respectfully behind her.

"I'm so tired, Chasey," Emmy mumbles and slumps into her home the second the door is unlocked.

Chase follows her quietly and watches as she face plants on one of the couches in the living room.

"I might just sleep here," she murmurs in a barely understandable slurring with her face pressed against the couch cushion. "Thanks for—uh, bringing me home."

Then, Emmy prompts loses consciousness and her body melts into the couch.

Chase almost can't believe this is happening.

"Emmy?"

She steps closer and squints at her face. It seems like the drug and alcohol cocktail has done its job. Chase snaps in front of her face and then claps. Absolutely nothing.

No fucking way.

Of course, Chase expected this, but not so soon and now she is left mulling over her next steps. First, she needs to get Emmy off of this couch. After some maneuvering and almost dropping her lifeless, limp body a few times, Chase manages to get Emmy in her arms and off the couch.

Emmy's face is very young looking and placid, like she is distantly aware of what's happening to her but she's made peace with it. Before she can stop herself, Chase kisses her forehead.

Chase carries Emmy bridal style into her bedroom.

At this point, she has been in here enough to know what to expect and she doesn't waste time with examining the room. Once Emmy is laid gently on her bed, completely unconscious, Chase looms over her limp body and considers her next options.

Emmy met up with friends at the party but they didn't seem sober enough to be concerned with her well-being. If Chase was seen dragging her away, she will just say the truth—she was taking Emmy home. Now that they're home, it's a different story, but no one needs to know about that. With the sheer amount of alcohol in her system on top of the GHB, there is a good chance Emmy won't remember any of tonight.

Chase produces her phone and sends a few quick texts, just in case.

I dropped you off at yours around one.

A small part of Chase is concerned Emmy will forget their conversation and she brushes it off. Even if that's the case, she knows what to say now.

Emmy's sleeping face is slack and more innocent than Chase expected. The clothes she's in must be uncomfortable, but Chase doesn't trust herself to move her. The moment she touches her, she doubts she'll be able to stop.

Just in case, Chase murmurs, "Emmy?" When she does not stir, Chase gently nudges her shoulder, then repeats the action harder.

Nothing. Emmy is dead to the world.

The realization makes all the blood drain from Chase's head until she stands there, her mouth dry and clit hard, trying her best to remember exactly why she thinks she should hold back. There's that obnoxious thought again. It's the first time, it should be special.

Chase brushes the thought away and steps closer to Emmy's sleeping body. This doesn't have to be their first time—Chase just wants to know how she feels. This is the trial run. If anything, this will end up benefiting Emmy when Chase fucks her lucid for the first time. She will learn exactly where to touch her, how to draw the best response from her, all from tonight's explorations. Without judgment or interruptions, Chase assumes she should be able to learn everything about her that she wants.

Watching her on her webcam was the first step in getting to know her, then taking the thong, and now this. It is all just prelude.

The first touch against Emmy's skin makes Chase feels like she may pass out.

In the past, she has felt Emmy's weight on her lap and the blazing warmth bleeding through her clothes, but this is different. Chase carefully watches Emmy's face as she moves. Despite understanding the likelihood of her waking up is near zero, Chase can't shake the thought that she will. Every so often, her eyelids flutter and Chase wonders if what she does in the waking world bleeds into Emmy's dream.

Experimentally, Chase slides her clammy palm down Emmy's thigh. It has been so cold lately, she almost can't believe Emmy would go out like this, but she isn't complaining.

Lower, her bare calves. Emmy shaves and she must have very recently because her skin is velvety smooth under Chase's touch. When she pulls her hand the opposite way, tiny pricks of growing stubble catch on her calloused palms. The sensation is unlike anything she's ever felt and as though to comment on it, Emmy emits a quiet, breathless sigh. The soft noise goes straight between Chase's legs and she pulls her hands away.

Proceeding without going too far seems impossible. Then again, leaving now when she's come so far is out of the question.

Chase backs away from Emmy's bed and sheds her shoes and jacket. She is left in sweatpants, socks, and a T-shirt that's threatening to swallow her whole. As she undresses her outer layers, Chase feels a swell of domestic comfort within her. This is unlike anything she's ever done, but it's an addictive feeling. If she closes her eyes, it is too easy to pretend she's just unwinding after work, preparing to join her girl in bed. Chase shudders and cups her cunt through her sweats.

Once she is more comfortable, Chase drifts back to the side of Emmy's bed. Doing this while standing feels so detached, clinical, and she believes Emmy deserves better. It is data collection but it doesn't need to be so callous.

Before she has a chance to convince herself otherwise, Chase gingerly climbs onto the bed and sits perfectly still next to Emmy's body. Despite all the movement, she does not stir and Chase takes this as a sign to continue. She stretches out on the bed and takes great care to keep from touching Emmy.

She still wears the skirt and her halter top. Chase took her shoes and bracelets off when they came inside. The top is so tight she can see the outline of her bra. It must be uncomfortable to sleep in.

Chase lays on her side, her head propped up with a hand, and she cups Emmy's breast through her top.

It feels like all the moisture has left her mouth as she touches her. This is one of those bras with thick padding at the bottom of the cup and Chase is overcome with the need to feel her tits in their natural state. Chase's hand looks massive against her chest and she slips her fingers under the neckline, just to briefly feel her soft breast. One touch confirms she needs to take the bra off now.

Maneuvering the garment off proves to be more difficult with a limp body, but Chase manages. Leaving the top on seems pointless now and Chase elects to strip her down. Once Emmy is left in nothing but her skirt and long socks, Chase pulls her hand away to examine her prize.

None of the jostling did anything. Emmy is trapped in a dead sleep so deep not even violating her will save her.

Chase takes a few long moments to drink in the sight. She figures she deserves this after everything she's been through with Emmy.

In sleep, Emmy looks much younger. A drug and heat induced flush graces her round cheeks, making her look a little like a sleeping angel. Her chest slowly rises and falls with the force of her deep breathing and Chase finds herself unable to look away. Although she has seen them before, looking at Emmy's tits in person is an entirely different experience. They're modestly sized and topped with peachy-pink nipples that Chase immediately wants to put in her mouth, so she does.

It feels like something within her has either reared its ugly head and possessed her, or that she is simply giving into everything she's always wanted to do. What has stopped her all this time? Consequences, judgment. Chase leans down and drags her flattened tongue over Emmy's breast, drawing it over the soft swell of the underside before lapping at her nipple. It doesn't take long before Emmy's body responds reflexively, making her nipple harden into a stiff peak.

If Chase closes her eyes while orally exploring this new terrain, it becomes frighteningly easy to envision this being her preferred reality. In her mind's eye, Emmy is already hers, writhing and responding beautifully underneath her. Just imagining the noises she will make has all the blood in Chase's brain redirecting into her cunt. It was already difficult to think clearly and as she gingerly swirls her tongue around Emmy's nipple, it becomes even harder. Resistance is some distant pipe dream. Consequences are nonexistent in this new plane of existence Chase has reached. Leaving this state is unthinkable, so Chase continues.

Although she's asleep, Emmy's body picks up the slack from her dormant mind and provides encouragement in the form of knee-jerk reflexes. If Chase drags her teeth over Emmy's nipple, she sighs softly. Holding her breasts causes her breathing to slightly quicken. Chase becomes fixated on discovering what noises she can pull from her and as Emmy remains unconscious, her actions grow bolder.

After what feels like forever, Chase pulls her face away from Emmy's chest and replaces her mouth with her hands, cupping her tits and idly groping them as she studies her face. Emmy's lips have parted and now, her quiet sighs are barely audible. If nothing else, she sounds content. Chase doesn't need anymore encouragement.

Her hands grip Emmy's tits harder—harder—her fingers dig into her soft flesh and when she finally releases, Emmy's chest is left with imprints from the force of the contact. Chase traces the outline of the impression before repeating the action. Emmy emits a tiny, broken off whine in her sleep and Chase does it again until the whine grows louder.

Touching her like this is addictive. Chase wants to return every night and do this. If the drug didn't cost anything, if she could get away with it, if nothing she did held any weight, she would be here nightly, doing this.

Emmy's slack mouth and face remain perfectly neutral as Chase's hands drift over her soft stomach. Chase's hands begin a new dance and slide to Emmy's waist. She gropes her there, noting with pleasure how soft she is everywhere.

Before she stops herself, Chase gently pulls the waistband of the skirt down until it is bunched at Emmy's knees. Her panties are white, sensible, and Chase can't hold back from leaning down and burying her nose in the crotch. The fabric is slightly damp from sweat and discharge and she smells just as intoxicating as the thong did.

Chase presses her tongue to the crotch of Emmy's sensible white virgin panties and nearly passes out from the heady taste of her seeping through. In her sleep, she twitches and pinches her brows together.

Chase gets comfortable on her stomach, forcing Emmy's thighs apart after getting away with so much movement. If she hasn't stirred yet, she will not until morning.

A part of Chase wants to leave this for their true first time—an actual special, monumental moment—but she can't hold back. Curiosity and anticipation wins the fight against the dwindling voice of reason tucked deep within her. Chase pulls Emmy's panties down. Her cunt is hidden by her labia and the dense, yet manicured patch of hair there. Chase takes a moment to study what she sees and resisting her urges is a massive struggle.

Emmy's hair down here is darker than on her head—more of a deep auburn than the vibrant orange-red Chase has grown to love. Chase spreads her labia and exposes her pussy. Despite being asleep, it seems like her body has been picking up the slack left by her inactive mind. Wetness shines from her lips in the dim light. Chase moves forward before she can think of all the reasons she should not do this. She holds her face near Emmy's cunt, barely a breath away, and inhales her like she wants her to crawl inside her lungs.

Chase scoots forward and presses a chaste kiss to Emmy's clit. Nothing.

This is unreal. Chase sits up before she does something more impulsive and collects herself for a moment.

It is easy to get lost in what will happen tomorrow. Maybe Emmy will wake up and somehow know what Chase did.

Chase glances at her sleeping face and for a second that stops her heart, the lighting makes it look as though she is awake, watching Chase as carefully as she was earlier watched. Chase blinks. It was a trick of the light.

Chapter 8

Notes:

This one is pretty bad, Chase is a piece of shit.

The morning after Chase drugs and escorts Emmy home, she wakes in a cold sweat and pointedly ignores her phone.

The likelihood of Emmy remembering and calling Chase out for what she has done is so ridiculously small but she can't shake the feeling that something will happen. Clear headed and semi rested, Chase mulls over the night before.

So, Emmy is at least vaguely aware of what happened the year before. This would be an issue if she knew the dirty details that never left the tiny inner circle of Chase and that theater major. Some of those details tried to get out and Chase knows her parents paid a pretty penny to keep everything contained. Despite all of this, the fact that Gia knew and told Emmy feels like a problem.

While scrubbing the events of last night off herself in the shower, Chase thinks of Emmy's pliant, perfect body and how wet she was, even asleep. The memory is nearly enough to bring her to her knees. Every time her eyes shut, Emmy's body is behind her eyelids, limp and lifeless and so ready for her. Chase can't believe she held back last night but no matter how sexually frustrating the restraint is, the prize will just be that much sweeter.

In the following days, Emmy occasionally texts Chase which lifts that lingering paranoia she remembers.

Emmy: We should study together sometime!

Emmy: Are you coming in today?

Mundane, meaningless small talk. It lifts Chase's spirits throughout the week and by the time they have their shared class, it is nearing the end of the week.

Chase has not seen Emmy in person since the party. They have both been busy—Emmy more so—and initiating anything has never been Chase's strong suit. It is difficult to determine how to approach Emmy when class starts. They are in the final stretch now; only four weeks until finals. Chase is not concerned at all. Maintaining her grades has been far more tolerable now that she has a tangible goal to look forward to.

If she continues cleaning up her act and flying under the administration's radar, she knows she will only look better to Emmy. Ensuring Emmy is hers is the motivation for the rest of the year. Now that she has had a taste of her, Chase will not give her up easily.

If she finishes this second-to-last semester well, it will set the stage for an equally successful final semester. She could land a good job, treat Emmy right, and show her the time of her life. The moment Chase's train of thought strays and fantasizes about a future with Emmy, she knows it's over. Although it is nice to daydream, Chase focuses wholeheartedly on her present goal. The future result is far more appealing than the build-up to get there but it will be worth enduring.

As Chase walks into the building containing her class with Emmy, old, uncomfortable thoughts stir up from the sediment collecting in her mind.

Chase does not know what she wants to do with her degree. All throughout high school and the beginning of university, she had a vague sense of unease, something that was subtle and always present like a whisper in the back of her mind insisting the future did not matter. But now it does and for the first time in her life, Chase finds herself directionless. Her family will provide no insight—they gave up on her during her early teens when she began acting out. Her parents are content to step back and watch her figure her shit out. Chase is convinced they predict she will end up on the street or in prison.

She arrives to class early today, sitting patiently with her head resting on her folded arms as she waits and tries to stop thinking about her parents. Thoughts of Emmy prove to be enough to keep her mind off of other things and Chase is momentarily caught off guard by herself. She can't recall a time she was ever this pathetically whipped.

It does not take long before Emmy walks in with Gia. This is a problem. Although Gia did not tell Emmy the full story—how could she know?—the look she gives Chase is so repugnant it could probably melt steel.

Unaware of Gia's blatant distaste, Emmy sits across from Chase and says nothing. For a few awful moments, Chase wonders if she has this all wrong. Maybe Emmy remembers, maybe Gia found more dirt on her—God knows there is plenty. As Emmy regards Chase from across the table, her face remains neutral and unreadable. Chase feels her skin crawl every time Emmy deigns to look her over. She realizes she needs to do something about Gia and soon.

Chase surprises herself by breaking the silence with a strained, "Hey."

Emmy smiles softly and raises her eyebrows, a little signal of I like you in Chase's eyes. It feels like she's been let in on something she's been desperately searching for. She leans back in her chair, unable to wipe the small disbelieving smile from her face. Not even Gia's disgusted expression ruins her mood.

"How are you?"

Emmy shrugs and gestures to her opened notebook as the professor walks in. "Stuck on this thing. Did you do it?"

"No—I forgot about it after the other day."

"Oh," Emmy glances up and her gaze feels tangible on Chase's skin. "The other day?" Has she always been such a cocktease?

"Yeah," Chase does her best to not sound as charmed as she is. Gia pointedly rolls her eyes. "I believe you were there."

Emmy pretends to think, tapping her finger on her chin and fucking everything. She looks like a cartoon character and Chase wants to lunge at her from across the table.

"Right, that," Emmy says like she wasn't the one who got fucked up at a party and had to be taken home. "Well, I can see why you'd forget."

Chase wishes so badly she could take Emmy to the bathroom and pound her on the floor. Instead, she rolls her eyes and forces herself to pay attention to the professor while Gia glares daggers into her.

Class passes smoothly, albeit dull, and Chase works up the balls to continue talking to Emmy by the end of class. When they are dismissed, Chase grabs Emmy by the arm and whisks her away before Gia has a chance to sink her claws in.

It is cold enough outside Emmy sticks close to Chase as they leave the building together.

"So," Emmy begins slyly, glancing up at Chase in a way she probably thinks is sneaky. "There's a party tonight."

Chase looks down at the sidewalk and tries to stifle a smile. "Yeah?" Each slab of concrete takes two Chase steps to cross. Emmy has to take three before crossing over to a new slab.

"You should come," Emmy says and nudges Chase's arm. If she just reached a little more, they could hold hands. "I don't really know anyone there and you're always so nice. Thank you for always bringing me home, by the way."

Chase smiles. "No problem." If she gets to drug and touch Emmy while she's asleep, she would do this everyday and never complain. It also feels nice to be grouped in with Emmy's People I Know and Trust list. The thought makes Chase's smile grow wider than what is acceptable and she restrains herself.

"You can invite whoever you want to—I know Gia's coming. Most of these people are her friends," Emmy continues.

The mention of Gia instantly sours Chase's mood. A plan begins to come together in the dark recesses of her mind and by the time they part ways, Chase knows what she needs to do.

 

---

 

Chase: Hey man.

Chase: There's a party tonight.

It is early in the evening and the days are so short the sky is already beginning to darken. Laura is a key piece in Chase's grand plan and when a response does not immediately come, nerves creep in to ruin her excited anticipation. If tonight goes according to plan, Gia will no longer be a problem, Laura will get laid, and Chase will finally fuck Emmy.

Laura: ok?

Laura: idgaf

This stupid asshole.

Chase stands and mulls over how to convince Laura to come. Friendship is a very loose way to describe what they have going on, but it is the closest descriptor that comes to mind. She isn't stupid—she understands Laura does not necessarily like her. Their friendship is based on business. Chase gets the drugs she needs and Laura gets someone willing to listen to her ramble about whatever stupid shit she is into at the moment. It helps that they are both butch in an area where gender expression is rigid, even within the small lesbian circles scattered around.

Chase: Emmy's bringing some of her friends.

Chase: All I'm saying is you could have a good time if you wanna.

To sweeten the deal, Chase informs Laura she will be bringing a pre-roll. A different strain than any they've tried before. As she types, she digs the joint up from the abyss that is her bedside box of bullshit. This is something she got her hands on months ago, intending to keep it saved for a rainy day. It is laced with PCP and she figures it will work nicely for what she plans to do.

Laura: oh hell yeah

Laura: ill be there my man

Chase sets her phone down and stands, ready to prepare for the coming night.

 

---

 

Laura meets Chase at her apartment and bangs on the door so abruptly and with so much force it nearly makes Chase jump out of her skin. She goes to the door and immediately sees red hazy eyes staring up at her.

"Can you drive high?"

Laura shrugs and jerks her head. "Yeah—I hot boxed my car too, so you're my ride."

Chase bites back a motherfucker and swallows her irritation. For everything to work, she needs to play nice.

By the time they reach Chase's slammed sedan, it is fully dark and the nightfall brings with it a frigid wind that rattles their teeth. Laura is dressed far more appropriately than Chase in her thick jacket and beanie. As she walks, she grills Chase about Emmy and the other party goers.

Chase gets in on the driver's side and makes no move to brush the heap of shit from the passenger seat. Although she's behaving herself, it doesn't mean she needs to be courteous. Laura grimaces when she sees the state of her seat but doesn't say anything.

"So—you know who's all gonna be there?" Laura asks and immediately claims the aux cord. The music she puts on is exceptionally awful in Chase's opinion.

Chase shrugs and glides out of the parking lot. According to her directions, it should take them twenty minutes to get to the address Emmy gave her. It may be the most annoying twenty minutes of Chase's life.

"I'm not sure. Emmy said it's a lot of Gia's friends."

Laura emits a quiet hum. It indicates she has no clue who Gia is and Chase reaches over the center console to smack her shoulder without taking her eyes off the road.

"What?"

Chase flicks her in the ear and returns her hands to the wheel. The song changes into something Chase actually enjoys and she glances at Laura through the side of her eye. Although she isn't facing her, it seems like Laura is having a good time if her bobbing head is any indication.

"Look her up—trust me."

A slow smile spreads across Laura's face as she does. As much as Chase dislikes Gia, she still has eyes.

"I know," Chase remarks when she catches a glimpse of that hungry, sly expression.

A few silent moments pass as Laura scrolls through Gia's posts. Those hazy eyes and dopey grin lock in on the target. She is already high and Chase can easily imagine how she feels. Boner and everything.

"Good lord, man," Laura huffs out a disbelieving laugh and tucks her phone back into her pocket. "She is fine as fuck."

"She's sort of a bitch though," Chase dryly remarks.

Laura scoffs and snickers, "What, did she reject you or something?"

It hits a little too close to home and Chase struggles to bite back a retort. Thinking of the coming night helps. Once again, the music changes and the song is one of Chase's favorites. They have more in common than she would like to admit—but, it helps her anticipate what Laura will do with the right intervention.

"No," Chase says honestly. "Well—she just doesn't like me."

"Oh, I wonder why?"

Chase sneers and cranks the heat down. "Whatever man. I just don't really like her but I think you would."

That gives Laura pause. When Chase glances at her, she stares thoughtfully out at their dark surroundings. This house is somewhere off the side of the highway, nothing but farmland and back roads around for miles. It has become quite dark without the streetlights and lit businesses of the city. It gives Chase a nostalgic sense of unease.

"Is she straight?"

Fuck. That doesn't matter in the slightest for what needs to be done, but Laura can't know that.

Recovering as quickly as she can, Chase shrugs and says, "I don't know. But I know Emmy isn't and they're like best friends."

Laura throws her hands up. "That's stupid as fuck. What's the correlation?"

"Dyke by proximity."

"Are you getting secondhand high from me?"

Chase glances at her and inhales deeply. Nothing but the mildew smell permanently clinging to her car. "Are you smoking?"

Laura looks at her for a long, unreadable moment and the silence persists for so long Chase nearly swerves into a ditch. Then, Laura hides her mouth behind her hand and fails to hold back a cackle.

Chase expels an exasperated breath and returns her attention to the road. It does not take much longer before they reach the address.

This is a nice house. Again, that nostalgia rears its ugly head and Chase fights back a creeping feeling of unease. This looks like it could be any home plucked straight out of the town she is from. Several cars are parked out front and Chase recognizes Emmy's white sedan. She pulls into an area off to the side of the front lawn, creating a small space between the car and the line of dense trees bordering the property. From this angle, the car will barely be visible from the home.

Chase remains in the car after removing the key from the ignition. There are a decent amount of people milling about the outside of the home, but it is nothing like the parties she’s met Emmy at before. Bringing Laura was a good move no matter how annoying she ends up being.

“What’s the hold up?” Impatient fuck.

Chase produces the laced joint from her jacket pocket and lights up. “Pre-gaming, motherfucker.”

Laura grins and snatches the joint without a second thought. It is so easy; it is kind of ridiculous. Despite everything she knows, Laura implicitly trusts her for some reason.

Before she lights it, she pauses and studies Chase from the side of her eye. "Hold on—you're being nice. What gives?"

Chase stiffly lifts her hands as if to say little ol me? It doesn't work and she gets a suspicious glare in return.

"Also, I'm already fried as shit," she says remorsefully and averts her eyes from the joint. "If I wanna get some, I can't get so high I get scared to talk to her."

Chase nods. "True—but this is some new shit."

"Who'd you get it from?"

A lie bursts out with ease. "My cousin."

Laura squints at her. One of her hands holds a lighter seemingly produced from thin air. "Your cousin."

Somehow, Laura buys it and lights the joint with a shrug that screams whatever, I give up.

"I don't wanna hot box though," Chase mumbles and rolls a window down. It takes an instant for the wind to blow through the car and Laura nurses the joint for an unreasonably long time just to warm herself.

When she pulls away from her first drag, she coughs and shakes her head. "Yeah—yeah. That's pretty good."

As she hands it to Chase, she turns to continue hacking up her lung and Chase avoids taking her hit, allowing the cherry to slowly burn while outside the window.

It is a little too easy. Laura is thoroughly distracted by people watching and appraising the new strain. A lot is said and little of it carries any weight. There is a small part of Chase that wonders if she and Laura should have smoked together. After inviting Chase out several times, Laura eventually gave up. When did that happen?

As Chase hands off the joint for the final time, burned down to the roach, she wonders if Laura would have been her friend if she had done things differently.

"Thank you, man," Laura says and sucks down the last of it, eyes beyond faded and a slow smile playing on her lips. "That was great. Now, can we get in there?"

Chase nods and quickly unearths a second, untampered with joint from her jacket. When she pauses to light it, Laura whirls around and stares pointedly at her. As the weed gets to Chase's head, she can't help but view Laura as a bloodhound, sniffing out weed and pussy with her shaggy hair and big, paw-like hands.

When they step up to the porch, Laura turns and stops Chase before they enter.

"Hold on—do I look good?"

Chase squints at her and takes a long hit from her joint. Laura admittedly does look good which pisses Chase off more than she could have ever imagined. While in the car, she shed her beanie and her chocolate brown hair shines in the warm light coming through the windows. It is a good cut too—one of those mullets that manages not to look like pure shit. Chase feels a surge of jealousy and prays Emmy does not have wandering eyes.

"Yes," she says because it is the truth and because it is what Laura wants to hear. "Let's go."

Inside the house, the party already seems to be in full swing. It is a smaller space and everything feels too close together with this many people. It will be hard not to feel claustrophobic, especially now that she's finished a joint. Laura leads her through the hallways, searching for the kitchen and alcohol and women. For now, Chase is happy to allow herself to be dragged. As they move, her eyes flick between the passing faces, watching carefully for Emmy's soft brown stare.

No luck. By the time they reach the kitchen, Chase is ready to put things into action. As Laura digs up the liquor options, Chase unearths plastic cups and finds a table.

This is where the joint comes in handy. After a second of scraping up her courage, Chase clears her throat and yells, "Who wants to get fucked up?"

Heads turn and Chase tries not to cringe at herself as she puts on her extroverted face and explains the rules for the night's drinking game. It is a fucked up version of beer pong that involves as many people as possible and the better you are at getting the balls in the cups, the more drunk you can get someone else. Gia appears in the crowd surrounding the table. The moment could not be more perfect.

Everyone seems to already be at least slightly inebriated and everyone agrees they understand the rules. It does not matter either way. Chase fills the gathered cups with liquor. Once you get a ball bounced into a cup, you can slide it to the person of your choosing. Chase is good enough she knows she'll be able to get Gia slammed and slip her GHB. It is too perfect.

As the game starts, Laura is the first to pass a cup Gia's way. Chase did not count on this and she almost can't believe her luck. She planted that seed, she should have expected that. No matter how nice Laura wants to act, Chase knows what depraved shit she jerks off to and understands she may not need to intervene as much as planned.

It does not take long before Gia looks like she may stumble into the wall at any moment. Laura sneakily creeps over to her and holds her boldly by the waist. There is an easy confidence in her movements that makes Chase unable to look away. She can't help but wonder what life would be like if she could just be like that. She looks away and Emmy is abruptly beside her.

"Hey, you came!" When she excitedly greets Chase, it is clear she has been drinking long before she spotted her. "When did you get here?"

Chase can't hold back her grin and she shrugs. The weed is mingling pleasantly with the sight of Emmy in her mind. "Half an hour ago? It's good to see you."

Emmy averts her eyes, flushed from the heat and alcohol, and she tugs at Chase's sleeve. "C'mon," she says and pulls Chase away.

With the game in full swing without her presence needed any longer, Chase allows herself to be pulled and Emmy takes her into the packed living room. The second they enter, Chase instantly notices Gia sitting with her back turned to an opened beer. She is talking to Laura, excitedly gesturing.

Emmy is completely unaware of Chase's fixation on the pair and she backs away. "How do I look?"

Chase glances at her—she watches Gia take a drink from the beer and set it back down behind her, basically begging for the GHB—and she wears a tight white halter top with her hair flowing in soft waves over her shoulders. It is so cold outside her nipples are still rock hard and showing through the thin fabric. As Chase gapes at her, she smiles and does a little spin, showing off her flared jeans and the way they perfectly hug her ass. Golden accessories glean from her wrists and for the first time she can remember, that silver necklace is not around her neck. A delicate golden charm dangles in its place. Chase steps closer to Emmy. The charm is a tiny white rose.

"So good," Chase breathes and lets a genuine smile break out across her face. Emmy beams at her and looks her up and down.

"This is nice," she remarks and plucks at Chase's jacket. It is so hard to tell if she's being flirted with or not, but for tonight, Chase wants to think so.

"Do you want a drink?" Chase has no idea how to respond and wants to drug Gia as soon as possible. When she looks over, Gia is still sipping from the beer and talking to Laura. It is difficult to imagine what they would have in common, but Laura seems enamored already.

"Yeah," Emmy says despite already wavering where she stands. "I'll get it though."

Perfect. "Sounds good," Chase says and waves her away. The moment Emmy leaves her line of sight, she sneaks over to the corner where Gia and Laura sit. Laura is so high her presence goes unnoticed and Chase dumps the GHB into the beer. When she straightens back up, Laura finally notices her and gives her a friendly nod. Chase returns a small smile and backs away, casually sinking back into the crowd while Gia takes a drink.

Emmy retrieved them a poorly mixed concoction of pineapple juice and soda.

When Emmy takes her first sip, she grimaces before tossing the contents of the cup into her throat. "That was bad."

Chase finishes hers off and vigorously shakes her head. "Yeah—shit," she mutters and watches Laura stand and stumble away. Let her get drunker while Gia remains glued to the chair. Emmy shakily walks towards Chase and mumbles, "Let's get away from the crowd."

As though she is being led through a dream, Chase mindlessly follows Emmy through the sea of bodies. Although there are many women on Emmy's caliber of attractiveness, none of them register in Chase's mind as they walk past. Her mind has one, singular focus and her eyes are stuck on Emmy's ass. She swallows hard. Tonight is the night.

"Where are we going?"

Emmy tosses a hand up flippantly. "I don't know."

They soon find themselves in a lesser populated section of the home. This place is larger than Chase thought. She could probably get away with a lot here.

This new room seems to serve as an office. It is only large enough to contain a desk, a small loveseat, and thick, built-in shelves acting as the room's perimeter. By some stroke of divine luck, there is no one inside. Chase steps in and drifts towards the solid wood desk as Emmy wanders to the loveseat. Her fingers trace the armrest.

"This is nice," she remarks, clearly avoiding saying whatever is on her mind.

Chase hums in response and sits in the nice leather chair behind the desk. It spins and it has wheels. If she ever gets a cushy enough job to have an office, she thinks she would like a chair like this. And a desk like this—there is enough space underneath for a person if they were crouching.

"So, Chasey," Emmy says.

When Chase looks up, Emmy's back is facing her and she asks, "What's up?" Her voice sounds thick in her ears. Alcohol and weed equal a very mellow Chase.

Emmy slowly turns and steps towards the desk. "I have a confession to make."

Despite the nerves bubbling under her skin, Chase holds Emmy's intense dark stare. "Go for it." It is difficult not to get her hopes up. Emmy doesn't look at just anyone like that, does she?

"I keep thinking about that day you tried to kiss me," she says steadily and visibly has to fight back a smile.

Chase blinks a few times. A part of her refuses to believe this is happening.

"What about it?"

Emmy averts her eyes and shrugs. It feels a little like she's torturing Chase and at this moment, she probably has no idea how much power she has.

By the time she answers Chase, she is much closer, sitting on the edge of the desk and staring down at Chase.

"I think you should try again."

Chase can't describe the feeling that courses through her. She can't believe it, she almost doesn't want to just in case this is one of those fragile dreams that will evaporate with focused acknowledgement. She swallows hard and blinks. The room smells of musty books and wood polish. Emmy is flushed from her nerves and the alcohol. Everything feels very real as though the world has sharpened in Chase's eyes. It is happening, no matter how unbelievable she finds it.

Before she loses the nerve, Chase beckons Emmy closer and reaches up to wrap her hand round the back of her neck. As she moves, her fingers slide through her silky red hair and it is softer than she could have ever imagined. Emmy leans in and Chase pulls her close by the neck, smashing their lips together before Emmy has a chance to come to her senses.

Although Emmy begins kissing her while standing, it does not take long before she moves to straddle Chase while on the chair. The soft weight pinning her down only amplifies the sensation she's being consumed by Emmy. She kisses her hungrily like she's been waiting forever for this and like she's afraid it'll stop. In the whirlwind of events, Chase finds she can't recall the last time she kissed anyone aside from that actress. Was that her first kiss? Is this her second? True memories and recalled fantasies blur in her mind until they become indistinguishable from one another. By the time Emmy pulls away, Chase can't remember whether or not she's a virgin.

The notion should be concerning to her, but when Emmy drags her nails through Chase's hair and smiles deliriously at her, she finds she could not care less.

Candidly, breathlessly, she sighs, "I've been wanting to do that forever."

Emmy hides her face behind her hands and Chase grows bolder without eyes on her, sliding her hands up Emmy's thighs and resting on her hips. A small sliver of her skin is exposed between her top's hem and her waistband. It takes nothing for Chase to slip her fingers there and absorb her warmth. The urge to squeeze her is unreal.

"You're really gorgeous."

Emmy pulls her face from her hands and grins sheepishly down at Chase. "You're not so bad yourself," she says and plants a kiss on Chase's lips.

Someone suddenly knocks on the door and Emmy launches herself from Chase like they're teenagers about to get caught. When the door's assailant peeks inside, Chase's face is burning red and Emmy is shyly looking elsewhere.

"Sorry—" Chase blurts before grabbing Emmy and slinking out of the office.

As they make their way back to the living room, Chase feels as though she is walking on cloud nine. Emmy holds her hand, gripping it tightly as a silent reminder she is still there. Chase does not dare look back at her, just in case she's imagining things.

The night moves on. Chase feeds Emmy a steady supply of drinks just for fun and also to keep her clinging to her. Now that Emmy has openly expressed her feelings with that kiss, Chase has no problem with touching her. When Emmy stands near her, Chase sneakily grabs her waist, experimentally groping her hard enough to make her wince. Despite her discomfort, she never says anything.

Gia is slumped against the wall, nursing another drink, and her eyes are growing more exhausted by the minute. Every once in a while, Chase catches a glimpse of Laura doing some stupid shit. A drink is in her hand—the fifth or sixth, putting her past the point of blacking out. It seems like the laced weed is getting to her. Those gooey gray eyes have gone blank and move erratically. Now is as good of a time as ever.

"I'm gonna go outside with Laura," Chase leans down and murmurs to Emmy. "I think she's about to leave."

Emmy emits a noncommittal noise and her eyes remain glued to the center of the room. Some of the guys are hooking up a console to the T.V. Chase drifts away while Emmy is distracted. When she glances back at Emmy, she disappears in the dining room to attend to Gia.

"Hey man," Chase approaches Laura and jerks her head towards the door. "I have something for you."

It must be hard to hear over the storm raging in her mind on top of the drunken cacophony inside.

"What?" She barks the question and stumbles into Chase. "Dude—I need fuckin' fresh air anyways, let's go."

Chase glances into the dining room. Gia is still drinking and the GHB spiked can is gone, consumed. A flare of premature satisfaction wells up within her and she fights it back. It is too soon.

Emmy stands slightly steadier behind Gia, dragging her baby blue nails across her tense shoulders. Chase smothers a smile. This may be the last time they feel this close. Emmy may not understand it but it doesn't matter—this is not for Emmy to understand.

Once Chase manages to drag Laura outside, she turns and groans.

"What the fuck is wrong with me, man?"

Chase idly paces in the front yard, watching the few other people mill about around the cars. Some of them are going home while others take a page from Chase's playbook and spark up.

"You've drank a lot," Chase remarks without looking at Laura. All of the drugs in her system are doing their jobs.

Laura begins wandering over to the spontaneous parking lot near the tree line. Chase's sedan is parked next to Laura's truck. Emmy's white sedan is on the other side of the lot. As she walks, Laura spins around to face Chase so fast it almost makes her fall over and she asks, "What type of shit did we smoke again?"

The type that's laced with angel dust. Chase shrugs and walks ahead of Laura, guiding her to her car. It is filthy in there but she supposes it is what Gia deserves for being such a bitch and trying to get in between her and Emmy.

"Nothing crazy," Chase finally replies when she reaches her car. "A new strain, I think."

Laura grimaces and Chase mentally runs through the laundry list of side effects likely going on in Laura's drug-addled brain and body. Her extremities are numbing—it will be easier for her to be too violent with Gia and if Chase's intuition is right, Laura will not need much encouragement to rough her up. Judging by how she has acted tonight, she must be feeling that altered, delusional sense of invulnerability. That, combined with the endless drinks Chase has fed her, will be everything she needs to act as the vital pawn to this plan.

"Also—what the fuck were you talking about in there? A surprise?"

Chase unlocks and opens the backseat door. "Get in," she instructs without elaborating. Then, she circles the car and opens the other door. "How do you feel about Gia?"

Laura pinches her brows together and groans. Chase wants to pat herself on the back—she is beyond fucked up.

"She's fine? Isn't she straight?" There is an edge in Laura's voice that wasn't there before and Chase remembers she needs to be careful. The PCP in her system could easily come to bite her in the ass.

Chase snickers and leans back in her seat, stretching out her legs and pushing at the trash on the ground with her shoes.

"That shouldn't stop you," Chase grins and thinks of Emmy. She would have done the same thing if she were straight. "Also, we don't know that for sure. I saw how she was talkin' to you."

Laura thoughtfully hums and drags a hand through her hair. It is getting long, but she has always kept it shaggier than Chase's close cropped style. Her already-droopy, dopey gray eyes are soft and hazy from everything coursing through her veins. She looks featureless within the darkness of Chase's car.

"I feel like all of Emmy's friends are lesbians, honestly. It's like you said—by proximity" Laura slurs merrily and drums her hands against the headrest. Chase stares at her hands. They are wide, thick, and Chase vaguely recalls her mentioning playing sports. Softball or soccer or something. She can probably hit quite hard if she feels like it.

"Even Gia, bro," Chase says and nudges her hard. "You remember those posts, yeah?"

A slow grin stretches across Laura's face. It looks sinister in the low light. "Oh my God—yeah. This is so fucked."

"What is? We're just talking."

Laura shakes her head and crosses her arms. Chase has never noticed how jacked she is. Hopefully, she'll get to catch a glimpse of Gia bloodied up, just to tuck away in her mental bank of satisfying images.

"I don't know, man," Laura huffs and that sly smile still plays upon her lips.

"Don't tell me you haven't been thinking about it."

Laura glances at her and anxiously wrings her hands before cracking her knuckles.

Chase continues, partially because she wants Laura primed and horny for violence, but also because she can't help herself.

"Like—imagine getting her on her knees for you," Chase begins and inches closer. "She's always got that stick up her ass. It's like she's waiting for someone to just come and put her in her place."

Aside from their voices, the only sounds in the car are the soft crinkling of wrappers as Chase moves and the muffled noises coming from outside. Laura pinches between her eyebrows and shakes her head. "She's intense, but she was pretty nice to me."

"It's not about if they're nice or not, it's about knowing what they need."

Laura slowly nods and continues massaging her hands. Each time she runs a hand over the opposite palm, her tendons jump within her forearms and she swallows hard.

"And maybe Gia just needs some good dick."

"I'm not even packing," Laura emits a nervous laugh but the smile doesn't falter from her lips. "But like—TMI, I'm good with my mouth."

Chase rewards her with an affectionate squeeze to the shoulder. It is rock hard under her disgusting band T-shirt. "Yes—turn that pussy inside out with your tongue."

"Jesus," Laura groans and immediately after, flashes Chase one of those panty-dropping smiles.

Chase pokes her in the arm. "Yes, man. Smile at her like that, be nice, and then just take what you want. Put that bitch in her place."

The bitch slips out without Chase meaning to but Laura is too far gone to notice. When Chase looks at her face, she is grinning lazily and her eyes are so distant. She is somewhere else now, carried off by the PCP and taken to some fantasy land populated by bitchy brunettes and all the weed she could ask for.

"Let me go get her," Chase murmurs and jostles Laura's shoulder. No matter how hard she pushes her, Laura doesn't move an inch. "Be ready to just go after it, okay? I'm gonna talk to her too."

"Hell yes," Laura offers Chase a smile and she produces a tiny shooter from her jacket. She shakes it in front of Chase's eyes and says, "I'll pregame while you get her."

Getting Gia turns out to be a more complicated affair than Laura was.

By the time Chase returns to the house, the game has ended and everyone has split off into groups. Some of them are gathered around the T.V. watching someone suck complete ass at Guitar Hero while two groups are congregated in the dining room, one of them devoted to drunkenly trying to clean while the other seems to be content with watching and socializing. Emmy and Gia are separated.

Gia is blessedly alone at the moment and so drunk she wavers where she stands against the wall. Her thin brows are lifted in an odd expression that instantly registers as the I'm trying so hard not to puke face. When Chase slowly saunters up to her, that expression sours into an unattractive lemon-sucking pinched smile. It looks like even drunk, Gia despises Chase.

"Hey," she greets and tries to remain fully in front of Gia to prevent any prying eyes. "I need to talk to you."

When Gia responds, the drug's effects become much clearer. Her tanned, olive skin is shining with a thin layer of sweat despite how cold it is and her eyes are drooping with sudden exhaustion. If the timing and dosage is correct, Gia will only be conscious for another hour at the most.

Gia squints at Chase as though staring at her through a film and slurs, "I don't wanna talk to you—I wanna call a fucking Uber and get as far away from you as possible."

"Hey," Chase puts on her best remorseful face. Her voice dips so low Gia is forced to lean in to hear her. She is so fucked up the slight movement makes her stumble. "C'mon, I think a conversation is overdue."

Gia studies her with a stare that has a bit too much intelligence for her liking. For an absurd moment, Chase wonders if she's been found out despite how careful she's been. Everyone in this house is plastered. No one is looking twice at the pair tucked against the wall.

"Okay—but only because I have something to say to you."

Chase rolls her eyes and begins walking. She's sure Gia does but if this all goes according to plan, she won't ever need to hear whatever bullshit is cooking up in Gia's fried brain.

No one stops them on their way outside and it does not seem like anyone looks at them twice. Good. When Chase exits the front door, she leads Gia away from the porch without saying a word and because she is drunk and not in her right mind, Gia follows without protest. The silence between them only lasts a few moments before the complaints begin.

"What are we even out here for? It's so cold," Gia grumbles and stumbles, nearly pitching face first into the ground. It is a good thing Chase is here to grab her despite how quickly she wrenches herself out of her grasp.

"Uh—let go of me," Gia sighs and wraps her arms protectively around herself.

Despite the winter temperature, Gia is wearing very little and she shivers more with each step towards the car. Miles of legs stick out from her tight denim shorts. Her boots look like the warmest part of her outfit. As they reach Chase's car, she glares daggers into her and throws her hands up.

"What the hell is this about?"

Chase barely understands what she says and steps closer, backing Gia into the car without a second thought. Despite the apparent fear in her eyes, her movements are sluggish and she stumbles against the car.

Chase pinches her brows, feigning concern, and guides Gia to the other side of the car. As she walks, she nearly falls.

"Are you okay?" Chase asks and her voice has the appropriate amount of consideration. "I think you need to sit down for a minute."

Gia shivers violently and for a few moments, Chase seriously wonders if she will vomit, but it passes and she gets in the car. When she settles in her seat and spots Laura, it almost looks like she relaxes, completely unaware of what awaits her the moment Chase leaves.

"Hey," Chase looks pointedly at Laura. "After you're done, get her back in the house, she'll be asleep."

Gia squints at Chase. It takes her words a moment to sink in through the haze of drugs clouding her mind. Even as she absorbs what Chase says, the meaning does not hit her. Laura nods and grins, already eyeing Gia up like a salivating predator. Within the dim light in the car, her face is obscured in shadow and she looks like a wraith lurking over Gia's shoulder. The look on Gia's face is unparalleled.

"You can sleep in my car, I'm going home with Emmy," Chase continues and pats her pocket to ensure her keys are still there, carabiner attached to her belt loop.

Laura's smile grows and when Gia opens her mouth to say something, Chase slams the door in her face.

Before she gets stuck standing at the window and watching everything unfold, Chase forces herself to walk away.

Now that everything is set in motion, it is difficult to not descend into anxious madness while she waits to see if it all is working. Laura was beyond fucked-up when Chase retrieved her from inside. Her vacant eyes and clenching fists, then the excessive drinking. Gia with the killer roofie combo of GHB and alcohol. It all works out nicely. Both Gia and Laura are sufficiently drugged and drunk; memory should not be a problem. Tomorrow morning, Gia will wake up inside the house with no recollection of the night before while Laura will wake in Chase's car in a similar state. This isn't the first time Laura has blacked out and had to crash in Chase's car. Chase glances over her shoulder—she can't resist.

It is impossible to see anything within the car aside from murky silhouettes, but the two are joined for better or worse.

In an attempt to distract herself, Chase ensures the next half hour passes as quickly as possible.

The party is still going despite the late hour and Emmy is beginning to look exhausted. Chase finds her easily, still sitting and watching the T.V. Before she is spotted, Chase looms behind her chair and drags her fingertips across the surface.

"Hey," she leans down and murmurs behind Emmy's ear.

When Emmy turns, she grins widely at Chase.

"Do you think I could drive your car home—Laura had to take mine," Chase says sheepishly.

Emmy looks her up and down. "You wanna drive me home?"

A grin blooms on Chase's face and she nods. "Yeah—if you don't mind."

"Of course I don't."

Minutes crawl by and as time passes, Emmy leans closer and closer to Chase until her head rests on her shoulder. At some point, she takes a deep breath before holding Chase's hand. It feels like they were meant to hold each other like this.

Someone turns the lights off and Emmy lets out a yawn.

"I think you should take me home soon," she says in a way that sounds so trusting it makes Chase's clit swell with need.

"Yeah, okay," she murmurs. "I'm gonna go outside to smoke."

Emmy does not question her.

The night air is still cold in the absolute way that seems to crawl under her skin and chill her bones. Chase really does spark up as she meanders around the front yard. Everyone is still inside or already gone home. It is late enough people are only left behind to sober up or stay the night.

No one bothers Chase when she takes her first few drags and allows the warm and fuzzy feeling to take over her extremities. No one suspected a thing when she went back inside to speak with Emmy. No one has any way of knowing what is going on in Chase's sedan right now.

Speaking of—Chase wanders in that direction, making sure to stick to the shadows as she moves. The sky above is completely dark. No stars visibly shine down through the hazy glow cast by the street lamp and the moon is nothing but a sliver hanging off the side of the horizon. The biting cold soon works its magic and numbs Chase's ears and nose. She hurries to her car and lowers to a crouch.

Although it would look undeniably suspicious, the car is parked alongside the trees and so late at night no one notices when Chase slinks along the side of the sedan. She is completely hidden from view even with the street light shining down. She moves slower than she thought she was capable of and without meaning to, she holds her breath to hear better.

At first, it is difficult to decipher the muffled noises coming from the inside. The car is shaking from the force of whatever is going on inside, but Chase does not want to prematurely look and spoil the surprise. There are the tell tale sounds of fucking. Sharp panting, some distorted, illegible words, and the occasional thud. The curiosity is killing her. Chase remains close to the ground and closes her eyes, imagining how Laura's body dwarfs Gia's slight frame. Gia is likely on the brink of succumbing to unconsciousness, or better yet, she's already gone. All that is left is a lifeless hole Laura can use to expel all her energy.

Finally, Chase carefully, cautiously rises and clings to the side of the car. The street light shines down on the property at the perfect angle and the inside of the backseat is partially visible.

Gia is gone. Her face is right under the window, her mascara running from sweat and tears, while her hands lazily push against Laura's broad chest. Laura's face is concealed by her hanging head and her stringy hair draping down like a curtain. Her arms are braced against the inside of the door and as Chase wordlessly stares on, one of her hands rears back and she slaps Gia so hard her face snaps to the side concerningly fast. Blood wells from a fresh cut on her lip. Gia deliriously wets her lips and her tongue inadvertently laps the blood up.

Despite the GHB threatening to fully pull her under, Gia's lips move slowly, lazily, like she is slowly forgetting how to speak. Although her eyes are open, it does not seem like she is processing anything she sees and as Chase notes this, Laura wraps a meaty hand around her throat and squeezes so hard her forearm bulges with the effort.

Gia's eyes grow wide and for a split second, she glances up at Chase and there is a horrible recognition there. Then, Laura chokes her violently enough it takes her attention and a stream of fresh tears are squeezed from her eyes.

Chase watches apathetically for a few moments. If she feels anything for Gia, it is vague arousal. By the time she reaches Emmy back inside, she is prepared to go and finally take her the way she's been thinking of for months. Chase takes Emmy's keys and leads her to her car. Not once does she look Gia's way.

 

Chapter 9

Notes:

I went freak mode for this one. Sorry it is one william words.

Although Chase would rather do this at her place, she drives Emmy to her house and spends the ride telling her exactly how this is going to happen. The sudden rush of talkativeness takes Chase off guard. It is unlike her—completely uncharacteristic—but it seems now that the floodgates have opened, it is impossible to stop. As she rambles on, Chase is reminded of stories of people going their whole lives without something only to gorge once they are presented with the thing they have been deprived of.

Of course, this is not always the case. Some are wary of the abrupt presence after years of seeking it out—whatever that may be. What if you got your hopes too high and the real thing is nowhere near the fantasized iteration that only exists in your mind?

As she watches Emmy rest her head against the frigid, frosted window, Chase knows this is not the case. This is everything she has ever wanted and even if it were different, Emmy is malleable enough to be whatever Chase wants her to be.

Chase glances at her in the passenger seat. Alcohol still weighs down her head and keeps her mostly silent, only offering the occasional murmured response.

"Don't fall asleep on me," Chase says and turns up the volume on the music.

Emmy grimaces and finally faces Chase. Her eyes do not open when she sighs, "This music sucks."

An irrational wave of irritation curls through Chase. Emmy is still buzzed and exhausted—Chase resolves to cut her some slack.

"We're almost there."

It does not take long to reach Emmy's place and when Chase parks, Emmy immediately stumbles out of the car. Chase rushes to her side and now that they are standing and moving as one, it seems Emmy has relocated that touchiness she displayed earlier.

As her hands move along Chase's arm, she says, "I want you to stay over tonight," and turns away like she has said something profoundly scandalous.

It may be scandalous for someone like Emmy. Chase attempts to put herself back in that stupid puritan mindset her parents so thoroughly instilled in her for so many years as she fumbles with the keys. Not everyone has such an easy time shaking it off. There is something unspoken in the simple request. I want you to stay over—I want you to fuck me, essentially. At least, this is how Chase interprets it.

"I will," Chase eventually answers once they make it inside. "I'll stay with you, I mean." She was going to anyway.

Emmy looks up at her and wraps her arms around Chase's waist before flashing a million-watt smile and slinking off towards her room.

Chase briefly imagines an angel on her shoulder sagely shaking its head and solemnly remarking, It's finally happening, isn't it? Maybe a devil would be more fitting, but the angel is the first thing Chase's mind conjured. Then, she follows.

Emmy does not make her intentions very obvious at first. When Chase enters her room, she is lying on her bed already, but positioned in a casual way. On her back with her hands folded over her chest. It looks a little like she's a body lying within a coffin. There is nothing sexual about it (then again, Chase supposes she could see anything in a sexual light if she really wanted) and Emmy does not look up when Chase approaches. She still wears her jeans and that tight top that shows off her nipples, but she makes no move to strip down.

Aware of how delicate this situation is, Chase awkwardly stands at the side of the bed. It makes her feel a bit like an oversized dog waiting for permission to hop on the bed. She partially does not trust herself to move and is unsure of how to proceed. Maybe Emmy will just succumb to her exhaustion and fall into that unconscious, pliable state helpless to Chase's whims. That would be less than ideal, but it wouldn't be the end of the world.

After more persistent silence and deliberation, Chase sits on the edge of the bed, inches from Emmy's fiery hair.

She asks, "Are you gonna sleep?" and Emmy responds with a shrug.

"Probably not," she says thoughtfully and pointedly avoids meeting Chase's eyes. From this angle, her eyelashes look like they're resting on her face. There is slight discoloration on her eyelid Chase has never noticed before. A birthmark or freckle or something. Chase wonders if she is the only person who has ever noticed. She hopes so.

Chase waits a few long seconds before saying anything else. Emmy's dark eyes finally flick up and meet Chase's. A swell of nerves rushes up from deep within Chase as she stares down at Emmy.

"Do you have anything to drink?"

Emmy nods and stands. Chase does not follow.

The full extent of her cowardice paralyzes her when she compares it to the daring risks she has taken over the past several weeks. She can stalk, manipulate, orchestrate anything she wants from afar. The second she is placed in the same room with her target without the haze of drugs firmly in place, all of her confidence falters. It is hard to believe less than an hour earlier she managed to get those two in the car together.

Chase sits anxiously on Emmy's bed while sounds of clinking liquor bottles echo through the quiet house. There is no music, a strange absence of white noise, and Chase feels entirely alone as she waits. A small part of her wonders if Emmy will suddenly, magically sober up and put all the pieces together. Would she confront Chase before leaving or would she sneak out of the back, leaving Chase to wait until she dries up into a husk?

Emmy does not come yelling and pointing accusing fingers, nor does she quietly leave; instead, she enters the room with a sly smile and an unopened bottle of vodka in her hands. It is some cheap, bottle-shelf shit that will feel like hell on her throat, but it's nothing a little pussy can't fix.

When Emmy sits next to Chase on the edge of the bed, she comes so close her body presses against Chase's arm. Her skin is smooth against her. Emmy wordlessly opens the bottle and drinks it straight up, only grimacing after it's in her system. Chase takes it and swallows, letting those familiar anxieties melt away into the backdrop of her mind.

"Now, can you kiss me?" Emmy grins and narrows her eyes in a challenge.

Chase can't resist her—there is nothing Emmy could ask that she would say no to. Unless she asked to leave. Unthinkable, especially after tonight. Chase resolves to do her so good she won't even think of leaving. Without Gia, without anything holding her back, there is no way Chase can screw this up.

"You're beautiful," she says breathlessly, as though it's the first time she's ever laid eyes on Emmy, then she kisses her.

Chase doubts she will ever get tired of kissing Emmy. Despite her inexperience, she knows what to do with her mouth and sucks on Chase's lower lip. It's sloppy, needy and it does not take long before Chase feels that itch to tear the clothes off of her.

Resisting that urge is an endeavor that grows harder and harder as time goes on. Words slip from Chase without warning or permission. She says, "Let me get all this shit off you."

Emmy grins against Chase's mouth and pulls away, holding her arms up and waiting for Chase to undress her herself.

Chase does not think there has ever been a more perfect girl.

Although it is an indulgence she would usually avoid fueling, Chase slips her fingers under the hem of Emmy's top and slowly pulls it over her head. No bra, glittering rose charm, and heaving, shining chest. It is a little warm here. For Emmy, Chase may very well be a tit guy. They bounce as Emmy positions herself and straddles Chase's lap. Then, they're right in her face, already hard nipples and everything.

"I love these, I think," Chase sighs and presses her lips to Emmy's chest. She spends a moment with her eyes closed and breathes in Emmy's scent.

Pleasant tingles spread from her scalp down her spine when Emmy's fingers thread through her hair. A content sigh escapes her and she cups the side of Emmy's breast before squishing it against her face.

"Yeah you do," Emmy remarks dryly and erupts into a fit of snickering. The motion of her laughter makes her tits jiggle. "Why'd you never say anything?"

Suddenly, Emmy's nipples are far more interesting than whatever she's saying, and Chase manages to avoid responding for several long seconds. Her fingers thoroughly distract Emmy as they pinch and pull and twist her nipples. It does not take long before they have gone from relatively soft, peachy buds to reddened and rubbed raw. Chase dips her head to take one into her mouth and when she does, Emmy rakes her nails down Chase's neck.

"C'mon," Emmy coaxes her and uses the grip on the roots of Chase's hair to pull her away. "I have a better reason—I've never done this."

Being put on the spot like this does not make her bristle like it usually would. Chase just shrugs and candidly answers, "You make me nervous."

"I shouldn't," Emmy says and cups Chase's face. Chase does not think she has ever been held like this. "I mean, you make me nervous."

Chase slowly shakes her head as Emmy continues holding her face. Her thumbs idly caress Chase's high cheekbones. "Why?"

Emmy smiles slowly and wraps her arms around Chase's neck. "I've never met anyone like you. I liked you so much it made me nervous—like, it came on really fast and that's never happened to me."

Chase returns her smile and rests her hands on Emmy's hips, just staying dormant and absorbing the softness there. Eventually, Chase pulls her so close they end up hugging, and Chase tucks her chin on Emmy's shoulder and stares vacantly at the room. Emmy's hands wander, repeatedly traveling from Chase's hair to her shoulders then back, never making any moves to strip her. The lack of pressure is nice and Chase finds herself gradually relaxing into the embrace.

"You've never had a crush before?" Chase asks in a murmur. Everything is very quiet now and she does not want to disrupt it.

Emmy shifts in her arms. She may be shrugging. "Well—I don't know. I've dated guys and stuff before."

"Do you even like guys?"

Emmy momentarily stiffens. Chase can imagine the look on her face. Maybe offended Chase would ask or unnerved by the question.

"I mean—I don't know," she sighs and slumps heavily onto Chase. "No. I don't. But I like you. I really like you."

"I'm not a guy," Chase blurts for no reason.

Emmy pulls away and looks pointedly in her eyes. When Chase gathers the courage to meet her gaze, she does not find anything but vague affection and amusement there.

"I know, but you're not like every other girl, either," Emmy says and takes another drink from the vodka. Their hug made her chest a little sweaty and it gleams in the low light.

"I hope that's okay," Chase says and struggles to speak around her dry mouth. Even now, Emmy makes her unbearably nervous.

Emmy rolls her eyes and playfully smacks Chase's shoulder. "Of course it is. I've been trying to tell you I like that about you. Stop being dumb."

"Oh," Chase says dumbly.

Then, Emmy stops talking and instead takes Chase's face in her hands again, pulling her up to push their lips together. She is warm in Chase's hands—impossibly warm and alive and soft. Her breath tastes of cheap liquor and tacky lip gloss. Chase gorges herself on her, greedily groping her fat hips and sucking on her tongue. Emmy encourages her in every sense of the word, growing limp and pliable whenever Chase grabs her harder. With the force she's using, Emmy may end up bruised tomorrow.

"How's that, baby?" Chase asks in a sigh against Emmy's lips and she is answered with a whine.

"Yeah? You like that?" Chase's fingers dig into Emmy's ass through her tight jeans. "Maybe we should get you out of these."

Emmy hums thoughtfully and wriggles on Chase's lap. "You don't like them?"

Chase rolls her eyes and tries to hide just how severely Emmy's jiggling affects her. Her clit throbs as though it's trying to sabotage her.

"I do," Chase muses and drums her fingers on Emmy's hips. "I just think I'd like what's underneath more."

Emmy covers her mouth and giggles. "Oh my gosh—okay," she says and hurries off of Chase's lap.

Although Chase is eager to see her nude in person for the first time, she is momentarily taken by the sight of her in nothing but her jeans. As though she's reading Chase's thoughts, Emmy turns around, giving her an unobstructed view of her ass as she bends over to pull the jeans off. The sight is a visual feast plucked straight from Chase's wildest fantasies. Emmy remains facing the wall even after discarding her jeans. Her stiff body language radiates nerves and Chase immediately wants to get her on the ground and get inside of her. It may be a good thing she is not packing.

"You wanna turn around for me?"

Chase's voice sounds odd in her ears. She is not that drunk—to remedy that, she takes a swig as she waits for Emmy.

"It's okay—I really like what I see," Chase encourages her and reaches down to rub herself through her pants. The contact makes her abruptly realize how wet she is.

Emmy turns eventually, keeping her eyes to the floor and hair hanging around her shoulders. Chase swallows hard. She does not think she could be more turned on. Emmy tentatively glances up. Her face is tight with unease. She is nervous, desperate for approval and perhaps distantly wondering what possessed her to go through with this, and Chase flashes her a warm smile.

"C'mere," she says and Emmy hesitantly approaches. "You're the hottest girl I've ever seen," Chase murmurs reverently. "I mean that."

Emmy flushes hard and smiles while averting her eyes. "Stop," she whispers.

Chase shakes her head. Seeing Emmy like this—red-faced and horribly flustered—is giving her ideas. What would it take to see this expression with her on her knees, looking up at Chase with her dick laying against her face? The mental image takes her off guard and Emmy reaches for Chase's hair, scratching her nails over her scalp, and the sensation pulls her from the depths of her mind.

"I'm serious," Chase says. "You make me feel crazy as shit."

There is some truth to the statement, so maybe that is why Emmy finally relaxes and allows Chase to pull her down on the bed. It does not take much to get her laid out underneath her. Chase holds herself over Emmy and stares down at her nerve-wracked face.

"Don't be nervous," Chase murmurs. "You ever been eaten out?"

Emmy hides her face and shakes her head. "No—I've never done anything. I told you that."

Chase shrugs and presses a kiss to Emmy's knuckles while she hides behind her hands.

"It's okay," Chase assures her and tires of holding herself up. She drapes herself alongside Emmy's body, absorbing all the warmth and life radiating from her smooth shining skin. Chase would crawl into her if she could. Instead, she says, "You're really beautiful."

Emmy glances at her and smiles, finally not hiding behind her hands. "You're cute," she says bluntly and flushes into a deeper red.

Chase shakes her head in vague disbelief and pushes out a dry laugh. There is nothing to say to that, so she removes her glasses and slowly moves over Emmy's body. She leans down, close enough to drag her lips lightly over Emmy's skin, and she delicately tastes her all the way down to her cunt.

"Can't believe I get to be the first one to eat this," Chase muses, slightly awestruck, and Emmy wriggles happily beneath her.

Emmy's cunt is gorgeous in a way Chase could have never anticipated. It's a good thing she doesn't shave. That embarrassment is palpable despite how wasted she still is and Chase gets to nuzzle her face against her soft cunt and tell her how cute she looks down here. The face Emmy pulls is something straight out of a wet dream. Chase wonders if she's in heaven—or maybe she's done so well she's earned her own cushy place in hell. Regardless, she is having a good time.

Chase travels back up Emmy's body, taking her time and dragging her hands feather-lightly over her heaving, naked chest. Her pretty little tits shine with nervous sweat and Chase can't help but lick it off her. Her taste is salty and a little chemical-ish from whatever lotion she slathered on before going out.

"Can you tell me how much you wanna feel my mouth on your pussy?" Somewhere in the back of her mind, Chase has some sense to feel embarrassed, but the feeling is a distant flicker deep inside her that gets snuffed out the second Emmy's eyes begin to water.

Everything's getting to her. Maybe she's regretting taking those drinks once they came inside. Chase knows how persuasive it can be, so she doesn't hold it against Emmy. Besides, it isn't like she's been drinking for long. It can be difficult to understand your limits in the beginning. It's a good thing Chase is around to help her out.

The thought nearly makes a full-throated cackle tear through her and she poorly covers it with a cough. Emmy looks desperately at her and flushes harder. All that alcohol and her exhaustion and the anxiety around fucking for the first time is getting to her.

It is a little too easy to imagine what Chase could get away with. As she stares vacantly down at Emmy, honed in on her tits but not really processing what she's seeing, she lets her mind wonder. Emmy will be hers. Some day, Chase will come home and have a girl perfectly in tune with her needs—she'll know what to say and how exactly to please Chase. Everything feels fuzzy around the edges—muffled—and when Chase blinks, she opens her eyes to see Emmy's lithe neck in her hands. Chase figures she was moments away from closing her fists around her throat. It is also a little too easy to get carried away.

"Do you want it?" Chase forces herself to stop indulging that train of thought.

Emmy cautiously reaches her hands up to Chase's wrists. Her brown eyes are wide and watery. Chase sees herself reflected there. The fluid swimming on the surface of her eye distorts the image of Chase until she looks like a constantly changing creature from myth. Unnerved, Chase looks away and Emmy returns to the harmless thing she needs to be in her blurry peripheral vision.

"C'mon," Chase murmurs and Emmy reaches higher to thread her fingers through Chase's hair. It really feels like she's being rewarded for whatever reason. "Tell me you want it."

"I do, Chase," Emmy sighs desperately and writhes like a tempting bit of meat rotating above a fire. Chase's mouth waters like she is a piece of meat.

"Do what?"

Emmy pushes out an irritated breath and an airy laugh. "You know—don't make me say it!"

Now is not the time to encourage her, but Chase can't help but idly toy with her tits while she watches her face bloom with embarrassment. It is hard to imagine herself ever tiring of conjuring up different faces on Emmy. A lot of them contain a nice mixture of pure desire and absolute shame. It is eating her alive. Chase knows she has planted the seeds. No matter how this ends, Emmy will forever have Chase under her skin.

"I want you to say it," Chase says and squeezes her breast, holding her pert nipple between her fingers. When she twists it, she continues, "That should be enough of a reason for you. I want you to—so you will."

All while Chase speaks, Emmy nods deliriously, halfway out of her mind from the sharp pain stemming from her pinched nipple.

"Yeah—I do want it. I want you, Chase," Emmy gasps and arches her back, thrusting her chest towards the pain rather than shying away from it. "Not just 'cause you want it—I want it too."

The way Emmy insists this makes Chase's chest tighten with something inexplicable. It leaves her more than a little unnerved and she lowers herself until she's eye level with Emmy's weeping pussy. Before tonight, Chase did not know pussies could ever get this wet. It feels a little unreal and Chase has a hard time separating what she sees from what she wants to see. Everything blurs in her mind and her eyes without her glasses.

"You're so pretty," Chase tells her pussy and leans forward to give it a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

Emmy jerks under her and Chase holds her down by pressing firmly on her thighs. A strangled gasp tears through Emmy and it sounds a little like she's begging more, so Chase indulges her. With how sweet her pussy is, it would not take much encouragement and she enthusiastically pushes her tongue into her cunt. Chase's senses are quickly consumed by Emmy's presence around her. That deep, musky scent and the arousal seeping from her cunt and those soft little noises getting tongue-fucked out of her. Chase's eyes involuntarily close and she laps up everything leaking from Emmy.

Her efforts are rewarded with Emmy's fingers twisting in the roots of her hair, pulling her closer, tugging her in silent encouragement. Praise falls from her lips as Chase sucks on her clit and buries her face in her pussy.

"You're so good," she says and it almost sounds like a sob. Her words are punctuated by a particularly rough pull at Chase's roots. "I'm so—ah, I feel so good."

Chase pulls away and presses a hard kiss to Emmy's swollen clit and snickers when she jerks from the pressure. "Yeah? You like that?"

Emmy melts into the bed and sighs, "Yeah—I can't believe this is happening."

"You want another drink?" Chase wants her to remember this, but a little more won't hurt her.

Emmy mindlessly takes a drink and shudders viciously. "Ugh—it's so bad," she scowls and throws herself back down.

Chase's hands slide over her wide, smooth thighs. They pool a little when she rests them against the bed and Chase busies herself with idly groping them. Emmy gives her a long, lingering look.

"What?" Chase slyly grins at her and squeezes Emmy's thighs. She grabs her hard enough to make a grimace flash across her face.

Emmy shyly asks, "Are you gonna keep going?"

Chase's grin deepens and she nods. "Can you say please?" Messing with Emmy always pays off—this time, her face turns an exceptionally bright shade of red. It is too easy.

"Can you please eat me out?"

The way she asks is so humiliated and turned on Chase immediately sinks lower and gives in to Emmy's request. It happens very quickly and seems to take Emmy off guard. She gasps and bucks her hips, pushing her wet cunt towards Chase's face.

"Oh—thank you," she says, breathless, and Chase is so overcome with affection for her she can't help but sink a finger into her.

Emmy's pussy greedily sucks it in and Chase lavishes her clit in oral attention to reward her. World's Juiciest Pussy award or something. It does not take long before she is loose enough for a second finger and Chase slides another in, curling the two up as she pushes them back inside her. As she rhythmically curls them inside Emmy, she wraps her lips around her clit and sucks while circling it with her tongue. Around her face, Emmy's thighs clench and muffle her ears. Chase's nose is buried in Emmy's pubes and all she processes is her. Whenever she regains the ability to look up, Emmy looks taken aback by the sight unfolding before her.

"Chase—" she whines desperately. She does not need to speak further. Chase knows what she needs.

She pounds her fingers harder into her, curling them faster, sucking rougher. For all her enthusiasm, she only lasts a short while keeping up this brutal pace. Her jaw grows tight and her fingers stutter in their movements. Chase pulls away, breathless and her hand throbbing in time with the pulsing in between her legs.

"Why'd you stop?" Emmy looks deliriously perturbed. "I was close—I think."

This is astoundingly embarrassing. Chase swallows hard and shifts on the bed until her back is against the head board. Emmy remains laying on her back and stares at the ceiling. It feels like she senses Chase's humiliation.

"I—uh—I got tired," Chase says quickly and winces. "I mean—like, my jaw. Can you come here?"

Emmy nods and slowly rolls onto her hands and knees before moving to sit on Chase's lap. Her naked body is smooth and a little ethereal in Chase's eyes.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "I'll make it up to you."

Already, Chase is forgetting her embarrassment and devoting her attention fully to Emmy's body. It is easy to put things out of her mind with the buzz she has and the gorgeous figure on her lap.

"C'mon and grind on me for a bit," Chase insists and Emmy somehow manages to flush harder.

The lights in the room are dim—the only one Chase sees on is a floor lamp tucked in the corner. The warm light casts a golden glow on Emmy's smooth, rounded shoulders and Chase presses a kiss to her feverish skin. Everything she does feels like it happens instinctively. As her mind has fantasized for months, her body has prepared for this moment. Chase takes another drink and the thought begins to make more sense and she snickers.

"Emmy," she whispers. "My thigh."

Emmy looks down and fails to suppress a smile. "Oh," she says.

Emmy's pussy is still sloppy wet and as she mounts Chase's thigh, she leaves a sticky trail of pussy slime on the dark denim. Deliriously, Chase wonders if her jeans will smell of Emmy forever. Maybe if this all goes south, she'll at least still have something to huff.

Emmy braces herself by holding onto Chase's shoulders. It is difficult to ignore how warm her hands are and how thin Chase is under her. A familiar surge of insecurity curls through her and her hands instinctively seek out the discarded vodka. It smells strongly of hand sanitizer—maybe she has had too much. Emmy grimaces when Chase gulps what she assumes is a single shot. Although, two or three more wouldn't be bad for the nerves. Before it tempts her further, Chase tips the cheap liquor into Emmy's mouth.

She was not expecting it. The liquid overflows and spills from her lips and she chokes on it while it burns viciously down her throat. Something similar to shame bubbles up within Chase and rather than acknowledging it, she redirects her eyes and stares pointedly at Emmy's tits.

They are small in her hands—when she moved them up Emmy's jerking body, she couldn't recall—and fill them as though they were molded for one another. Chase brushes her thumbs over her hard nipples, pressing just hard enough to drag over them and make Emmy's breath hitch.

"You wanna make yourself feel good?" Maybe Chase's ego still stings a little from her failed oral attempt.

After that drink, it does not seem like Emmy is concerned with that.

"Yeah, sure," she murmurs her response like a sultry caricature of herself. Maybe this was always under that friendly, innocent girl Chase grew to cherish. All it took was a little alcohol. Some repositioning of people in her life. Chase would have given in much sooner if she predicted Emmy would be like this.

Chase truly believes Emmy has never done this. It is palpable in her unsure movements and wary glances. The way she looks to Chase constantly for guidance. However, it becomes a little hard to believe when Emmy begins swirling her hips in practiced figure eights on Chase's thigh. The sight is something straight out of Chase's porn stash.

"Where'd you learn to move like that?" Chase reverently places her hands on Emmy's rolling hips. She is impossibly soft and pliant underhand.

Emmy smiles coyly and gradually slows her movements until each drawn out thrust feels like hyper-sensitive torture on Chase's throbbing clit. She would do disgusting things for her strap right now.

"I was in dance for a while."

Chase breathlessly echoes, "You were in dance." Sure, what the hell.

"Uh-huh," Emmy sighs and picks up the pace.

Chase kind of wants to slap her ass and tell her to go faster, like she's a dog or livestock, but she instead buries her face against her neck and bites and licks and sucks at anything she finds there. When she presses her tongue down to lave it across her feverish skin, Emmy's heartbeat flutters hummingbird fast. Chase's hands drift lower and hold Emmy's soft waist.

Something about this experience feels like a profound moment. Despite the alcohol and their shared drunken haze, the clumsiness they both exhibit as they hold each other, there is just something so different about Emmy. Chase knows she has done something like this before. Maybe not all the way—but close enough. And she can't recall ever feeling like this in her life. Never with any of those other girls.

As long as Chase has been alive, she has noticed women.

This is not something new—only these strikingly clear feelings cutting through the drug-induced fog in her brain—and Emmy is far from the first. Chase breathes her in as she stakes her claim on Emmy's neck and she finds she smells strongly of jasmine.

It is a similar smell to her childhood home when her mother would keep a bottle in her pocket and dab the oil on her leathery neck. She would always do it before church and she reeked of it every time she barged into Chase's room to make sure she was wearing what mother commanded her to wear.

Chase's childhood youth group leader was a young woman named Shayla. She was single, gorgeous, god-fearing and Chase fell in love with her when she took Chase aside after class to tell her the other kids wouldn't make fun of her glasses forever. They'll find some other stupid stuff to focus on, she solemnly told her before asking if she wanted to go out to get ice cream.

There were other women in the congregation. Chase pulls away from Emmy's neck and observes the mark she has left. This will be obvious—trashy, but good. Emmy will remember this whether she wants to or not. As Chase silently muses and watches Emmy's face as she grinds, all of her fiery red hair reminds her of a specific woman.

Chase can't recall what exactly she did in the church. Truthfully, Chase did not pay attention ninety percent of the time she was there. Her thoughts always honed in on the ridiculous dress of the week and the garish makeup slathered over her furious acne and the brand new dorky shithead glasses perched on her nose. But this woman always checked in on Chase when she went quiet for weeks at a time. Her name evades Chase—Linda Janice Tanya Karen Suzanne—does it matter? Emmy is right here. Chase forgets them and gropes Emmy's chest so hard she thrashes from Chase's grip. Her breasts are rubbed red and raw from all the harsh treatment but she makes no complaint.

"Is this your first time too?"

The question takes Chase completely off guard. Her face flames red and she knows her silence is only making her look more suspicious.

Is it?

Trying to remember anything before her is impossible. Why would it matter? She needs to live in the present and appreciate the gorgeous rack in front of her. Before Emmy has a chance to keep questioning her, Chase leans down and takes a nipple into her mouth, sucking it between her lips and just barely grazing her teeth across the surface.

"Hey—Chasey?"

Emmy's voice is a flare in the darkness and Chase looks up at her, only just now noticing how watery her eyes are. Everything is already blurry from her discarded glasses, and now she's tearing up? It is so ridiculous Chase would laugh if she weren't so unnerved.

"What?"

Emmy pinches her brows together and stops grinding. Her breath comes a little heavier—Chase takes this as her chance to flip Emmy on her back and give her some much needed princess treatment. As Chase peppers chaste kisses down Emmy's bruised chest, Emmy's hands find their way into Chase's hair and she squeezes at the roots. Some terrible, embarrassing sound tears through Chase and she groans against Emmy's slick skin. Salt—the scent and taste—invades her bombarded, overloaded senses. Chase pulls away and grinds down on Emmy, waiting for her face to start loosening up.

"Can you answer me?" Emmy says breathlessly—now it is more of an insistence than a request.

Chase swallows hard. Her mouth has abruptly gone dry and a raspy laugh escapes her.

"Yeah—yes," Chase says and averts her eyes. It is too hard to remember at the moment, but it feels like the right answer. She partied way too hard in her freshman and sophomore years. Her brain is probably Swiss cheese after all of that. If she's lucky, she will only have a few months to continue living and suffering after what may shape up to be a monumental fumble.

Emmy shrugs under Chase. "So, I'm in good hands?" Then, she grins and snickers like she's the funniest person on the planet, and Chase would honestly have to agree, and then she finds she can't resist her now and she leans into Emmy's neck and asks, "Do you wanna go to my place so I can really fuck you?"

Emmy grows stiff for a moment under her. It happens so quickly Chase easily believes it does not happen. Then, she nods and smiles softly.

---

It turns out Chase is more inebriated than she thought and by the time Emmy drags on her clothes, Chase realizes she needs to chill for a while.

"Okay," Emmy says and smiles. Chase wonders what it would take to irritate her. Until meeting Emmy, Chase figured she must be repulsive judging by the way people have treated her in the past.

Chase relaxes on Emmy's couch while the redhead goes into the kitchen. She's drinking more. Chase does not make any moves to stop her. Instead, she tips her head back and stares up at the ceiling. Some unease lingers. It is hard to believe this is happening. She has had daydreams so vivid they have seemed more than real. Maybe this is one of those times.

Emmy returns, wavering unsteadily on her feet like a foal learning its gait.

"Hey, Chasey," she greets and throws herself on Chase's lap.

It elicits a snicker from Chase and she pats Emmy's ass. Those jeans feel like they're painted on.

"What is it?"

Emmy smiles coyly and shrugs. One of her hands nervously toys with the rose charm on her necklace. The anxious habit makes her feel more real to Chase—this really is happening.

"I dunno," Emmy slurs and pushes the red mass of her hair over her shoulder. "You're really cute, I guess."

Chase rolls her eyes to cover how flustered that makes her. "You guess?"

Emmy playfully slaps her. It's nothing—barely hard enough to be more than a brief caress.

It makes Chase's cheek buzz with a pins and needles sensation. Everything feels more sensitive and although they need to leave, Chase wants to sit here until she talks Emmy into letting her really slap her.

"Don't we have to go?" Emmy asks as though she isn't the one responsible for the hold up.

Chase gently pushes Emmy off of her lap and stands. She is sober enough.

When she walks into the frigid night air, Emmy follows closely, already clinging to Chase's arm. It makes her want to puff up with pride and she keeps it at bay to retain that feigned nonchalance. It has been working so far, she sees no reason to drop the facade now. Besides, Emmy is freshly tipsy and honing in on everything Chase does.

In any other situation, Chase despises feeling this sort of heightened attention on herself, but this is Emmy and her eyes leave a pleasant tingling in their wake.

When they get to Emmy's sedan, Chase opens the passenger door for Emmy and closes it for her. As she circles the front of her car, she sees Emmy smiling inside. The sight puts an odd warmth in her chest and she thinks nothing of it as she sits in the driver's side.

Emmy presents a hoodie from the backseat as Chase slips the key in the ignition and puts on her playlist for the short ride over.

"When did you steal that?" Chase is not complaining—it looks good on her.

"A while ago," Emmy answers vaguely.

Emmy happily sighs when the heater begins working its magic and Chase backs out of Emmy's driveway.

It is impossibly late now. No one shares the road with her tonight and the cold night air is eerily silent. The soft music bumping in her speakers does little to lift her general sense of unease. Emmy seems oblivious, content to stare blankly out the window at the quiet landscape.

Chase watches her. All of that flaming red hair falls gently over her shoulders. Although that hoodie probably spent months crumpled in her backpack or backseat, Emmy relaxes into it. She may have washed it when she stole it and it is difficult to discern whether or not that is worse than her just wearing it unwashed. Chase wonders if she's making things up—all this time, was she as repulsive as everyone made her believe?

"Sorry," she says reflexively and gestures to the hoodie when Emmy shoots her a confused look. "It was probably buried under all my shit before you took it."

Emmy shakes her head. "It's fine," she says and pushes out a dry laugh. "I get cold easily and it's warm."

Chase gives her a long look and turns onto her street. "Right," she says and shrugs the strange feeling she gets off.

When she pulls into her usual parking spot and shuts the car off, the world feels impossibly silent. As they remain in the car, the windows quickly begin to fog up and Chase looks at Emmy's face to watch her reactions.

"You ready to head in?"

Emmy nods and a wry smile flashes across her face.

Chase gets out and circles the car to open the door for Emmy. As she gets out of the car, her face is lit up with a smile she struggles to suppress just like the first time.

Silently, Chase leads Emmy up the stairs to her second-floor apartment. When she stands in front of her door, she fumbles with her keys and Emmy trails her hands lightly over Chase's back.

"I wanna kiss you again," she insists and tugs at Chase's shirt.

A breathless laugh escapes Chase and she finally gets the key in the hole and turns. "Hold on, baby."

Life has always been a little messy for Chase. None of her rooms throughout her childhood were ever clean and the habit carried over into adulthood and her first apartment on her own. Although it is something she has long grown used to and even found some comfort in, she still has the capacity to be vaguely embarrassed as Emmy shuffles through the front door.

Boxes that are still unpacked—even months after moving in—are piled near the entrance. All of the alcohol is finally beginning to dissipate and if Chase does not act fast, Emmy will come to her senses and realize how ridiculous this all is.

Chase follows her into the dark apartment with a knot in her throat. What if Emmy only kissed her because she was drunk? When she attempts to gather the courage to ask, the words die in Chase's throat and she finds herself silently staring at the back of Emmy's head.

"You want anything to drink?" Distantly, Chase figures she should be worried about overdoing it. Alcohol poisoning is a bitch and the last thing she needs is a body on her hands.

Emmy glances over her shoulder and wryly grins. "What? Are you trying to get me drunk again?"

"So you're not drunk?"

That gets her an eye roll but no answer. Chase bites her tongue and leads Emmy directly to her room, bypassing the musty living room and the cluttered kitchen.

Emmy looks like a pristine angel blessing Chase's cesspool of a room. Chase instantly knows she should have cleaned—Emmy's eyes narrow as she takes in her surroundings. The overhead light is off, so all of the light comes from LED strips positioned around her ceiling. Chase does not have a bed frame—she has never seen the point—so her bed is a full-sized mattress on the floor and Emmy sits on the edge of it.

Despite how off putting the scenery likely is, she kindly keeps her mouth shut and stares teasingly up at Chase.

"I thought we were here for something else," she says coyly and stretches out along the bed.

Chase feels a grin pull at her lips and she goes to her desk to dig through the over-filled drawers. When Emmy moves, Chase tells her, "Just keep sitting and lookin' pretty, I wanna smoke," without looking over her shoulder and the movement ceases.

Although the temptation is unlike anything Chase has felt before, she forces herself to remain composed and facing away as she locates her stash of shittily rolled joints. Just the vision of Emmy's body laying on her bed is enough to make her hands tremble in anticipation. It takes an embarrassing amount of time for her to light the joint and once she sucks down the first hit, she feels slightly more prepared to turn.

When she finally does and goes to her desk chair, Emmy holds her gaze with her heavy lidded eyes and she grins when she takes in whatever stupid face Chase is pulling. While Chase was turned, she flipped onto her stomach and now her tits press into the mattress and her long legs kick in the air behind her. That look on her face makes Chase want to tear her open until she's sobbing and can't recall what she was smiling about.

Instead of doing something drastic like that, Chase melts into the chair and takes a long, thoughtful hit.

"You look good," she says candidly and watches the smoke curl in the air. The LED lights are set to a blueish white that casts Emmy in an ethereal glow.

When Chase hands her the joint, she stares at it apprehensively.

"What? Don't tell me you're scared of a little weed," Chase snickers and watches Emmy's face twist in conflict. "It'll feel so good."

If there ever was a voice of reason advising Chase against things like this, it is quiet now and nothing stops her from leaning in and upping the pressure. Emmy rolls onto her back like a good dog and Chase figures she is probably higher than she thought she would be. Oh well, it's too late to do anything about that now and besides, there is no way she would leave Emmy while she looks like this.

Emmy studies the joint and as she thinks, the cherry slowly burns and eats away at the paper.

"C'mon," Chase coaxes her gently. "Take a hit or hand it back to me, baby."

Emmy blinks as though snapping from a trance and gives the joint back to Chase.

Chase takes it and inhales deeply. Emmy will succumb sooner or later. It does not matter if it is tonight or not—Chase will have her. She has come so far it does not make sense to stop now.

Instead of explaining what she expects from her, Chase remains silent as she nurses her joint. Discomfort slowly sets in Emmy's expression and Chase is flying too high to feel anything other than a distant, dwindling concern for her.

"Are you nervous?" Fuck—she really is too high.

Emmy pinches her brows together and sits cross legged on the mattress. Despite the obvious unease, she removes her shoes and yawns. She must not be that scared. The joint has burned to the filter and Chase extinguishes it in an ashtray before sinking to her knees and going to the side of the bed.

"You shouldn't be nervous," she murmurs and gazes up at Emmy. Her eyes burn and she already knows she looks like shit, but Emmy's face softens and a light flush graces her cheeks. She is so easy—Chase pulls her onto her lap and wraps her arms tightly around her waist while burying her face in her neck. For a few long moments, it feels like they have existed in this position forever, and when Chase pulls away, she sets her glasses on the desk.

"I've never done this," Emmy says and swallows hard.

Her wide dark eyes look like pits when Chase doesn't have her glasses on.

"I know, it's okay," Chase assures her and tucks her face back into the crux connecting Emmy's shoulder and neck. It feels like she fits perfectly there.

"I'm glad it's with you," Emmy says almost too quietly to hear.

Some emotion bubbles up from within Chase. It is difficult to place. Affection, possession, obsession. Something along those lines.

Suddenly, she says, "You'll never fuck around with anyone else again, okay?"

The second she lets the words slip from her lips, Chase regrets them. That is something some toxic, shitty man would say but as much as it disgusts her, it also feels right. Abruptly, she finds she does need Emmy to say this. She needs it like oxygen.

"C'mon," she coaxes her gently but firmly, all while drumming her fingers impatiently on Emmy's hips.

A complicated expression passes over Emmy's face. Complicated as in, it is wrecked with conflict and Chase clearly makes out two opposing frames of thought. Does she give herself over to Chase so easily? Thousands of thoughts flash through her eyes as she gazes vacantly down at Chase and they are not difficult to imagine. You barely know her, remember what Gia showed you, how can you trust her, every time you drink around her, you can't remember anything.

But Chase is holding her like she's something to be placed high on a shelf and displayed. Although she can't make out much without her glasses, she knows the effect all this contact has on Emmy. It comes through in the way she begins to melt into Chase's embrace and the soft sigh that escapes her.

"I won't," Emmy breathes. "You're the only one I've ever wanted like this."

The candor in her face when she admits this takes Chase's breath away. She holds her tighter and moves over her, pressing her into the bed and kissing her like she's never tasted her before.

"I'm serious," Emmy continues while on her back and struggling to catch her breath between Chase kissing her.

"I know," Chase murmurs against her skin and finally pulls away. Her hands itch for another joint and she idly rubs herself through her jeans while she reaches over Emmy for one. "You're being so honest with me—I appreciate it."

Chase lights the joint and as the cherry flares in the dim light, Emmy's eyes lock in on it. The bright embers reflect in her dark eyes.

"You wanna hit it?" Chase inhales deeply and blows the smoke above Emmy's head, watching it lazily curl in the stagnant air.

Emmy seems to seriously consider it for a moment before nervously giggling. "Maybe—I don't know."

The higher she gets, the less patient she is. The way Emmy looks is doing nothing to help her. Her eyes are watery from the smoke and her lips are swollen from their kissing. Dark exhaustion rings her eyes and she can't wriggle out from under Chase. Chase resolves to someday find a way to keep her like this forever—nervous, horny, obedient. It's a good look on her.

"It's okay," Chase manages to say without outright pressuring her into taking a hit. The joint dangles from her fingers as she leans in to give Emmy a sloppy, open-mouthed weed flavored kiss.

Emmy immediately opens up with a little sucking to her bottom lip. Chase pushes her tongue between Emmy's teeth, invading her mouth and swirling against Emmy's tongue. If she weren't so high, all of the saliva would disgust her, but it's hard to think of anything other than the wet mouth gaping open for her. It would be a shame to pass this up. As she traces her tongue along Emmy's teeth, she cups her face and pulls her deeper, tilting their faces together so their lips slot against the other's. Someone begins desperately grinding—it's probably Chase—and Emmy whines into Chase's mouth.

When Chase pulls away, she takes a long, indulgent drag right in front of Emmy's face. Those big baby browns are trained on her lips the entire time. As Chase prepares to exhale, Emmy's lips part and she looks at the joint with anticipation. When Chase exhales, she does it in Emmy's mouth and tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. Emmy breathes it all in and Chase bites down a little harder.

"Okay," Emmy swallows hard and pulls away. Chase's teeth left a divot in her lip. "I'll do it."

"It'll be a little different than that," Chase says and Emmy shrugs.

"That's okay, I kinda figured," she says, smiling, and takes the joint from Chase.

The hit she takes is shallow, but she still almost hacks up a lung after exhaling. Everything is a little hilarious right now and a harsh, rasping cackle tears through her as she watches Emmy take a second, somehow clumsier hit.

"Give that shit back to me," Chase snickers and grabs it to finish it off.

Emmy's tolerance is ridiculously low. After a few more hits, her eyes are a hazy, watery red and she hides her mouth behind her face almost constantly to hide how much she's laughing. Chase feels her inching closer every second. She feels it too. The weed is drawing a lot of attention to the fact neither of them have gotten off yet. Chase is suddenly determined to change that.

"Chase," Emmy snaps in her face to get her attention and like a dog, it works.

"What?" Chase can't keep that lift of amusement from her voice. Her glasses are gone, she's baked, and there's a hot girl in her bed. Life is fucking beautiful.

Emmy wets her lips and a slow smile spreads across her flushed face. "Do you wanna fuck me?"

Chase grins and nods, feeling a little stupid and horny, a slave to her demanding clit, and she stands. After a moment of faded inspiration, Chase sits on her office chair and rolls it over to her stash. She lights another joint while Emmy remains on the bed.

This is exactly what she needed. All this time, all the unpleasant behavior and whatnot, could have been resolved with a little pussy. If only her parents knew that.

Chase sucks down a drag and asks, "So, what would you do for me?"

Emmy shoots Chase a confused look and shrugs. "I don't know—what do you mean? Like, for what?"

Chase pretends to think about it and fights the urge to rub herself. "What would you do to get me to fuck you?"

Emmy smiles. "Whatever you want."

It's a stupid, inexperienced thing to say, but it isn't like Emmy needs to know that.

"Okay," Chase thoughtfully muses and takes another hit. "Take this for me," she says and hands Emmy the joint, "You can handle some more, can't you? I think it'll be a lot more fun if you're flyin'."

Before she has a chance to think about it, Emmy takes the joint and hits it. This time, it goes down a little smoother.

A few minutes go by and Chase continuously asks Emmy to get higher and higher, and then she slumps against the bed and hands the joint back. Chase did not tell her to stop, but this is their first time—there will be other opportunities to set her straight.

Chase finishes off the joint and stares down at Emmy. Somehow, she is still clothed.

"Take your clothes off," she says and Emmy immediately obeys without protest.

There is a certain eagerness in her movements. She wants to please Chase, maybe she needs it, and she is nude in record time. If there are any nerves left in her, they have been thoroughly smothered by the weed.

"How do you feel?" Chase is used to getting cooked like this, Emmy clearly is not. If Chase were more sober, she would have been more careful. The last thing she needs is Emmy greening out when she's so close.

Emmy shrugs and her hands slowly travel down the front of her body. "Good—like, tingly. I can feel everything touching me right now."

"Do you want me to touch you?"

Emmy flushes hard and averts her eyes, somehow still shy after everything. She paints an unforgettable picture on Chase's plaid covers and the dull surroundings of the room. Her hair flows softly over her shoulders in an attempt to cover her chest, but it isn't quite long enough and Chase still stares openly at her tits.

The staring must be getting to her. Chase has to repeat her question before Emmy hurriedly says, "Yes," and lays down on the mattress.

Chase takes her sweet time despite her clit throbbing mercilessly. It is worth the small torture to see the desperate faces Emmy pulls. Chase nearly gives in and rushes to her, but she manages to keep herself restrained. It is as much a test for herself as it is one for Emmy. Both of them pass and Chase eventually gets to her destination.

This drawer has been collecting dust for years ever since she started collecting these around sixteen. It started with shoplifting things from places like Spencer's and then once she got a job, online stores. In more desperate times, she would steal them from her friends' homes. Over the years she has amassed quite the collection of dildos, vibrators, wands, ropes, cuffs, and plugs. After some unenthusiastic experimentation, Chase realized she would much rather use these tools on someone else. It took long enough, but her someone is here.

Without turning to face Emmy, she asks, "What do you want?"

There is some shuffling as Emmy nervously squirms on the mattress. "I don't know—nothing crazy," she says and laughs.

Chase snickers to herself and digs through the layer of thick dicks to get to something reasonable. At some point, she will split Emmy open on one of her bigger toys whether she wants it or not. Any consequences would be worth seeing the look on her face as she's speared open from the cunt.

After some digging and deliberation, Chase locates an average sized flesh-toned dick and her harness. When she pulls the harness in place over her jeans, Emmy declines to comment. The unquestioning acceptance unnerves Chase. Curiosity is normal—it's expected. Maybe she's so inexperienced she thinks this is normal. Has she ever seen porn?

When the dick is adjusted in the harness, Chase turns and awkwardly presents herself for Emmy's appraisal. Remaining clothed during this feels a little ridiculous, but she only manages to strip her jacket before that familiar discomfort rears its ugly head. Emmy's eyes linger on her. Chase wears a tight black shirt, dark jeans, and a fake dick jutting proudly from her hips. Emmy wears nothing. Without her glasses, Chase finds it impossible to see the expression she wears. Distantly, she hopes she likes what she sees.

"Can you come here?"

Chase thickly swallows and nods before approaching. An odd wave of nerves washes over her and her hand anxiously, instinctively wraps around her dick like it's always been there.

When she hovers over Emmy, she finds herself taken by her dark eyes. In the sunlight, they appear amber from certain angles and in the dim light of this room, they are a smooth, uniform black. It pierces Chase and she kisses her hungrily. Emmy's naked body thrusts against her and her soft arms circle around Chase's shoulders. Some terrible, embarrassing noises escape her and she pulls away to meet Emmy's eyes. Between her legs, her dick pushes against Emmy's cunt.

"Open up," she murmurs and holds Emmy's black stare. "You gotta spread your legs, baby."

Emmy swallows hard and pets Chase's hair. "Can you be careful with me?" Her voice is a little shaky when she asks. This request takes a lot of courage.

It isn't her style or what she wants, but this is Emmy's first time and Chase understands how precarious everything really is. So far, she has somehow done everything right and Emmy's eating out of her hand. Everything could change with the wrong words spoken at the wrong time, a look, a motion, anything, and Chase knows she treads dangerous waters.

"Okay."

Chase agrees to do it to her nice and slow.

Truthfully, Emmy should get fucked like she's Chase's property—thoroughly and hard enough to leave a lasting fear in her mind.

Like it's your first time too, Emmy says solemnly and Chase sagely nods only because she desperately wants to claim Emmy's guts.

As she stares down at Emmy set against the grimy backdrop of her covers, a surge of unease strikes Chase in her core. She paints a nice picture beneath Chase. Red hair fanning out across the pale gray sheets and wide brown eyes more expressive than any Chase has ever seen. The weed has worked its magic and the whites of her eyes are hazy with a red tinge around the edges. All of the dusty red making up her coloring complements her watery eyes. If nothing else, she is a sight to behold.

"I'm nervous," Emmy breathes and quickly looks down.

Chase follows her gaze and stares at her dick hanging between her legs. One of her hands is tucked down there to help guide things in the right direction while the other arm burns as it holds Chase up.

Discerning the difference between real memories and the horrifying slop offered up in her dreams is becoming increasingly difficult.

In her mind, she has already fucked Emmy a million different ways. On her back, bent over a desk, in the car, outside, upside down, inside out, what have you. The real thing is jarringly different from her imagination and not in a bad way, though Chase is not so dull she voices that thought.

"It's okay," Chase shushes Emmy's anxious protests and gently guides her dick to Emmy's drenched pussy. "You're all pent-up, huh?"

Emmy's face flames red and when Chase presses her dickhead to Emmy's hole, her brows shoot up and her mouth falls open.

"Yeah," Chase groans and shallowly thrusts, barely pushing the head of her dick in before pulling back. Emmy's tight cunt greedily sucks her in and Chase feels resistance each time she pulls back. "You just needed some dick."

If Emmy has anything to say about how Chase is talking, she doesn't say, and Chase finds herself unable to stop. It's a little embarrassing in the way that subtly cuts through the pleasant haze left from the weed, so she hides her face against Emmy's slick neck.

"You want some more?" Truthfully, Chase wants to plow into her with enough force to grind her clit against the base of the harness, but she doesn't want to overdo it.

Emmy emits a strangled little groan as Chase grinds her hips forward. With each thrust, her dick reaches a little deeper. It will not be long before her full length is tucked within Emmy's cunt. It then strikes her that this really is the first time anyone has ever fucked this pussy. The thought hits her cooked brain like a jolt of electricity and she pulls away before pushing her cock as deep as it will go.

A cry escapes Emmy's throat and she covers her face with her arms. It does nothing—Chase still sees how brightly she blushes and hears the ashamed gasps of pleasure tear through her.

"Hey, look at me when I'm fucking you," Chase snaps and barks out a dry laugh. Maybe she's too far gone—does it matter? When Emmy meets her eyes, they're watery and hazy red from the weed.

"That's my girl," Chase murmurs approvingly and picks Emmy's legs up, groping her thighs where she holds them tightly against her chest.

Despite the obvious unease in Emmy's eyes, she still relaxes and keeps her legs hanging over Chase's shoulders. To reward her, Chase smoothly pumps her dick in and out of her sloppy cunt. Emmy is so wet it feels like she's fucking in the water. At first, she indulges Emmy's request and takes it slowly, firmly pushing into her without exceeding a gentle pace. It does not take long before Chase tires of this.

"You're so gorgeous," she sighs and leans down to kiss Emmy. At this point, her mouth constantly gapes open and she can't hold back the sounds spilling from her. Most of them are suppressed while some erupt from her like they've been lying dormant for years. "Do you wanna feel good baby?"

"I already do," Emmy breathes happily and cups Chase's face.

A surge of affection overwhelms her and Chase abruptly snaps her hips into Emmy with no warnings. She goes harder than she has dared to all night and Emmy gasps with a genuine streak of fear in her tone. Chase does not find it within herself to stop and the gasp encourages her to go harder, faster, holding Emmy's legs open and over her shoulders so she can drill into her as deep as possible. This is how she's meant to be fucked. Maybe this is hard enough she'll forget her dreams of soft love-making or whatever the fuck she's been conditioned to expect.

Chase pulls away from Emmy's face. "Look at me," she says and leaves no room in her tone for disobedience. She would not do anything, but she needs to see how Emmy responds. Her clit demands it.

The look she gets in response is so open and torn with conflict it gets etched in Chase's memory forever. She nearly grabs her glasses just to make it out better before Emmy sniffles.

Chase slows and reaches between her legs to toy with her swollen clit. That draws another gasp from Emmy and Chase slowly nods.

"It's good, isn't it?"

Emmy nods slowly and rolls her hips against Chase's rhythmic thrusting. Her clit is so hard under Chase's fingers it feels like it's pulsing. Tears flow freely down Emmy's cheeks and Chase reaches for her to wipe them.

"You're okay."

"Yeah," Emmy murmurs and when Chase angles her hips a little higher and pressing down with the right amount of pressure on her clit, Emmy cums with a quiet shudder and clamps down on Chase's dick, immobilizing her.

The moment Chase can pull out of her, she does, and Emmy shivers when the dick slides from her cunt. After staring down at it, sticking from between her legs and shining with Emmy's juices, Chase removes the harness and sits on the edge of the mattress.

Chase stands after a few long and silent minutes pass uninterrupted. Some unease lingers but quickly dissipates as she stares down at Emmy's unmoving body.

She could be asleep. The thought of that is almost as exciting as it is irritating. Chase just came, but she is tempted by the possibility of having Emmy's lifeless body at her disposal. It is easy to rationalize when she considers how completely she would like to have Emmy. If she can fuck her awake, why wouldn't she fuck her unconscious?

Then, Emmy stirs and gazes pitifully up at Chase. Her eyes are still ringed with red and her lids are sticky with tears.

"Hey," Chase regains control of herself and immediately goes to the bedside. "Was that a lot?"

Emmy nods and scoots into a sitting position. The time has passed, but Chase can't help herself and stares openly at Emmy's naked body. Seeing her in a nonsexual light (more or less) is just as arousing as it is otherwise. Chase feels her mouth run dry and wonders distantly if her refractory period has shortened purely from this experience.

Knowing what to do next is impossible, but crucial. If she doesn't want to permanently scare Emmy off, she needs to provide good care. It feels like it should be common sense but Chase finds herself stumbling for the right words.

Eventually, Chase asks, "Do you wanna shower?" and Emmy nods.

Chase has to lead her to the bathroom and watching her total reliance does something odd to her stomach. Those must be butterflies.

Emmy continues to rely on Chase as they stand in the bathroom. Chase keeps her held up and she gently coaxes her into sitting on the closed toilet while she gathers the courage to strip down. It is less than ideal, but she does not want to look like a freak or something. During all of this, Emmy has proven herself to be trustworthy on this front.

"Don't touch my junk," Chase says quickly and looks away before she sees what face Emmy makes in response.

Instead of the reaction she expected, Emmy just says, "Okay," and smiles contentedly.

Chase tries to stifle how much the simple agreement affects her and she pulls her shirt over her head. She feels Emmy looking. Despite the immediate discomfort, Chase does not see anything but vague curiosity and lingering arousal when she meets Emmy's eyes.

"Hi," she says and grins. Chase rolls her eyes and returns the smile before stepping out of her jeans and slipping her boxers off.

"C'mon, let's get in," she says and goes to lift Emmy before she has a chance to comment on Chase's body.

The bathroom is probably the cleanest space in Chase's apartment and she could not be more grateful for her consistent upkeep. Emmy hugs Chase and rests her head against her chest.

Although Chase is taken by the sight, she leans down and whispers, "I gotta turn the water on."

Emmy groans and Chase continues, "It'll feel good. I promise."

Emmy reluctantly parts from Chase and allows her to turn the water on. The spray is initially cold and slams on Chase's back. She shields Emmy from the frigid water and she is rewarded by Emmy kissing lazy paths along her chest. Her lips never travel far past her collar bone.

Once the water warms, Chase guides Emmy under the spray and lets her hands wander aimlessly over her slick skin. Her eyes are closed and she lets out a content sigh. That blissful look of satisfaction only deepens once Chase begins lathering the shampoo into her roots. Some inane thought strikes her: Emmy will smell like her tomorrow morning. Chase will get to wake up with her in her arms. They will share a scent.

Chase takes her time working the foamy shampoo into Emmy's hair as she muses over the night. It is probably close to five in the morning now. Sleeping in is inevitable. Chase prays Emmy will remember as much of tonight as possible.

"How's that feel?" Chase begins rinsing the lather from Emmy's hair.

Emmy hums. "It's nice. I'm really sleepy though."

Chase huffs out a dry laugh. "I bet. Me too."

"Sorry I kept you up so late," Emmy apologizes and wraps her arms around Chase. "I'm gonna have to sleep over."

"I know—I want you to," Chase says and leaves out the part where she wants Emmy to stay over forever.

Exhaustion paints each word they say, yet Chase still can't help but feel this is one of the most honest conversations she's had with Emmy—let alone anyone. The shower stall is cramped and forces Chase to stand close to Emmy. Personal space is out of the question. Steam fills the bathroom and Chase turns the heat up. Emmy sinks further onto her and it feels a little like she's trying to be absorbed into Chase's skin. The heat only heightens the sensation.

Then, Chase rubs soap between her hands and a washcloth until it's foamy, and she cleans Emmy from her neck to her feet, taking her time around her chest and her pussy. When she gets there, Chase kneels and gently spreads Emmy's cunt. If it embarrasses her to be so suddenly exposed and so crudely, she does not comment on it. Chase glances up. Emmy's face is unreadable. There may be an encouraging light in her eyes—but then again, Chase could be making it up.

"Just cleanin' you up," Chase remarks uselessly and gingerly washes the outside of Emmy's cunt. It looks swollen and rubbed raw from earlier. Chase is forced to be a little extra careful and when she drags the rough cloth over Emmy's clit, she winces and sighs.

Emmy holds her close once Chase stands to rinse her off. The touchiness and reliance is so new Chase almost does not know what to do with it. She is grateful, of course, and it is not too unlike the neediness Emmy has exhibited while drunk. This is a different flavor of it, all at once more exaggerated and unreadable. If all it takes is a little fucking to coax this out of her, Chase will give it to her however she wants whenever she wants.

"I can give you some clothes to borrow," Chase says to indicate it's time to leave the shower and Emmy squeezes her.

"Okay," she says and pulls away so Chase can turn the faucet off and grab towels.

When she exits the shower alone, Chase feels as though she is in a trance. Some part of herself refuses to believe this is happening. That is some self-sabotaging sliver of herself remaining even after all of this. It insists that she is repeating the pattern that fucked her over the first time. Chase grabs Emmy a towel and pats herself dry before handing it off.

Emmy looks exceptionally vibrant despite the exhaustion oozing from her slumped posture and tired eyes. When she is sufficiently wrapped in her towel, she pointedly yawns Chase's way until Chase scrambles off to locate some clothes.

The late hour is catching up to her. Her head begins to throb as she unearths an old T-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants for Emmy. A part of her hopes Emmy ends up stealing them. The sight of her in Chase's clothes would make the loss well worth it.

Chase throws on the first things she finds on her floor, too exhausted to search in depth.

Emmy dresses herself as Chase lays out everything she thinks Emmy will need. Toothbrush, hair brush, Ibuprofen. All of the tools and products are brand new—Chase has had them tucked away for a time like this. Maybe she's just blowing smoke out her ass, but it feels like what she should do. Emmy meets her eyes and smiles appreciatively before diving into a night time routine. However, Emmy's lack of experience means Chase could really do whatever she wanted and pass it off as normal behavior. There is no one left to warn Emmy.

It is tempting but Chase resolves to continue playing nice, at least for tonight. A little restraint will go a long way.

Neither of them speak and it increasingly feels like they're together, going through the domestic motions like it's their hundredth time doing this.

"Are you tired?"

It is stupid and obvious, but Chase wants to hear Emmy speak again.

Emmy finishes brushing her teeth and glances at Chase. Darkness rims her eyes but she looks more sated than anything.

"Yeah," she says and scoffs with amusement. "Aren't you?"

Chase nods and the motion sends fresh waves of aching through her skull. "Yeah. Do you mind if I sleep with you? Like, in bed, I mean."

Emmy raises her eyebrows and grimaces dramatically. "I don't know—it seems pretty soon after you fucked me," she says sarcastically. Chase does not miss the way she hesitates in saying fucked. That white rose is still dangling from the chain round her neck. Old habits die hard.

"Okay, whatever," Chase rolls her eyes and leaves the bathroom after planting a smack on Emmy's ass.

"Hey!"

Chase snickers and goes to her room. Looking around with fresh eyes free from distraction makes her realize how truly messy it is and she quickly flicks the few ambient lights off. The low mattress welcomes her when she slides under the thin blanket and waits for Emmy.

For the few minutes it takes Emmy to come to bed, Chase exists in a sort of limbo. Time feels like it has been stretched and distorted—everything is a little fuzzy around the edges. It is the lack of glasses and the unreal quality to the night and everything that has happened. Gia and Laura feel like a distant memory despite all of that happening hours ago.

Unease creeps from the pitch-black shadows of the room and pushes under Chase's blanket. Tomorrow all of this could change. Tonight could mean nothing. That crawling, coiling unease burrows under Chase's skin and travels through her veins straight to her thundering heart where it grips her tightly and holds her hostage. She will be released tomorrow when she confirms everything went according to plan. Until then, the anticipation will fester within her.

Emmy walks into the black room and the light from the bathroom momentarily cuts through the total darkness. Emmy is illuminated from behind and once again, Chase is reminded of an angel.

As Emmy watches her from the threshold, Chase holds the blanket to the side and tells Emmy, "Come here," and she obeys.

Chapter 10

Notes:

If you have a Chase in your life, here are some resources.

Chase wakes up lying on her back, mouth drier than the time she greened-out, and Emmy's face pressed against her arm. Everything feels right—like her whole life, she should have been waking up with Emmy. For the first time in a long time, she feels well-rested despite the terrible position she's in.

She and Emmy are fucking. It takes a while to sink in and it almost feels unbelievable. Well, they fucked once, last night, and now it's time to figure out how to keep this going.

Recalling the night before proves to be a struggle with a severity she did not anticipate. Chase can't remember what she took and when and figures it's a miracle her and Emmy made it home in one piece. Speaking of, the idea of sparking up this morning is not half bad.

Chase attempts to move without rousing Emmy and fails, though she doesn't notice until she is halfway to the bathroom.

"Hey—" Chase turns. The soft voice nearly makes her jump out of her skin. Emmy waves at her and flashes a sleepy smile. "What time is it?"

All her confidence from moments before flees her body and leaves her dumbly gaping. Last night really did happen. "Uh—I don't know," Chase mumbles and hides in the bathroom.

Although running from Emmy like that is profoundly embarrassing, Chase feels nothing but a nervous giddiness. It hits her harder when she makes eye contact with herself in the mirror. Clear eyes behind her grimy glasses. She can't recall the last time she felt so well.

By the time she has finished up with her brief morning routine, Emmy is more alert and greets Chase with a slow, knowing grin. Bits and pieces from the night before begin to trickle into her consciousness. It doesn't take long before she recalls everything and wonders how long it will take for Gia to begin sniffing around.

"Good morning," Emmy says and Chase joins her on the mattress.

Going without a bed frame always seems a little ridiculous in the light of day and Chase prays Emmy does not look at her differently.

"Hey," Chase murmurs and scoots up on the bed until she is sitting shoulder to shoulder with Emmy, their backs pressed against the wall. "How do you feel?" Suddenly, talking has become difficult and Chase wonders just how much has changed since they fucked hours ago. It is not as though Chase has ample experience in this area. However, neither does Emmy, and the thought eases Chase's mind a little.

Emmy stretches out on the mattress, wearing Chase's clothes, and she shrugs while lying on her back. "I think I'm hungover."

Chase snorts, "No shit," and experimentally runs her fingers through Emmy's hair. "We can smoke if you wanna."

Emmy grimaces and shakes her head. Chase catches that fleeting smile though. The seed is planted. Sooner or later, she'll be able to get her high and stupid again.

"Suit yourself," she says, grinning, and leans over Emmy to dig through the basket housing her stash. A partially smoked pre-roll beckons her.

As she takes slow, lazy hits, smoke curls lethargically in the stagnant air. Chase gets pleasantly high while Emmy wordlessly watches her. It is too difficult to tell what her careful watching means, but it does not take long before she's high enough to stop caring so much about it.

Emmy being in her room in the light of day is unthinkable, yet here she is, radiant and red and so soft under Chase's hands. Her legs lazily move over Chase's lap and she folds her hands over her stomach like a corpse. The contact feels nearly unbearable, even through the layers of their clothes.

"How do you feel?" Emmy asks suddenly and Chase finds herself unable to decide on an answer.

Satisfied, eager, starving, horny, baked as fuck.

"Hungover," she settles on answering.

Emmy props herself up on her elbows and rolls her eyes. The expression carries no heat and Chase musters up the courage to ask if she wants to grab breakfast.

Someone begins pounding on Chase's front door.

It takes a while for Chase to notice since they are tucked away in her room and the knocking begins softly at first. That joint must have been a stronger strain than she suspected and it's biting her in the ass now. As the knocking escalates, Emmy is the first to say something.

"Are you expecting anyone?"

Chase shakes her head and forces herself to stand and leave the room. Emmy follows, yawning and wrapping herself in one of the blankets. A sickening and creeping fear washes over Chase, leaving prickly gooseflesh in its wake and she has to fight against the urge to stay hidden.

"Hold on," she mumbles to Emmy and inches toward the door.

The hammering does not let up until Chase reaches the door and calls out a weak, "Hey?"

"Open up!"

The voice is familiar and Emmy stands straighter. "Is that Gia?"

Fuck. Chase suddenly wants to find a place to hide and throw up. She distantly can't believe this is happening. Something like this happening so soon—it's eleven in the morning. Does she remember or is this some wild lucky guess? There is no way. Chase anxiously shuffles around the door as Emmy rapidly texts on her phone, her nails clicking staccato notes on the screen.

"Let me in! I need to talk to y'all!"

Before she places her hand on the knob, Chase glances back at Emmy. There is nothing in her expression but pure confusion. Chase almost throws up but manages to calmly open the door.

Although she was counting on Laura to go hard, she did not expect this much damage. All things considered, it could be worse, so Chase doesn't feel as bad as she knows she could. Gia's lip is split, swollen, and bruised a nasty shade of purple. Her thin brows are narrowed and she shoves past Chase to get inside. From the brief look Chase had of her eyes, she looks furious and dead set on her version of what happened the night before.

Emmy finally sees her and steps back when she looks upon the state of her face. Something crashes over her face—an odd, desolate sense of shame that makes dread churn within Chase. For some reason, it feels like everything is about to implode.

"Look at what your creepy girlfriend did to me!" Gia hisses and stomps toward Emmy, temporarily ignoring Chase.

"What?" Emmy says at the same time Chase snaps, "We're not girlfriends."

Emmy turns to her, looking genuinely hurt for a moment before facing Gia.

"What happened? Let's go sit," Emmy attempts to lower her voice to a soothing, calm tone. It only backfires and Gia stands rigid against the closed door. Her glare feels like a burning blade as her dark eyes pass over Chase.

"I'm not sitting here," Gia hisses and gestures to their surroundings. To Chase's horror, Emmy takes it all in and the poor state of the living room seems to finally sink in. As Emmy withdraws into herself, Gia turns her wrathful gaze onto Chase.

When she points an accusing finger at Chase, it seems as though her whole body is poised to attack, but she remains pressed protectively against the door despite the obvious desire to claw Chase's eyes out.

"You," she spits with such disdain Chase takes a step back. "What the fuck did you do last night?"

"What?" The disbelief in Chase's tone is real—this isn't happening.

Gia throws her hands up and scoffs. Now, Emmy steps in, finally having scraped together her wits after the Gia-surprise. "What do you mean?" Emmy asks and straightens up where she stands. Chase finds herself motionless and mute. "She was with me literally all night."

Gia faces Emmy with the full force of her scorn. Now that she is not directly looking at Chase, it is easier to see what all the viciousness covers. Her hands tremble in tightly clenched fists at her sides. Her bruised jaw flexes and her eyes are narrowed. Underneath the razor-sharp accusations, Gia is very nervous and confused. Chase takes a better look at her, noting the dark circles rimming her eyes and the wild look in her stare.

"Look at me!" Gia steps towards Emmy and grabs her by the arms. "Look. Who the fuck else could've done this—you know what she did! I literally showed you."

Emmy grimaces and regards Chase warily from the corner of her eye. She is still reeling from the night before, from the cocktail of weed and alcohol and getting her shit rocked for the first time, and Gia is barely making sense. Chase can imagine how this all feels for Emmy right now; her friend is trying to get in between her and a good thing. But that nasty bruise on her face and her split lip can't be ignored.

Chase stupidly interjects, "Did you go home with someone?"

"No," Gia sneers and releases Emmy. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

Chase raises her hands defensively. This morning would have been something straight out of a dream if it weren't for Gia and she can't help but feel a little more than bitter.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Emmy gingerly, cautiously places a hand on Gia's shoulder and says calmly, "We were seriously together all night. Do you remember anything?"

Gia holds Chase's stare for a few long, silent moments. In that span of time, Chase wonders if Gia is somehow remembering through that GHB induced haze and all the head trauma she's suffered. Then, Gia turns to Emmy and her mouth is set in a firm, morose line.

"No," she says and Chase knows everything will be fine.

Emmy tries to reach for Gia again and she shifts away.

"Listen to me—I woke up in that house on the couch. No one saw me leave with anyone, don't take her fucking side," Gia continues and pointedly avoids looking Chase's way.

Being the topic of discussion while standing off to the side is a surreal experience.

Then, Gia's voice cracks when she cries, "You left me! What the fuck?"

Emmy's face falls for a split second. It passed within a blink, but it was there. "I'm sorry," she says shakily and awkwardly clears her throat. It suddenly seems like she's having a hard time maintaining eye contact with Gia. "I'm sorry—I just—"

"Just what?" The sheer amount of venom in Gia's voice makes even Chase take a step back. Despite the scene playing out in front of her, she finds it hard to feel anything aside from quiet dread. That still smoldering car wreck on the side of the highway.

Emmy throws her hands up. "I don't know what you want me to say! I was so drunk."

"No," Gia snaps and points an accusing finger in Emmy's face. "You left me in that house so you could fuck your freak girlfriend!"

"Hey," Emmy scoffs and immediately catches herself, but it is too late.

Gia heard that irritated, sharp inhale. Chase heard it.

"Are you serious?"

It feels as though the life has suddenly been expelled from the room. Everything is very still and silent for several long agonizing moments. Although Chase has only known Emmy for a few months, she can see the clear distress in her face and the roiling conflict just beneath it. Gia must appear quite irrational to Emmy. Despite her concern, Emmy may be more put off by the fact Gia is deliriously accusing Chase. In fact, her chance to have that coveted I did it last night for the first time conversation is thoroughly squandered now, and that might contribute to her exasperation. On top of everything else, Emmy knows she is in the wrong but can't stray from her path now that she's chosen it. Chase stifles a smile.

"You did—you know you did," Gia says slowly and each steady word pierces through Emmy. "We promised to look out for each other at parties like that. We went together. You were my ride."

This is profoundly awful for Emmy. Chase can't imagine how she feels. All she can think of is how easier things will be now. Something similar to remorse scratches at the back of her mind and she shrugs it off. As time goes on, it gets easier and easier to focus on what matters: Emmy coming closer within reach. After tasting her last night, Chase can't imagine a life without her.

Chase knows what comes next. Gia will storm out once the argument goes nowhere and Emmy will lean on her in her grief. In a state as fragile as that, Chase assumes she will be able to ask almost anything of Emmy.

"I was drunk," Emmy repeats herself from earlier.

"So you just forgot me?"

Emmy shakes her head, never once looking to Chase for reassurance. That oily, slimy dread begins to make her feel cold. A chill rushes over her and she prays her movements go unnoticed. It is impossible to pinpoint what unnerves her. Everything is so close to paying off—perhaps it's the proximity.

"Listen," Emmy continues and judging by Gia's expression, it is an unwise decision. The temperature in the room drops another degree, though Chase is likely imagining that. "I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to leave you and I'm sorry that happened. What do you want me to do?"

It is not hard to understand what Emmy meant by what do you want me to do? but the way she worded it and pushed it passed her lips like a sigh made Gia's hackles instantly raise.

"'What do you want me to do?'" Gia throws the words back in Emmy's face and her fists shake at her sides from the force of her clenching them. "I want you to fucking see how she's getting in between us!"

Now, Chase is once more the center of attention and she wishes the earth would swallow her whole. If she's lucky, maybe she'll suffocate somewhere underground and not have to remember Emmy's broken expression when she lays eyes on her. Nothing even close to that happens and Chase is instead under Gia's relentless scrutiny and Emmy's horribly unreadable gaze. Suddenly, the outcome of this fight becomes unclear. The dread wells up again and threatens to pull her under.

Emmy finally looks at Gia and shakes her head. "I really don't know why you're bringing her into this," she says slowly. "I wanna help you out, seriously, but you've gotta drop this weird thing you have with Chase."

Gia's eyes widen and they flick between Emmy and Chase, nothing but pure, unfiltered horror there. The sickening dread flares when Gia's breathing grows rapidly and she throws her hands up, whirling around and angrily pacing before standing inches in front of Emmy. All of the movement happens very fast in contrast to them having been standing there for the duration of the argument.

"I fucking showed you what she did! What is your fucking problem?" Gia sneers in Emmy's face before she backs away and bites back a sob. "Why aren't you listening to me?"

"I told you, she was with me literally all night," Emmy reminds her and holds her hands up as though she can salvage the situation.

Gia groans in despair and impatience. "Are you acting stupid on purpose? I said I showed you what she did!"

"Stupid? You're the one accusing Chase for no reason!"

"No reason?" Gia's voice has dropped to a hiss. "Right—okay." For a few tense moments that feel like they have been stretched into hours, Gia silently pinches the bridge of her nose. Chase finds herself transfixed by the bruise on her face, the swollen divot in her lip.

"Getting in between us," Emmy mutters and glances at Chase. There is something in her expression that makes Chase know all hope is not lost.

"Yes," Gia says desperately. "Like, we barely hang out anymore and now this. You're not acting like yourself."

Emmy sucks in a sharp breath and Chase assumes she would rather be rolling her eyes. "I think you need to leave and chill out."

"What?" Gia steps back as though she's been slapped. "I need your help."

Emmy gestures to Chase. "Are you gonna keep bringing this up?"

Gia frowns and scoffs in disbelief. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"No—you're acting like a jealous bitch right now," Emmy snaps.

Gia opens her mouth and closes it. Chase's eyelids feel heavy and sticky and she's having a difficult time keeping up with the argument, but it suddenly feels like she's been doused with ice water. Emmy covers her mouth but does not retract the statement.

Gia's mouth presses into a firm line and Chase clearly sees the finality in her hard gaze. This is it—it's over.

"Okay," Gia eventually says and turns. When she gets to the door, she does not bother with looking at Chase. Her eyes pass through her on their way to Emmy. "If you wanna let this freak ruin your life, be my fucking guest," and with that, the door softly, anticlimactically closes and Gia is gone.

With her departure, Emmy sucks in a sharp breath and Chase forces herself to continue blankly staring forward. Being stoned at a time like this is not ideal.

A part of Chase refuses to believe this is real. Somewhere behind her, Emmy takes deep, controlled breaths and Chase can't bring herself to face her. Laying eyes on what she's done feels like it would make this real. For now, as she distantly studies the door, everything exists in between reality and Chase's fantasies.

"Are you still high?" Emmy asks after several deep breaths.

Chase is grateful she is not facing her. "Yeah," she admits, forcing her casual tone, and only then does she have the balls to turn. Emmy's face is broken and wrecked with grief.

"Are you serious?"

Chase shrugs. "I didn't know she was gonna show up," she dryly remarks and instantly knows it was the opposite of what Emmy needed to hear.

Emmy throws her hands up before taking a few steps closer. Abruptly, she is in Chase's face, examining her coldly. "Your eyes are red—she probably noticed."

"Why do you give a fuck if she noticed or not?" Chase feels a migraine coming on. That hangover is belatedly rearing its ugly head. In response, Chase's tone has grown sharper than she intended and Emmy grimaces. "Fuck—sorry," Chase attempts to rectify the situation but the damage is done.

Emmy holds a hand up and steps away, beginning a meandering, pacing route around the cluttered living room. Her eyes refuse to linger on Chase for more than a few moments and her face is tight with thought.

"Look, I know this is really shitty," Chase begins and she feels like some corny mentor figure butting in where she shouldn't. It seems like a good idea, but that may just be the weed talking. "I'm sorry. Seriously."

Instead of continuing and potentially digging herself a deeper hole, Chase remains silent and allows her words to ring in the still air.

Emmy pushes out an exasperated breath and faces Chase. "I know—sorry," Emmy murmurs, halfway lost in thought, and Chase knows it will be alright in the end.

When it feels as though the danger has passed, Chase goes to Emmy and runs her fingers softly along the breadth of her shoulders.

"She just doesn't want your help right now," Chase says quietly and draws Emmy into her arms. "She'll come around," she lies.

Emmy remains stiff in Chase's embrace until the awkward, loaded silence gets under her skin. When she drives home, Chase can't shake the thought that Emmy knows more than she lets on.

The weeks crawl by.

Finals come and go. Winter break begins and Gia does not come around.

Nothing has felt real since witnessing the argument.

Chase wakes up one morning in the middle of the long break, feeling refreshed and well rested. Despite everything, she and Emmy are still fucking. It's a Christmas miracle. That nagging dread still lingers in the back of Chase's mind (perhaps because it isn't quite Christmas yet) but she subdues it with a hefty intake of weed.

It takes a while for everything to sink in every morning. Chase goes through her usual routine. Wake and bake, hanging her head out the window above her mattress. The air is cold enough she can't discern the smoke from her tangible breath.

Emmy is asleep and sprawled out on the covers. A small electric heater makes the space feel stifling but Chase runs cold—she needs it. As she blows pungent smoke out the window, she glances down at Emmy and her relaxed unconscious face.

The last few weeks have been rough for Emmy. Finals kicked her ass after Gia's distraction, and losing access to her closest friend has dealt a blow Chase did not anticipate. However, it has only drawn her closer to Chase. Somehow, she manages to look troubled even asleep. Chase kneels beside her head and examines her. Slack lips and furrowed brows.

She will be asleep for a while longer. Chase spiked her drink last night, just for fun. While she dreams away the morning, Chase shuffles to the bathroom and brushes her teeth. She briefly considers masturbating but decides the effort isn't worth the mess.

By the time she's smoked another joint and eaten some of last night's leftovers, Emmy is awake.

Chase returns to her room, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, and Emmy pulls her down onto the mattress. The world whirls before her, and she is suddenly on her back, her head resting in Emmy's lap.

"Good morning," she whispers and smiles. Then, she breathes in and her nose wrinkles up. "You're high already?"

Chase snickers. Already. "I've been up for a while—it's like two."

Emmy's eyes widen and she checks her phone before slumping into the covers. "Oh my gosh. Why'd you let me sleep in so late?"

"You're cute when you're asleep," Chase says and sits up, staring down at the flush growing across Emmy's cheeks.

"Don't distract me," she groans halfheartedly and positions her legs over Chase's lap. "It's so late."

Chase thoughtfully drums her fingers on Emmy's thigh. "You're allowed to sleep in one day out of the week. Also, it's break."

Emmy hums and grabs Chase's hand. She shifts up to kiss the back of her palm.

They should probably be doing something today. They may have had plans but Chase does not remember or particularly care. She is now far too busy with staring at the side of Emmy's face and letting her victory over Gia sink in. A week or two of gloating never hurt anyone. Chase's eyes trace down the convex slope of Emmy's nose and the hooked end. And lower to the full curve of her lips. Then even lower, openly and without shame. She has done so much that Emmy has not minded—she thinks she can stomach getting caught in the act.

"Are you looking at my boobs?"

Chase flushes and grins before averting her eyes. "Yeah," she mumbles, unable to hide her amusement.

Emmy sits up fully and elbows Chase in the ribs. "You don't sound very sorry about it." There isn't any venom in her words, but Chase's stomach still churns with anxiety. She may be a little too faded. It is more difficult than she expected to detach herself from her old reliable ways. Manipulating what she can has always paid off but she's done it, she's won the best possible prize and it isn't necessary. Despite everything, she feels as though a massive weight looms far above, waiting to crash down and crush her along with everything she's gained.

"Hey," Emmy moves and straddles Chase, keeping her voice low in pitch and volume. For a moment, she seems like a seductive doppelganger version of herself. "I'm just messing with you."

Emmy's hands drift higher and rest on Chase's face. Her palms are like a small heater on her. "I know," Chase says. She sounds ridiculously unsure of herself.

A smile blooms on Emmy's face and she rolls her eyes. Her thumbs idly trace the frame of Chase's glasses. "Seriously, don't worry so much about it. You're allowed to look at me."

Chase can't help but smile at that and then when Emmy kisses her, her heart beats so hard she can't help but imagine it bursting from her chest.

Emmy smiles into the kiss and Chase drags her hands down toward her ass. Emmy pulls away and dramatically sighs, pretending to be upset at this turn of events.

"Stop that," she scoffs and rolls her hips.

Chase plays along, so stoned and barely resisting the urge to just flip Emmy under her and have her way with her. "You aren't being all that convincing. I wanna see you work for it."

"Oh yeah?" Emmy goads slyly and grinds down harder. Chase has to bite her tongue—she can't bear to hear herself in such a vulnerable state. Especially while high. God only knows what sounds would escape her. "What about now?"

There is suddenly an odd glint in Emmy's eye. That light is reminiscent of the expression she wore that night when Chase fucked her for the first time. It is a small glimpse into something Emmy keeps guarded closely and it alludes to Emmy knowing more than she lets on. It wouldn't make sense—there is only so much information out there—but Chase has never been one to err on the side of rationality.

Emmy slows her movements and stops entirely. Chase figured she was being subtle but this is not the first time she's been caught off guard by Emmy's intuition. Without having to ask, Emmy moves off of Chase's lap and softly pushes at her shoulder, silently urging her to lie down. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Chase understands she is about to have to have a conversation she would probably rather not have. Or maybe not. She stretches out on her side while Emmy clings to her from behind—less of a big spoon and more of a backpack.

A past version of Chase is likely watching this scene play out completely beside herself. When she began this endeavor, she does not think she expected it to blossom into this.

Emmy has remained quiet throughout their repositioning and Chase faces the wall. Eventually, she asks, "What're you thinking about?" Her hand slides over Chase's shoulder, bringing her close enough to feel her heartbeat thudding against her back.

Chase takes Emmy's hand and examines it before pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Her nails are painted a deep, cherry red. There is a little wear around her cuticles where she picks when she gets nervous. "Just you," Chase replies and kisses her knuckles again.

"Just me," Emmy echoes thoughtfully and buries her face in Chase's hair. She presses a kiss to her nape and asks, "What are we?"

The question completely takes Chase off guard and she is immensely grateful she isn't facing Emmy. The unease shows through in how her body stiffens. What are we? Chase has a few ideas of what she wants them to be and in her fried brain, her thoughts move lethargically and she takes too long to come up with an acceptable answer. Emmy's hand slides from Chase's grip.

A few silent, painful moments pass and Chase can't muster up the courage to move.

"Seriously, Chase?" Emmy's tone is different than anything Chase has heard before. She finds it easy to roll over and face her now. For once, there are no cracks visible in Emmy's hard expression. There is nothing familiar in those deep brown eyes and the sight sours the pleasant effects of her high.

Emmy's eyes flick around Chase's expression when she does not speak. It feels like she is being picked apart under a microscope. Finally, Emmy says, "If you need time or something, just let me know," and Chase remains unable to speak. "I don't wanna be kept waiting around."

Then, she leaves the mattress and begins gathering her scattered things. Chase finds herself reeling, unable to discern what went wrong and when. It's the weed, it's her unwillingness to do anything, it's everything. Chase runs a hand over her face and she feels clammy to the touch. Stupidly, she says, "You're leaving?"

Emmy stops at the bedroom door. A quick disbelief washes over her expression and she shudders. It feels as though she is watching Emmy's attraction fade along with everything Chase has worked for.

Once she has regained her bearings, Emmy shrugs and says, "I think you need time to think about what you want. Y'know?"

Chase finally manages to stand and she reaches for Emmy's shoulder. For whatever reason, Emmy allows the contact. Her eyes slip closed and she says, "I'm not like, breaking things off, I just want something deeper than fucking around. Just think about it."

Emmy drifts from Chase's grasp and leaves her standing in the threshold, her head swimming with unease.

Chase is not stupid, just high, and she knows she has hurt Emmy's feelings. Several days pass without a word from her and minimal updates on her social media. Not getting to see her after weeks of bliss is unbearable.

Over the span of the break, Chase finds herself driving by Emmy's house more often. Sometimes, if her car isn't there, she wastes an afternoon looking for her and after the fourth day spent searching, Chase decides to put a tracker on her car.

The thought of tracking Emmy's movements, first with her car, then a piece on Emmy herself, brings an onslaught of fantasies she has never had the courage to shine light on. They have always been tucked somewhere in the recesses of her mind and have waited for a moment like this forever.

During this time, time feels odd and compressed as Chase spends her days in a self induced haze of drugs. Laura reluctantly provides the marijuana and avoids speaking to Chase if she can help it. Chase didn't hear a word from her after that night and so far, it seems like she has not remembered anything. In addition to the weed, Chase takes a day-trip south to hit up her old suppliers from back home.

The sky is gray when she leaves her apartment and it is equally gray when she arrives in town hours later. She has not been back here since she left and there is nothing here for her aside from the drugs. It is a quick, uneventful trip. Chase gathers what she needs, feeling a little like she's on her own fucked up version of the hero's journey, and she carefully avoids any unpleasant run-ins.

Her parents live in the rural areas surrounding the town. Her sister is graduating this year. A phone call is the bare minimum, but Chase would rather die than speak to any of them out of her own volition.

It is overcast all day and a fog clings tightly to the earth as Chase cruises aimlessly around town. Everything is very wet and cold now—it has not snowed yet and it likely won't. The drive home is a little over two hours yet Chase can't bring herself to immediately leave. Being back here is all at once awful and achingly nostalgic. For the first time in a while, she is not faded out of her mind and the distance from Emmy helps her think clearly. The longer she drives, the more in control of everything she feels, and inklings of a plan begin to come together.

At the end of the day, Chase lays everything out on her passenger seat and assesses her haul. A knife, just in case. GHB and ketamine. Some mushrooms since she's been wanting to try those. The stash of cash she left hidden here. A burner phone.

Chase takes the phone and regards it. It's an ancient model and looks like it may not work, but she made the guy show her it could turn on and do what it needed to do. Picking this up was a last minute decision. Her and Emmy's future is uncertain enough to justify extreme measures. For a few moments, Chase forces herself to think of what would happen if Emmy slipped from her grasp.

How would she go back to life before Emmy? Not checking in on her throughout the day, no good morning texts to wake up to, no more access to her perfect body whenever she wants. Focusing on school would be impossible. She doesn't think she would be able to be in the same building as Emmy. Everything would change and it would never be the same as it was before she came into her life.

So, this is justified.

Chase turns on the phone and reviews what the pre-paid plan set in place gives her. It won't do much but it's enough. When she's exhausted its purpose, she'll toss it and move on. If she ever needs to do this again—or, if she just feels like it—it'll be a painless process.

Before she drives home, she sends a text to Emmy and quickly shuts the phone off.

The entire two hour drive home, Chase is barely able to pay attention to the road. It has started raining and the foggy turnpike looks like it's leading Chase straight into a dream. Barely anyone shares the road with her. Soft music pumps through her speakers and serves as the quiet backdrop for the eerily empty world. Despite her calm surroundings, Chase is fueled by pure adrenaline and anticipation. She needs to get home. She does not know what possessed her to send something so soon without thinking and she itches to see Emmy's response.

Unknown: Hi Emily.

That's all Chase sent.

She can imagine how Emmy reacts. Confused and uncaring. She is not the sort to block outright, so she has probably asked who is this?

Chase knows how to make her care and ensure she won't be blocked.

A few days after Chase took Emmy home from the party, she found a picture on her phone she does not recall taking. It is of Gia. This was taken outside of the car as Chase peered in. Her face is bruised and slick with sweat and Laura's spit. Her thin brows are arched and pinched in terror and her wide eyes convey a true primal fear that comes through even in the grainy photo. Large hands come in from the unseen edge of the image and circle Gia's throat.

By the time Chase arrives home, she is vibrating with the exciting anticipation of getting to send that picture to Emmy. Gia is in such bad shape in the picture it even makes Chase feel a little bad. That's how she knows it'll be the perfect thing to hold over Emmy's head.

Chase manages to keep her attention away from the phone until she is properly settled after her impromptu trip.

She reclines in her couch and elects to smoke inside for once—who gives a fuck? She deserves an indulgence like this.

Finally, once the joint is halfway gone, Chase turns on the phone.

Emmy: Who's this??

Chase takes a long drag and reaches down to rub herself for a moment before firing off her response.

Unknown: No one.

Unknown: I have something to show you.

A few minutes go by without a response and Chase finds herself uncomfortable in her home's silence. She passes the time by grabbing an album from her bucket of CDs and sticking it in her player.

Once she has melted back into her couch, she lifts the phone and takes another drag.

Emmy: Who is this?

Emmy: This isn't funny.

Chase snickers. It's kind of funny.

Unknown: It really won't be funny if you block me.

And then she sends the picture of Gia all bloodied up and terrified.

Emmy begins typing and stops several times. Chase stares at the screen unblinking and unable to wipe the smile from her face. This may be the best thing she's ever done. Emmy and Gia haven't spoken since the incident and there is nothing she can do. Chase knows Emmy well enough to know she won't take this to the police. The implications of that would rattle her safe, contained world more than she is prepared for. And she absolutely will not do it on her own.

Chase is not surprised by the response she eventually gets.

Emmy: What do you want?

You, Chase muses and discards the remnants of the joint. She purposely takes a long time to respond. It's nice to imagine how Emmy must be squirming right now.

Unknown: Send me a picture of your tits or she's getting raped again.

It's an empty threat, but Emmy doesn't know that. Everything is still painfully fresh on her mind—all those things she said to Gia that she can't take back—it's probably killing her. Truthfully, Chase would rather see a lot more than just Emmy's tits, but she doesn't want to scare her off just yet.

Again, Emmy takes an irritatingly long time to respond. Chase forces herself to cut her some slack. This must be profoundly stressful. A girl's worst nightmare.

Emmy: Why are you doing this?

Emmy: Don't touch her

Emmy: I'll do whatever you want just leave her out of it

Chase grins and drags her fingers over her clothed cunt. The subtle pressure is heavenly.

Unknown: Send me your tits.

It is nice getting straight to the point with her after spending such a long time being careful with everything she did and said around Emmy.

A few minutes pass and Emmy finally sends a picture.

It isn't the best Chase has seen but for the circumstances, it will have to be acceptable. The lighting is dim and diffused. It is later in the evening, so Emmy is likely whiling away the hours in her room. Emmy's face is not in frame.

Unknown: No.

Unknown: Try again. I wanna see that smile.

Chase leans back on the couch, laying down and shutting her eyes while she awaits a response.

Eventually, she plans to send screenshots from Emmy's webcam to her, just to rub it in a little more. She does not want to preemptively pull that card no matter how tempting it is.

Emmy sends a better picture this time around and Chase's clit throbs painfully at the sight of her.

Those big, soulful brown eyes look a little broken though no less entrancing. Her eyelashes are sticky with tears and the fragile skin around her eyes is red. She has been crying and barely bothered to wipe away the evidence. The red rimming her dark stare complements the vibrant shade of her hair which drapes over her shoulders in soft waves. Despite the positioning of her hair, Emmy's tits are still the stars of the show.

The lighting is better in this image and her nipples look soft and dusty pink in the light. A flush paints her neck in a subtle, splotchy red and stretches down to her chest.

Emmy obeyed the stranger's command and her smile in the picture is exactly what Chase wanted. Her eyes betray everything she feels, but she gave the smile her best effort.

Unknown: Thanks beautiful.

Unknown: I'll be in touch. Remember what I can do to your friend.

Unknown: Don't get any ideas.

Chase pushes her hand in her sweatpants and cups herself through her boxers.

Unknown: Tell me you understand.

Emmy: I understand.

A slow grin stretches across Chase's face and she grinds her palm down onto her clit.

Unknown: Goodnight Emily.

Emmy doesn't respond.

Chapter 11

Notes:

This is the last chapter from Chase's point of view! I hope you've all enjoyed getting deeper inside her mind during this rewrite and how much worse she is. The severity of everything that happens in this chapter will increase in the next, so this is sort of a preview of what's to come. Everything from this point on will be pretty dark, so please heed the tags <3 Also the formatting on this was a bitch to do lol I hope all the texting does not make for a bad reading experience.

Winter break usually spells a visit home for Chase and this year, she mercifully does not get an invite to her family's routine celebrations. Although she now has to find out how to spend the remainder of her break, she could not be more grateful for the isolation.

It has been three days since her first text to Emmy and these three days may have been the best so far in her life. That may be an exaggeration, but it's still invigorating.

Chase wakes up giddy this morning, rushing to check Emmy's social media while she goes through her morning rituals.

Two hours ago, she was in her car, preparing to drive home for Christmas. Chase should have seen this coming but it still takes her off guard. Emmy being around family could derail all of her plans. However, if her family is as overbearing as Emmy's alluded to, she may not bother bringing it up. Especially not when Chase can hold Gia over her head.

Chase grins at herself in the mirror and can't help but feel very pleased with how everything has turned out. Before it slips her mind, Chase shoots Emmy a text from the burner.

Unknown: Good morning gorgeous.

Unknown: You already know what I want.

Chase has begun each day like this since starting this endeavor.

She sends Emmy a nice good morning text and immediately asks to see the panties of the day regardless of what she's doing. The first time she did this, she gave Emmy ten minutes to comply. Since she could still be driving, Chase elects to be patient.

It's break—she can pass the time however she wants and today, she decides to watch shitty T.V. and nurse a joint.

Usually, she is not perpetually high like this. It is likely a combined effect of the break, the weather, and riding the high of pulling off what she did. It's too good to resist, especially knowing how focused she will need to be during her final semester.

Now, it feels as though she has something to work for. A better job, a way to provide the best possible life for Emmy and convince her to stay forever, through anything. Chase indulges herself and mulls over the possibility of having a private office. She could bring Emmy and keep an eye on her 24/7. Or she could secure a work from home position. Either way, Chase has all the motivation in the world to draw from and is completely distraction free.

The phone vibrates.

Emmy: Please leave me alone

Emmy: I'm spending Christmas with my family

Chase grimaces.

Unknown: Are you seriously telling me no right now?

Unknown: Do you need a reminder of what I'll do?

This is bliss. Maybe she should feel bad about it, but it is difficult to with Emmy so far away. Anytime inklings of remorse try to surface, Chase sternly reminds herself this will further isolate Emmy. At some point, she will have no one to turn to but Chase. Besides, she is having fun with this, and maybe it also feels good to get back at Emmy for running off like that.

Emmy begins typing and stops several times. It could just be the weed, but it feels like forever.

Emmy: Please

Emmy: Im really sorry please just give me a second

If she closes her eyes, Chase can almost hear the frantic tone in her voice.

Unknown: Hurry it up baby.

A few moments pass and Chase idly cups her cunt through her boxers. The higher she gets, the more sensitive her bulging clit feels.

Emmy: I dont have any today

Chase's eyebrows fly up as she considers Emmy driving all the home without panties. Why the hell would she do that? Or did she take them off when she arrived at her childhood home? Chase presses her fingers firmly to her cunt.

Unknown: Really.

Unknown: Show me.

Despite having fucked Emmy and seen her nude several times, Chase has not had a chance to really examine her pussy in good lighting with zero distractions. Now is as good a time as any.

Emmy: I'm about to shower

When she does not follow that statement up with a picture, Chase sends the frozen, immortalized moment of Gia's torment and Emmy quickly gives in.

The picture is of her in the mirror, displaying her entire body despite Chase not explicitly asking to see all of that. For a moment, she wonders if Emmy is playing along and luring Chase in an attempt to catch her with her guard down. She would never try it if she knew who was behind the unknown number. The notion brings a dry laugh from Chase and she zooms in on Emmy's pubes.

Unknown: Thank you.

Unknown: It's really not that hard to just listen.

After a final drag from her joint, Chase ashes it and puts it to rest before pushing her fingers through the dense hair collected over her cunt. Instead of immediately giving in, she languidly drags her fingers through her pubes, barely touching her overly sensitive skin. It drums up more anticipation and slowly gets her wet while she waits for Emmy to say something. Hopefully, she'll catch her before she escapes into the shower.

Unknown: Do you need to piss?

Chase's fingers slowly circle around her clit, never touching it, and each movement feels lethargic from the weed. Her thoughts have taken a new turn and she decides to blame the drugs for that as well. It isn't that she necessarily wants to watch Emmy piss—she just wants to see the face she'll make when she's forced to record it for her anonymous tormentor's amusement.

Emmy: What?

Unknown: Record yourself pissing in the shower.

Straight to the point. Chase does not know how else to say it.

Several long and silent minutes go by. Chase wonders if Emmy has the courage to disregard the command until a new message comes in. It is a large file—it just took a bit longer to go through.

Chase begins rubbing herself before even opening the attachment.

The first thing she notices is how pained Emmy's expression is as she backs away from her phone. It is presumably set on her toilet and the low angle makes Chase feel like she's seeing what the view would be like from her knees. Although she barely hides anything, Emmy cowers with her hands over her crotch and chest. They fall away once she steps into the shower stall.

It is a small space and there is nowhere to hide. Chase can't help but wonder why she doesn't bother turning the water on before she begins pissing. It's no matter—it makes the experience look ten times more humiliating for Emmy.

Fluid rushes down her legs and the sight is just as lewd as something Chase would see in a porn. It is a perfect video from the mortified look Emmy pulls to the way she sheepishly hides her hands behind her back. When she steps out of the stall to stop the recording, Chase thinks she catches sight of her eyes watering.

Unknown: That wasn't so bad was it?

About ten minutes pass before she receives a response and within that period, Chase rubs herself to completion. The text comes through when she's lying boneless and panting on her couch.

Emmy: Please stop just while I'm here

Chase rolls her eyes and places the phone face down. Stepping back to assess what she should say is becoming more difficult as Emmy continues testing her patience. She wants to save the webcam footage for another time, but they're tempting her right now.

Unknown: I really don't know why you think you can tell me what to do.

There is a brief pause.

Emmy: I'm sorry

Emmy: I don't

Emmy: I'm just scared

Chase appreciates how honest she's being.

Unknown: You don't have to be scared.

Unknown: Everything will be fine as long as you do what I say.

Emmy: Do I know you??

Unknown: I know you.

This catches Chase off guard, though she supposes she should have seen this question coming. Chase thinks back to all of their interactions and wonders if anything she's done could arouse suspicion. Emmy knows about that unpleasant incident but that doesn't mean anything. Chase didn't blackmail or really stalk that girl very much. This is an entirely different situation and she's confident she'll remain off Emmy's radar. Especially without Gia in the way.

Emmy: Why are you doing this?

Chase struggles to think of something to say to that. Truthfully, this is because she wants her. It has never been more complicated than that. She wants her and she knows this is probably the best way to draw her back into orbit.

Unknown: Because you belong to me.

After demanding that Emmy keep her posted about every movement she makes, Chase learns she is several hours north and spending the next three days at her childhood home. Although she does not share much, it is not difficult to glean her disdain for the entire situation. She is staying in her childhood bedroom that appears to have remained untouched since she left for college.

The day crawls by as Chase attempts to bother Emmy every waking second. It is too exciting to miss out on any opportunity. By the time the sun begins sinking below the horizon, Chase has a stockpile of pictures and short clips from Emmy. Each thing she sends digs her a deeper hole. And the more Chase learns about her parents, the more incriminating she knows all of this would be if it got out. Chase makes sure to remind her how easy it would be to share these pictures to her parents.

It was not difficult finding them through Emmy's social media. After this began, she set everything to private, but Chase follows her on everything with her rarely used personal account. Just out of curiosity, she posts something suggestive on a private story consisting of only Emmy: fresh out of the shower, her towel tied low around her narrow hips, showing off the sparse hair disappearing out of frame. Emmy likes it when she sees it.

The next day begins like the one before it.

Chase wakes up eerily early and clear-headed, quickly remedying that with a morning joint, before checking in on Emmy.

Emmy: I'm gonna be at church until noon

Unknown: I guess you'll have to do something for me while you're there.

Unknown: Wear a dress and skip the panties.

Instead of hanging by her phone and waiting for a response, Chase pockets it and leaves the house. She doesn't necessarily need to be anywhere, she just wants to spend some time in the dead, quiet world before everyone begins moving back for school.

Snow fell last night and it clings to the ground, several inches deep. Chase doesn't make it very far before she begins itching to smoke.

Emmy: I can't do that

Chase sneers at the phone and shuffles through the dense snow until she reaches her car. Frankly, she doesn't know what she's looking for, but it's better than staying inside and going stir crazy. When she sits in her car, she elects to spark up again instead of turning it on. The roads are iced over anyways—she's trapped here whether she likes it or not, and Emmy is her only entertainment.

Unknown: I think you can.

Unknown: For Gia.

Emmy: This is so fucked up

Chase rolls her eyes. She hasn't even thought of what to make her do. Going without panties is nothing—it barely counts in Chase's mind. If she really felt mean, she could force Emmy to do something truly depraved, but she holds off. It seems like too much too soon.

Unknown: It's okay.

Unknown: I know how much of a slut you are.

Unknown: I still care about you even knowing everything I know.

It does not take long before Chase's small sedan is full of hazy, opaque smoke. Her lungs burn and she digs through the mountain of shit in her backseat for a water bottle. Making Emmy wait like this for her responses is becoming increasingly more fun. It isn't always intentional, but it's always worth it.

Emmy: I'm sorry

Chase takes a long and massive breath. She closes her eyes and feels her lungs expand, pushing against her ribs, forcing them to flare out. Smoke fills her and her mind grows a little fuzzier around the edges.

Unknown: I'll seriously fuck your bitchy friend up again.

Unknown: It'll be worse.

Unknown: Maybe I'll record it this time so I have something to send you when you're acting like this.

Before she sees what Emmy says, Chase places the phone down and reclines in her seat as far as it will go. The entire car reeks of weed and the sickly sweet stench of rotting food. There are definitely things growing in her backseat. The disgust is somewhere distant in her mind, taking a backseat to the weed and the desire curling through her.

Despite being in her very visible and public parking lot, Chase does not hesitate to touch herself. No one is here. Everyone has returned home to their families and Chase is left with the whole world to herself.

Emmy: I'm really sorry

Emmy: I promise I'll do whatever you want

Chase deliriously smiles to herself.

Unknown: Has anyone ever told you how easy you are?

Unknown: I'm the only one you'll slut yourself out like this for, okay?

Emmy's response comes lightning fast. It feels like they're talking in real time, face to face, only without all of the pressure.

Emmy: I promise

Chase does not give her the first task until Emmy confirms she is at church.

In this particular organization, classes come before service, and Emmy sends a blurry picture of her group's teacher. From what Chase recalls from her time being forced in church, Emmy is likely in a classroom of college students and people in their early twenties. They are probably discussing the sins of partying.

While Emmy squirms in her class, Chase scrolls through the dozens of pictures she has of Emmy and lazily rubs herself through her boxers. The contact is diffused enough to slowly work her up without getting to be too much and it does not take long before Chase is desperately wet.

Unknown: Let me know when you're in the auditorium.

Emmy: I am

Emmy: Please let me have a break

Unknown: No can do baby.

Unknown: I'm sure you can manage showing me your pussy whenever you stand for a song.

Unknown: If you really want a break, put the phone on the ground and record up your dress during a prayer.

More time passes and Chase watches a video from before her massive fumble. Emmy took this while she was over one evening. She slipped Chase's phone from her pocket and sneakily recorded herself. She is not doing anything in the video, just checking herself out, but Chase finds herself transfixed. It suddenly strikes her how much she adores Emmy.

Everything would be easier if she came willingly. Chase resolves to do as much as she can to make that happen. The threats and requests will escalate until she runs back to Chase. If anyone else gets in her way, she'll do what she did to Gia. But, if she doesn't come back, Chase has dozens of nudes to hold over her head.

The phone vibrates. This attachment is quite large and takes a few agonizingly long moments to fully load.

When the video begins, the phone is set on the ground, staring blankly up at the far above ceiling. The space is vaulted and echoes—Chase barely hears the pastor ask the congregation to prepare to pray.

Now I ask you all to stand and bow your heads in prayer. This is from Romans chapter twelve, verses one and two.

Emmy stands over the phone, her feet positioned on either side, and her thighs press together to conceal her cunt.

Chase exerts more pressure and feels the blood rush in her head. Everything travels south as she toys with her clit. Rationality, awareness, all the blood left in her brain. As the prayer begins, Emmy bows her head and though the camera's angle conceals her face, Chase does not have a hard time envisioning her expression.

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship.

As the pastor's low, diffused voice comes in from somewhere far away on the stage, Emmy slightly adjusts her stance to show off what Chase wants to see.

Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.

Emmy's cunt is dark from the skirt's coverage, but Chase intimately knows it. She knows it's probably slick from sweat and discharge, maybe a little turned on despite herself, or clenched tightly shut. It's been a while since she last shaved and it's a good look on her. If it were up to Chase, she'd make all the decisions regarding Emmy's appearance.

Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.

Amen.

Emmy quickly sits and pushes the phone under the pew with her shoe in the process. Chase catches a glimpse of her desolate expression before the video ends. It takes immense willpower to refrain from rubbing herself to completion. She is ridiculously sensitive. Emmy hits her harder than any drug ever could.

Emmy: Ok I have to pay attention

Chase rolls her eyes and keeps one hand in her sweatpants as she shoots back her response.

Unknown: Actually you need to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

Emmy: What??

Emmy: No you said I could have a break

Chase forces herself to pause in her movements and let the mental aggravation join hands with her building sexual frustration. It's a little difficult to care about how this could all affect Emmy when she begins typing. The haze in Chase's mind only thickens as she succumbs to thinking of all the fantasies and dreams she's kept under lock and key. It is impossible to think of anything aside from how she feels right now and how right it seems to tell Emmy exactly what she wants to do, the consequences be damned.

Unknown: You're killing me.

Unknown: You really don't get what's happening do you?

Unknown: You belong to me.

Unknown: You don't get to say no.

Unknown: If you pull this shit again. Trying to say no. I will break into your house and rape you just like I did with that bitch. But it'll be worse since you deserve it. Do you like getting kicked in the cunt?

It takes a few minutes before a string of frantic replies come in.

Emmy: I'm sorry

Emmy: I'm in the bathroom

Emmy: Please

Chase resumes grinding her fingers down on her engorged clit while she regards the texts. Her mind offers up the mental image of Emmy cowering in a stall, shivering and anxiously out of her senses. The contact on her cunt is subdued from her layers but Chase does not want to cum prematurely.

Unknown: Show me what you're wearing.

Once again, Chase's pace slows until she gingerly circles her clit through her boxers. The damp fabric makes the contact smooth and she glides her touch over herself.

The picture Emmy sends is better than she expected. She really is a beautiful woman—especially when she looks so tormented. Wide brown and vacant eyes stare straight into the mirror she's in front of and they seem to pierce through the screen to bore into Chase. She averts her eyes from Emmy's expression and studies her modest dress. It's so long it almost reaches her ankles. That rose charm necklace has been replaced with the crucifix.

Unknown: Do you actually believe in that shit?

Chase sends it before she can stop herself, then, she returns to examining Emmy's outfit instead of reading Emmy's response.

The dress is a pale blue that sort of washes Emmy out, but it still looks nice. Delicate flowers adorn the fabric and her shoes are white flats. Her hair is pulled back away from her face and tied in some half up, half down situation. Chase is taken aback by how gorgeous she is. It isn't too difficult to imagine the leering looks she probably gets.

Chase looks back at their messages.

Emmy: Idk

Emmy: Does it matter?

Unknown: Guess not.

Unknown: You're really beautiful btw.

Chase can't help but remind her. Emmy replies after half an hour of leaving Chase waiting.

Emmy: Thanks

---

Despite her inclination not to, Chase gives Emmy a wide berth for the rest of the day.

This is partially because she feels a little bad about the severity of her threats once she sobers up. It is not because she doesn't want to do all of that to Emmy, it is just because she knows it would be so much easier if Emmy came willingly. She seemed to enjoy a bit of pain judging by the times Chase fucked her, but she never mentioned anything half as painful as kicking her in the cunt.

Chase entertains herself by imagining Emmy experimenting with increasingly violent porn, furiously rubbing herself into oblivion while futilely escaping shame's embrace.

She also has things to do today. Meet with her advisor for the next semester, go grocery shopping, maybe clean—she probably won't do any of it, but she uses it as an excuse to give Emmy a breather. Whenever the temptation grows stronger, Chase reminds herself this is like that analogy of boiling a frog slowly. Waiting until she's lulled and exhausted and can't escape once it's too late.

As the evening hours crawl into darkness and beyond, Chase elects to monitor Emmy on her webcam when she notices her laptop is opened.

The laptop must be set on a desk. It faces the rest of the room from the edge of a wall, displaying light purple walls, white, gauzy curtains, and a metal framed bed complete with ornate embellishments. The longer Chase stares, the more the room looks like it's been plucked straight from a fairytale. Emmy reclines against a mountain of puffy pillows and well-loved stuffed animals. Most of them appear to be pink and black cats.

Emmy turns the page of the book she's reading and the sudden movement reminds Chase this is not a picture—this is really her. Although her day was probably not that good, she appears to be at ease for now, unaware she's being watched.

Christmas is tomorrow and she is certainly feeling festive. Her pajama pants are red and black plaid while her baggy white shirt displays reindeer running across her chest.

A door creaks open and someone sticks their head in the room. The angle prevents Chase from seeing his face, but he wears a Santa hat and says something about waking up late tomorrow.

Emmy rolls her eyes and smiles, though the expression is more reserved than usual. Chase can't tell if it's because of her or whatever the guy said.

Then, he leaves and Emmy sinks back into the bed.

The lighting in the room appears very warm and soft—just watching her is making Chase feel like she needs to be curled up in bed. It is disgustingly cold and the thought of being entwined with Emmy under the covers makes her chest ache with need. This will have to be enough for now.

Emmy eventually rises to switch off the lights and as she stands and stretches her arms high overhead, Chase screenshots the moment her shirt begins riding up to display her soft tummy.

When the lights are off and all Chase sees is a dark room, she sends the picture to Emmy.

Unknown: You look so beautiful tonight.

Unknown: I wish I was in bed with you so bad.

Chase steps away from her computer and retreats into her room. It's pointless to stay there once Emmy shuts her laptop. Besides, she is attempting to correct her sleep schedule and will go without smoking tonight. Jerking off will be a nice substitute. She does not check her messages until she gets settled in bed, turning her lights down and switching the heater on. Once she feels like she's being roasted alive within her blanket, she checks.

Emmy: What the fuck?

Emmy: Oh my god

Chase relishes the frantic fear in her texts and she writhes under the covers. Her hand drifts lower until it rests idly on her thigh. It's hard to recall the last time she jerked off this much, but she feels like she could go again. As she mulls over the different ways she would like to put Emmy in her place, an idea strikes her from out of nowhere.

Unknown: Call me.

Unknown: I wanna hear that sweet voice.

Emmy begins typing and stops several times. Chase wonders if she's remembering the response she got when she attempted to deny Chase's advances.

Emmy: What????

Chase rolls her eyes. She doesn't think she could be more clear.

Unknown: Just do it.

A breath passes and Emmy actually calls her. Before Chase answers, she ensures she's muted, then she picks up.

"Hello?"

Emmy's voice comes in a hurried whisper that sounds so choked-up it brings a smile to Chase's face.

Unknown: I'll text you.

A moment passes and Emmy reads the message.

Okay, she says softly. My room is next to my parents'—I can't be loud.

Unknown: That's okay.

"Will you talk at all?"

Although Chase understands this isn't the case, she can't help but indulge herself and imagine Emmy feeling curious about this anonymous stalker persona she's conjured up. Her voice sounds very small and delicate as though a breeze would carry her words out of earshot. The hand resting on Chase's thigh flexes open and clenches closed. The urge to give in and touch herself is unreal but she manages to hold off.

Unknown: No.

Unknown: How are you feeling?

There is a brief pause. Maybe Emmy knows what she's trying to do—soften her up and draw her in. Then, she mumbles, "I guess I'm fine. Y'know, considering everything."

Chase emits a dry laugh and listens to Emmy breathe. The lack of audible responses from Chase is clearly getting to her. She shifts uncomfortably on the other end of the line.

Unknown: It's okay.

Unknown: All you have to do is what I say.

Unknown: I don't wanna hurt you. I'd rather take care of my things.

There is a hitch in Emmy's breath as she reads the text and a slow smile spreads across Chase's face.

"Your things," Emmy dryly muses and Chase can nearly hear the eye roll in her tone. "Are you someone I know?"

There is absolutely no way Emmy has caught onto the fact this is Chase. Still, a bolt of anxiety crackles through her and the hand on her thigh tightens into a fist.

Unknown: That isn't for you to worry about.

Emmy continues as though she hasn't seen the text. "You're definitely someone I know—you knew Gia—actually, why'd you do that to her? She's never done anything to hurt anyone."

Chase pushes out an exasperated sigh and glares daggers into her ceiling. She can't just say: yeah, I orchestrated Gia's assault because I needed her out of the way and I didn't fucking like her.

Unknown: It's nothing you'd understand.

It's vague, but it is all Chase can think to say.

A moment without Emmy's input passes and Chase finally gives in and cups her cunt. She feels as though she's settling into a routine. Barely touch herself through her boxers, edge, then succumb and shove her hand down her boxers to finish herself off. She has this shit down to a science at this point. Without moving, her hand just serves as a reminder of what's to come and just the thought of that has her growing wetter.

As the silence persists, Chase decides to switch gears and hangs up before initiating a video call where she will remain invisible and muted.

Emmy answers instantly and Chase is presented with the edge of her face. From the little she sees of her expression, Emmy appears exhausted in every sense of the word.

"What're you doing?"

Unknown: I wanna watch you squeeze those pretty tits.

Chase immediately pats herself on the back for changing tactics. Watching Emmy read and process the words in real time is beyond worth it. Her eyebrows pinch together with concern before she gives in. Chase sees it in her eyes—the subtle light snuffed out as she degrades herself for someone's entertainment.

Unknown: You're so beautiful.

Unknown: I hate seeing you look so upset.

Emmy is seemingly immune to flattery right. She scoffs and her mouth closes into a thin, aggravated line.

"I wouldn't be upset if you left me alone," she remarks dryly but there is still that quiet undercurrent of fear. Hearing it sends pleasant chills down Chase's spine. Then, she continues, "What do you even want? I haven't done anything."

Unknown: I want you.

Chase decides to be honest while remaining as vague as possible.

Unknown: I could give you everything.

Unknown: You just gotta let me in.

The hour grows very late and Chase finds herself thoroughly preoccupied while speaking to Emmy. For a while, it becomes easy to pretend they're just talking and Chase wishes she could reveal herself. The severity of her longing for Emmy's presence in her life strikes her out of nowhere as she watches her raise the shirt over her head.

"This door doesn't lock," she explains in a low, nervous tone that goes straight to Chase's clit. "I don't wanna get caught."

Unknown: You don't want your parents finding out how big of a slut you are?

Unknown: What do you think they'd say?

Unknown: You honestly look like such a whore all the time they probably know.

Once Emmy has discarded her shirt, Chase watches as she reads the texts and her face falls. She shakes her head, staring directly into the camera as though she can see Chase. It is difficult to focus on anything when her tits move into frame.

"I don't even know what you mean by that," she mumbles but can't fully conceal the hurt in her tone.

Unknown: I mean you always wear those tiny slutty clothes.

Unknown: All the time.

Unknown: It's like you wanted something like this to happen.

Emmy crosses her arms over her chest. "It's because I like wearing stuff like that. It's not that deep."

Chase idly rubs herself and takes in a deep, shuddering breath before responding. A part of her wonders if she should go without getting off tonight, just to make her and Emmy's reunion that much sweeter.

Unknown: It's because you like being watched.

Emmy's brows pinch together and she shakes her head. Her dark eyes grow more watery by the second and Chase has a difficult time mustering up more than arousal at the sight. She should feel bad. She should feel concerned about the fact she lacks remorse right now, but she doesn't.

"I don't," Emmy stresses and drags a hand over her weary face. "I just want this to stop—please."

Unknown: It's not gonna.

The face Emmy pulls looks like an eerie painting. A broken sob escapes her and she poorly hides it behind a cough. The motion of her haggard breathing makes her chest bounce.

"What do you want from me?"

Unknown: I want you to stop asking stupid questions.

Unknown: And I wanna see you grope your tits.

Emmy's face contorts into something wrecked with despair Chase no longer recognizes. For the first time since video calling Emmy, Chase notices the pallid hue to her skin and the heavy darkness beneath her eyes. Although she is with family and should be enjoying herself and the holiday, Chase has thoroughly ruined it. She wonders if anyone has noticed or if anyone cares. She distantly hopes not—it would make Emmy less likely to return to Chase out of her own volition.

Before Chase has a chance to type a threat, Emmy drags her hands slowly up her body. Her movements are almost infuriatingly hesitant as though she is scared to touch herself.

When she touches herself, it looks like it's her first time doing it, every time. Chase doubts she will ever grow tired of seeing her like this. Broken expression, big, sad eyes, and nervous hands splayed on her chest. All that fiery hair has been pushed over a shoulder and her little girl's princess room serves as a nice backdrop for the filth she's serving Chase.

Unknown: That's good.

Unknown: You stupid slut you're just gonna do anything I tell you?

Something dark flashes across Emmy's face, though it may be a trick of the light. A few long moments pass and Chase almost convinces herself she's been caught. The pounding heartbeat rattles her skull. As Emmy stares, Chase's heart creeps into her throat until the rush of blood in her head is the only thing she hears.

Then, Emmy clenches her jaw and dips her head, cupping her tits and pinching her nipples while she nods.

Unknown: Now answer me.

Unknown: Are you a stupid slut?

Emmy squeezes her chest and leans slightly forward to read the message. She shakes her head for a moment and stops herself—a reflexive response. Chase watches the moment she swallows her pride and psyches herself up.

She murmurs, "I'm a stupid slut," and it isn't very enthusiastic.

Unknown: Come on.

Unknown: Now like you mean it.

Unknown: Like you're proud to be a stupid slut.

Chase props her phone up for a hands free experience. The hand resting over her cunt dips lower while the other drifts aimlessly over her clothes. She's wet enough it has seeped through her boxers and her cunt is beginning to have that odd, pulsing and overly sensitive feeling.

Emmy gives the camera a long, lingering look. Chase stares into her eyes and watches as she weighs whether or not indulging this is worth it. For her sake, Chase sincerely hopes she plays along. Her clit and heart demand it. Being cruel to Emmy is not ideal—at least, under the circumstances—but Chase would be lying if she denied getting off on it.

"I'm a stupid slut," Emmy says, a little louder now, more self-assured, and Chase showers her with praise. It isn't exactly what she wants to see, but she doesn't want to do too much too early.

Unknown: Exactly.

Unknown: Wasn't so hard.

Emmy glowers at the camera and it prompts Chase into grinding on her hand. She would do disgusting, illegal things to get to see that face in person.

Then, Emmy's hands fall away from her chest and she wraps her arms around herself. A wave of irritation flares up within Chase as Emmy takes the phone and holds it close to her face, preventing anything further than her neck from showing.

Unknown: If you hang up I'll send everything to your parents and church leaders.

Immediately, Emmy's face grows white and her watery eyes widen in true fear. She sets the phone down and Chase is presented with her ceiling. She hears Emmy's strained breathing.

"Please," she gasps and Chase doubts she even knows what to say.

Chase's hands grow still and she thoughtfully watches Emmy fumble with her phone. Now, she is suddenly so nervous she's shaking. Tears well up in her eyes and fall freely, never stopping, and although she moves often, Chase does not have a hard time seeing.

Unknown: You really need to stop trying to tell me what to do.

Unknown: Remember what I can do.

Emmy worries her lip between her teeth and slowly nods. "What then?"

Chase grins and sucks in a deep breath. Her room is very dark now—the only light comes from her small phone screen and the strain is making her eyes tired. She won't wake tomorrow until much later and she elects to make whatever she asks Emmy well worth her time.

After some deliberation, Chase decides on something she'd like to see.

Unknown: Start choking yourself.

Unknown: Don't be a little bitch either.

Unknown If I was there I'd go so hard you'd probably pass out. Do it how I would.

Truthfully, there is not much about the act of choking that turns her on. It is the effects of it. The bulging eyes and the terror. Chase gets a preview now as Emmy reads the command. She sniffles and shrugs before gingerly placing her hands around her throat. Chase catches sight of her nails for the first time. They are a light blue with tiny snowflake motifs.

"Like this?" Emmy squeezes gently and takes in a shaky breath.

Chase snickers to herself and rolls on her side before pulling the blanket over her head. The world is suddenly very small and confined to the inside of the blanket and the phone. Chase squeezes her thighs together and rolls her hips. It is barely anything, but it's what she needs now. One of her hands is sandwiched between her thighs, on standby until Chase needs something more.

Unknown: No baby.

Unknown: Like you mean it.

More of that brief discomfort passes over her face but she brushes it off. The fear of having everything sent out weighs out against her better judgment.

Emmy closes her hands around her throat and fresh tears well up within her wide eyes. It does not take long before she loses the nerve and loosening her grip. Encouragement is not an issue if that's what she needs.

Unknown: Come on baby.

Unknown: It won't be that bad.

Emmy notices the notifications and reads them while her hands remain around her neck like a loose collar. Once she's read the new messages, she leans back and anxiously drums her fingers where they rest. Although the visual of Emmy's interlocked fingers is vaguely reminiscent of a collar, Chase wants to see her in the real thing someday. The thought strikes her out of nowhere and she can't believe she had not thought of it before.

Unknown: Now try again.

Unknown: I know you'll appreciate it when I can do it for you. I know it's hard.

Emmy shakes her head but tightens her grip.

Chase did not expect so much subconscious resistance. Emmy's body does not want to let her choke herself, so it takes another minute of assurance before she begins putting her heart into it. If she were there, Chase would cling to her side and watch her nails bite into her neck. She feels she is already asking so much and holds off on asking her to turn and show how hard she's going.

"It hurts," she gasps and Chase clenches her thighs together. If she didn't know any better, she'd wonder if she was high—that's how sensitive she is.

Unknown: It's okay.

Unknown: It's supposed to hurt.

Unknown: This isn't gonna be fun for you. You're a stupid slut remember?.

Emmy sucks in a labored breath and her stare hardens. Then, she begins tightening her hands round her throat, gasping when it begins to burn, and her inhale sounds strangled. Chase's thighs continue pulsing closed, squeezing tightly while she imagines her hands wrapped around Emmy's neck.

Chase knows her hands are bigger. She's bigger—mostly just taller—in her height and hands and in the way she wants her. Her fingers would look like they are meant to be there, Chase already knows it. She wants to see her in a collar of her choosing—her big hands or something simple and leather.

Slowly, Emmy becomes more committed and her breathing is reduced to a strained wheeze. Chase can't help herself anymore. She shoves a hand in her pants and grinds breathlessly against her fist.

Unknown: Harder.

Unknown: You can do better.

Chase wets her lips and sets the phone down as she flips onto her back, spreading her legs wide and giving her hand free access to her clit. She is so turned on she feels like she's hard. All of her nerves have rewired and each sensation goes directly to her clit. It is ridiculously stiff to the touch and every time she moves, something brushes against it. Her boxers or a hand or it gets clenched between her thighs.

Emmy gasps like she's dying and Chase snatches the phone from her side. Somehow, her phone is still in an upright position as she strangles herself. Eyes wide and bulging, red and raw around the edges, and hands clamped around her neck like a vice.

Chase groans and rubs her clit between her fingers, gathering up the copious slick seeping from her and spreading it over her cunt. Tears flow freely from Emmy's eyes and she struggles to breathe and despite everything, her hands remain locked around her neck.

Already, Chase is ridiculously close to shooting a load all over her fingers and she barely manages to shakily text Emmy.

Unknown: Youre so good.

Unknown: So gorgeous.

Unknown: Keep going harder.

Unknown: I'd do it until you pass out and then I'd fuck your limp body.

Emmy emits a choked up cry that goes straight between Chase's legs. Her fingers flex tighter and the tendons in her hands stand out angrily. Her cheeks are wet with tears and an equal amount of sobs and gasps escape her spit slicked lips. Her entire face has been reduced to a bunched up, tortured mess with the tears and snot and saliva getting everywhere. She looks beautiful like this. Her eyes shine with something Chase has never seen before and can't place.

This is what she's been looking for all along. Emmy squeezes harder and Chase again tells her it isn't enough, to go harder, to give herself what she deserves. And Emmy cries openly, sobbing and gasping and repeating it over and over until Chase finally sends the message to stop.

Unknown: My beautiful girl.

Unknown: You really have no idea how you look right now.

Emmy gingerly massages her bruised neck, hiding behind her hands to keep Chase from seeing, and she manages a weak smile.

Unknown: I know you can give me better than that.

Chase grins deliriously at her phone as Emmy forces herself to smile. When she erupts into sobs, Chase cums instantly from the sight of her desolate, bleak expression.

Having received what she wanted, Chase promptly hangs up and sets the phone to the side. It won't be long until Emmy returns and she falls into a deep and dreamless sleep. She interprets it as a sign to keep moving forward.

Chase allows her to have Christmas day without incident. She sends a belated good morning text after waking around noon and receives no response. Chase briefly considers sending her some threats to torment her a little and ultimately decides against it. She resolves to leave the next part of this for the day Emmy returns.

Despite her overwhelming anticipation, Chase does not have to wait very long before Emmy posts something from her home. It has now been over two weeks since she's spoken to Emmy and she is beginning to grow stir-crazy. Of course, she has been speaking to Emmy almost constantly from the burner phone, but it isn't the same. Chase's clit appreciates the exhaustion and the quiet dread on Emmy's face, but she misses seeing her bright smile, feeling her smooth lips against her cheek.

The evening of Emmy's return, Chase decides to send her something guaranteed to tremendously fuck with her head.

This is far out of her comfort zone, so Chase hypes herself up by getting in the proper head space and turning on Emmy's playlist. It's easy to imagine her studying and walking around campus while listening to this and the thought just makes Chase's heart ache more. It makes what she's about to do easier—though, as time passes, the less detached remorse she feels. All of the excitement is getting to her and it's becoming difficult to know what lines should be drawn and where, if any.

Chase walks through her apartment, absentmindedly grabbing her cunt through her sweats, just to feel that pressure. It provides little relief, but that's not what she's looking for.

It has grown late and the sun is sinking below the horizon. The new semester will begin soon and Chase feels the need to take extra time to appreciate this new access to Emmy.

Once in her room, she slips on her tried and true harness before digging through her stash for an acceptable strap. She doesn't pick out any that Emmy has seen and purposely chooses a very realistic, flesh toned piece.

If Emmy thinks a man is fucking with her, that further distances Chase from everything and adds an extra layer of torment for Emmy. Then, Chase rummages through her over stuffed drawers to locate the panties she stole months ago.

It is a simple thong. Black and strappy. Chase can't help but wonder if Gia talked her into getting it and she mulls over the likelihood of it being missed.

Chase raises the tiny garment to her face. It has been a while since the last time she masturbated while smelling this and somehow, the scent is still there, albeit faint. It would be easy to slip into a horny haze and jerk off right now, but Chase holds off. She picks up the burner phone and begins languidly stroking her dick while looking through the dozens of personalized things Emmy has sent her. At some point, Chase wants to drug her and write something on her as she sleeps.

Hopefully soon.

After deciding to put the strap on under her sweatpants, Chase readjusts herself and reclines on her couch. For once, the living room is clean, for nothing else but to conceal her identity when she sends this video. Chase gives the area a quick appraisal before melting into the cushions and tilting her head back. As she stares vacantly up at the ceiling, she drapes the crotch of the thong over her nose and silently, deeply breathes it in while her other hand strokes her strap like it's the real thing. It definitely begins to feel like it after a while and at that point, Chase forces herself to sit up and pick up the burner phone.

She opens the camera and begins recording.

The video she sends Emmy is short and quiet. The lighting is diffused from the darkness outside and Chase's reluctance to turn on her ambient lamps, so the dick really does look like it's sprouted from her. Her breathing is labored and she elects to keep the volume on after realizing she just sounds like a mindless pussy drunk zombie. That black thong is nearly unrecognizable until Chase decides to show it to the camera up close. It's the ribbed fabric and the frayed tag that will give it away. It's impossible to know if Emmy is that attuned to detail, but something tells Chase she will know.

Emmy won't know. She thinks of how she'll look once Chase sends this. Maybe it'll all begin sinking in for her. Of course, it has in some way, but Chase wants Emmy to understand there is no escaping this.

Chase grips her cock before sending the grainy video and mulls over their future.

No matter what Emmy decides, Chase will be by her side one way or another. It would be ideal if she came back but if not, Chase believes she could make do for a while. Long enough to divorce herself from Emmy's circle and erase suspicion. At some point, she already knows she will need more—unable to get by just watching her from afar. She might have stood a chance in the past but it's impossible after fucking her—after having her for a time.

Chase sends the video and continues stroking her dick while she waits for Emmy's response.

It doesn't take long—she has likely been hyper vigilant around her phone since this all began.

Emmy: Oh

It's all she says and Chase physically leans away from her phone, all at once stung and irritated.

Unknown: Oh???

Unknown: That's all you have to say?

A long period passes and Chase begins to grow uneasy. Her mind spirals with irrational theories until she can't resist the allure of a joint. Without taking the burner phone, she retreats to her room to pack a pipe and grab a lighter. By the time Emmy replies, Chase is more than a little fried.

She nearly forgets about the burner and the video she's sent until the phone vibrates incessantly.

Emmy: Sorry

Emmy: I'm sorry

Emmy: I didn't know what to say

Emmy: Are those mine????

Emmy: Oh my god you were in my house

Chase discards the pipe in favor of a fresh joint. There is hardly any air flow in the living room right now and the thick, hazy smoke lethargically circles in the air above her. Chase takes long, deep hits while pointedly ignoring Emmy's texts. Let her sweat a little and maybe she'll stop being such a prude.

As Chase relaxes, she continues idly grabbing her dick. It feels nice in her hand—it feels right, like it was always meant to be there. Chase suddenly wishes she could wear this at all times without there being an insane bulge showing. Distantly, she knows there are things to fill this need; soft packers or a rolled up sock or something vaguely dick shaped stuffed in her pants.

Chase licks her palm and squeezes the fat head of her strap, wondering how Emmy's lips would look stretched out around it.

Emmy: Please

Emmy: Idk what to do

Unknown: Tell me how much you like my dick.

Unknown: How much you like being an internet slut for someone you don't even know.

Chase gradually slows her pace as she sends Emmy an unfiltered stream of filth. Whatever is left of her better judgment takes a backseat to the overwhelming desire flooding her mind. Chase momentarily sets her phone down to wait for Emmy's response and to take another hit, lifting her higher and further away from the thought of the consequences this will have.

The weed is making her dick feel real, like the grip on her shaft is something she's sensitive to, and all her nerves rewire themselves to fire directly between her legs.

The video Emmy sends in place of a response is a good one. The angle is high, looking down, and perfectly displaying Emmy's rack. Her wide eyes are watery and tears already stick to her full lashes. Chase presses play and Emmy takes a deep, shuddering breath.

Hi, she begins nervously and averts her eyes from the camera. It feels like she knows how Chase will react as she watches. I—uh—I like your dick.

Chase grips her strap harder and pumps her fist over it like its a hole she's fucking. Nothing in this world could pull her eyes away from her screen right now. This is like every dream she has ever had come true.

Emmy sniffles and continues hesitantly, I like it when you talk to me like this, she pauses to sniffle again. I'm a slut for your dick.

Then, the video ends.

Unknown: You'd probably be happy if you just accepted it.

Unknown: You're so submissive.

Emmy: What now?

Chase grins and sends Emmy another picture of her dick.

Unknown: Tell me how much you wanna suck my dick.

When Emmy sends the next video, she pleads for Chase to not go in her house again. Judging by her reaction, this is the most violating thing Chase has done, and she has no idea it happened months ago. Now, she openly cries, no longer concerned with whatever was keeping her semi composed. In between murmured, reluctant praise, she sucks in massive shaky breaths and sniffles.

I'll do anything, she says and Chase decides to hold her to that.

Chapter 12

It has been a long time since Emmy has last spoken to Chase.

The disastrous falling out with Gia is still fresh on her mind and Chase's subsequent reaction. Gia would know what to do but Emmy stubbornly refuses to reach out to her. It would be profoundly embarrassing to admit how wrong she was in lashing out at Gia when she needed her more than ever. Emmy figures that decision will haunt her for the rest of her life. She figures she deserves it.

Guilt still lingers from everything Gia said. It was all true—you left me in that house so you could fuck your freak girlfriend—and Emmy can't imagine how they could come back from that. They both said things they probably regret. Emmy attempts to think of that as she soothes herself and it only leaves her feeling a little sick.

If nothing else, at least Chase would help her feel better about everything. Emmy curls in the corner of her couch and studies Chase's social media. She hardly posts. The last one was before break—some dismal scenery, the inside of a computer she's working on, and a picture taken in a mirror with her face obscured. Despite everything, Emmy aches for her. She misses her even after her infuriating indecisiveness.

There are no pictures of her face anywhere on her accounts and Emmy is forced to look elsewhere to scratch that itch.

Laura's accounts have a little more, but not much. There's the back of Chase's head in one, her long, spidery fingers make an appearance in another, and in one post from years ago, she grins alongside Laura as they stand in their freshman dorm. This was a long time ago and Emmy is taken aback by how different Chase looks. Her hair was shoulder length and wavy, clearly unwashed while her glasses were clear-framed and round. It is her expression that stands out the most to Emmy. Reserved and quietly angry in a way Emmy recognizes in some strange way.

According to the posts, Chase cut her hair and abandoned her feminine clothes soon after their first semester started. Emmy goes back to the old picture to study it. If Chase looked like this, would Emmy be so detrimentally into her?

No—this is far more than appearance. This is a fundamental part of who she is. This masculinity redefines how she has to navigate through life. It changes her place in the world, putting her lower while simultaneously holding her above other women. Everything about her goes against expectations and her personality has been forged from repression and her having been the receptacle for ignorant lashing out. If she looked any different, she would behave entirely differently.

Emmy does not think she ever gave her sexuality much thought before meeting Chase. It was always in the back of her mind; go to school, find a boy while you're there, get married, have kids.

Despite the bad taste that thought leaves in her mouth, Emmy has always accepted and understood this will be her life.

She has thought about it over the years, wondering why her standards for men were so ridiculously high, but it never occurred to her there were girls like Chase out there. It's the masculinity, her soft eyes contrasting with her firm hands and the way she insists on opening the door for Emmy or paying for everything. It feels a little ridiculous to think of her like a swooning girlfriend when she fumbled the what are we? question so thoroughly.

Just the thought of it makes Emmy's head swim with unease. Never in her life has she felt more stupid and alone. Part of her is still waiting for Chase to reach out first and apologize, but she doubts it will happen like that.

Maybe she asked too soon.

God—if Emmy hadn't reacted the way she did and if Gia didn't dislike her so much, this would all be much simpler. Emmy sees it in her mind's eye in perfect clarity; going to Gia's apartment, uncorking a nice bottle of wine, and figuring out how to approach Chase again.

To Emmy's horror, her phone vibrates.

She almost does not want to even check it and eventually forces herself.

Unknown: How's my girl?

Unknown: I see you.

There is an attachment along with the messages and Emmy's heart nearly beats from her chest when she opens it. It is a picture of her, grainy and poor-quality, taken from her webcam. She looks up and she finds her laptop opened and facing her. It makes her heart sink and she nearly stands to close it before receiving another text.

Unknown: You close it and I'll break into your house while you're asleep and fuck you until you're bleeding.

Emmy freezes and sucks in a massive breath. Already, she feels hot tears prickling in the ducts, threatening to fall before she's even been commanded to do something. It may be one of the worst feelings she has ever experienced.

Unsure of what she is expected to do, she tries her best to relax on the couch and ignore looking in the laptop's direction.

It is difficult to imagine how her life looks now. This person could send those pictures and videos to her parents, classmates, even Chase. Emmy's stomach churns with sickening dread as she attempts to wrap her mind around the possibility. She wants to kick herself when she recalls the videos of her begging for it, saying she liked it. It won't matter that she's sobbing and sniffling in half of those clips, not when she's also talking about how much she wants it. Wants to hurt wants to be put in her place wants to cry and be taken advantage of.

Texting Chase right now is more tempting than it has ever been but Emmy holds off. What would she say? Would she even be believed?

Eventually, she musters up the courage to text her anonymous tormentor back.

Emmy: Do you want something?

Some time passes. Enough she begins to suspect it's purposeful. Emmy spends the quiet period anxiously glancing at her laptop and wondering who's on the other side. Are they masturbating while watching her? The feeling sickens her just as much as it intrigues her. It must be quite boring watching a girl like her. Emmy does not do much—especially now—aside from studying and going out with her friends. Since her falling out with Gia, she's mostly been cooped up inside.

Unknown: Obviously.

Unknown: Show me that slutty pussy.

As if the circumstances were not enough, the wording makes Emmy's head spin. She can't even begin to understand what makes them speak to her the way they do. It's unlike anything she's ever experienced.

Emmy: Do you wanna see my panties?

Playing along with this is nauseating, but she would rather send a picture of her underwear instead of her bare genitals. This is at least a distraction from what would have been a lonely day. It's Saturday and she is snowed in, completely cut off from the world aside from her vigilant watcher. Some distant part of her aches when she realizes how badly she would like to bundle up and watch movies with Chase.

Unknown: No stupid.

Unknown: Show me your pussy.

Emmy sucks in a shuddering breath and leans forward on her couch, curling into a ball and pressing her palms against her eyelids. The pressure increases and the strange, fuzzy darkness behind her eyes begins to bloom with constantly changing shapes and vague colors. If she could stay here forever and never face the mess that is her life, she would in a heartbeat.

After taking a minute to psych herself up, Emmy shimmies out of her sweatpants and panties. It is difficult to understand what they like so much about her parts (Emmy can't believe how vulgar they are; she can barely think those words without getting flustered). It has been a while since she has shaved and she does not plan to anytime soon. Partially because her bush is substantial enough to hide her labia a little, but also because Chase liked it. Once, she spent a solid ten minutes idly petting Emmy there, all while murmuring how sweet and beautiful she was. The memory makes something inside Emmy shudder until she puts it out of her head.

The picture will have to do. It's simple and well lit from the winter sunlight streaming in from outside. Emmy spreads her lips a little to show off her hole in the way she knows they'll love. If nothing else, they're at least predictable in their perversions.

It does not take long before she receives a response.

Unknown: So fucking hot.

Unknown: Put a finger in.

Unknown: Do you jerk off like that?

Emmy's face wrinkles with distaste and she keeps her hands stubbornly away from her body.

Unknown: Don't be fucking stupid.

Unknown: I'm watching you.

The next message is Emmy from a different angle captured in this moment. She cringes away from her phone and glances nervously at the still opened laptop. Then, she examines the picture as her heartbeat begins to calm. It looks ridiculous—her eyes are almost comically heavy and ringed with darkness. Her hair has lost its luster and it even seems the life has fled from her face. Although the image does not display anything important, she still looks a little ridiculous with her pants off and wearing nothing but a baggy shirt.

This could be the worst thing that has ever happened to her. Before this, she does not think she understood the concept of a worst nightmare. There is nothing she can see to do.

Emmy takes a deep breath and pushes it out. The idea of another night like this makes her want to cry.

Emmy: I don't usually go inside

Unknown: You're a big girl you can say pussy.

Emmy grimaces and looks away, wondering why she bothers entertaining them. It's the universe's payback for what she did to Gia. Abandoned her for someone allergic to commitment. So she endures.

Emmy: I stay on the outside

Emmy: Of my pussy I mean

Unknown: I'll teach you to love getting pounded dw.

Unknown: Show me how you do it.

Emmy knew this was coming but it still takes her off guard. Not wanting to keep them waiting for too long, Emmy elects to just get it over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. The laptop still faces her and she knows they're watching. Maybe they have a whole secret villain lair where they prey on women. A wall of pictures and locations and news clippings. Imagining them like that makes the situation feel bearable for some odd reason.

Once she leans back on the couch and lets her legs fall open, everything else feels a bit easier. It will take a while for her to get warmed up and she grabs her phone to dig through her limited pictures. A horrible surge of guilt and shame wells from the dark recesses of herself when she navigates to a hidden folder leftover from the brief time she slept with Chase.

During the few times they hooked up, Emmy quickly learned Chase was the type to keep souvenirs from her escapades. For Emmy, this entailed pictures taken in the middle of the act. Just the memory of Chase hanging over her, sneering like an animal while pushing her phone's camera in her face, is enough to make her clit ache. Sometimes she would keep her glasses on and they would fog up from how hot they got. Emmy's face blooms with heat and she tenderly rubs her clit.

Unknown: Keep going.

Unknown: Whatre you looking at?

Emmy swallows hard and stares at the limited section of her camera roll. There are not many pictures. Some are of Emmy's face, tears streaking down her cheeks and mascara smeared around her bloodshot eyes. It felt good with Chase in a way she can hardly begin to explain. It's difficult to admit it to herself, but when Gia told her about everything that went down with that actress, it only made her more interested. Everything about that article was left very ambiguous and Emmy knows how things can be skewed. And she has seen how people treat Chase.

Some of the pictures are of Chase's strap disappearing into her hole. Those are Emmy's favorites and the ones she frequently stares at while furiously rubbing herself. A few pictures display their faces and Emmy finds one she forgot about—since all of this began, it has become difficult to masturbate.

Emmy finds the one she was looking for. This is her favorite. Chase is smiling with her narrowed eyes and fox's grin while Emmy burrows against her chest. Emmy zooms in on Chase's face. Her lopsided smile and chocolate brown eyes. The subtle freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.

Emmy: Nothing

Unknown: No tell me.

Emmy: Someone I like

It will be difficult to work herself up with this distraction but she diligently continues rubbing herself. It barely feels like anything.

Unknown: Oh?

Unknown: Do tell.

Mortified shame begins to creep into Emmy's mind. This person surely knows about her and Chase, especially if they have been monitoring her laptop as close as it seems. It makes Emmy wonder how Chase would react to this. Would they send Chase the videos of her begging for it, saying she liked it? The thought is unfathomable.

Emmy: I don't think you know her

Unknown: That doesn't matter to me.

Unknown: You belong to me and nothing will erase that fact.

Unknown: Show me your pussy.

Emmy navigates away from the cherished pictures and takes another shot of herself. She sends it without bothering to make sure it's up to standard.

Unknown: You poor thing.

Unknown: I know you could be wetter.

Unknown: I wanna see that pussy fucking drenched.

Emmy grits her teeth and emits a bitten off groan. Equal parts of frustration and dread roil up from deep inside her and her touches feel like ice on her uninterested clit. Thoughts of Chase provide nothing but a terrible sense of loss and Emmy soon realizes she's crying. Her watcher must be paying close attention.

Unknown: You're rlly something else when you cry.

Unknown: Send me a picture baby.

Emmy obeys and fails to ignore the dead stare gazing vacantly back at her from her phone screen. Her lips are red and swollen and sensitive while her eyelashes are clumped together with tears. Heavy bags adorn her eyes and she does not think she has ever been so exhausted. As she examines the picture, she anxiously runs her fingers through her hair. It has been difficult mustering up the energy to keep up with taking care of herself lately. Her hair feels oily between her fingers. She sends the picture and covers her mouth to hide a sob.

Unknown: You're everything.

Unknown: So gorgeous.

Unknown: And you're all mine.

Emmy pushes the phone away and curls into the couch's safe corner. Right now, she could not care less about the laptop and what her disobedience might mean. It's hard to care about anything when she feels like this and for now, she closes her eyes and attempts to temporarily shut everything out.

When she picks up her phone after a few long, tense minutes, she texts Chase. There is no one else she can turn to and even if this weren't true, she believes she would still choose Chase.

Emmy: Hey

It has been so long—what does she say?

Emmy: I'm really sorry I haven't said anything lately

Emmy: And I'm sorry this is kinda out of nowhere

Emmy: I'm really scared

Emmy: Some shit has just been happening lately and I need someone to be here with me today

To her surprise, it does not take long before Chase replies.

Chase: yeah sure

Sure. It isn't exactly what Emmy wants to hear but she'll take it. Whenever it threatens to irritate her to the point of saying something, she reminds herself she hasn't spoken to Chase in weeks. How would she feel if that were her? After a few long minutes of Emmy wrestling with how to respond, Chase sends more.

Chase: its okay btw

Chase: i was a dick

That's the understatement of the year but her acknowledgement makes Emmy feel slightly better. While she chats with Chase, her sweatpants and panties discarded, her unknown tormentor sends a few more messages.

Unknown: Are you talking to someone else?

Unknown: Don't lie to me.

Emmy freezes and stares blankly at the screen. If she pulls Chase into this, she has no idea what this person will do to her. Will they do the same as they did to Gia? Or worse? Emmy finds herself shivering as she thinks up increasingly violent scenarios Chase might find herself in if she isn't careful.

Emmy: Yeah

Emmy: Is that okay?

Unknown: Sure baby. Just remember who you belong to.

Emmy shudders and dresses herself before closing the laptop. Then, she sits back down to text Chase, already feeling more levelheaded than she has in days.

Emmy: It's ok

Emmy: We can talk about everything another time

Chase: no we can talk today

Chase: i wanna apologize

Chase saying that takes Emmy off guard in a good way. An apology is grossly overdue, but it is better late than never.

After Chase unexpectedly asks to come over immediately, Emmy agrees and quickly realizes she looks like she hasn't slept a full night in weeks—which, she hasn't. Chase gives her an estimated arrival and Emmy launches into the world's fastest getting ready routine.

The prospect of seeing Chase again has Emmy feeling giddy rather than what she expected—composed and ready to talk. It must be everything going on but for whatever reason, she finds it difficult to muster up the energy to care about where they left off. If nothing else, she is just grateful for a distraction from her stalker.

Emmy showers and washes her hair as quickly as possible before dressing in comfortable clothes she knows Chase will grow weak in the knees for. A tight white tank top and a fresh pair of sweatpants. After some deliberation, she decides to leave her hair down just in case Chase is in one of those moods where she wants to pet her. It always feels nice despite being a bit strange, but Emmy can't imagine asking for that.

Once Emmy gets the I'm here text, she finds herself anxiously waiting by the door and can't recall anyone ever making her feel this eager, even after the time apart. When Emmy opens the door, she knows the time apart did them well.

Chase steps in with a charming, lopsided grin that makes Emmy forget everything they need to talk about. She's wearing a backpack and tosses it to the floor before wrapping her arms around Emmy. It's so unexpected and sudden Emmy is forced to bite back an abrupt onslaught of tears. Being touched like this—enveloped in Chase's arms and the scent of weed and cheap cologne—it's everything she didn't know she needed.

"Hey," Chase murmurs and buries her face in Emmy's hair. "I missed you."

Emmy inhales deeply and forces herself to pull away to appraise Chase. She looks refreshed. It's the only word that comes to mind.

"Did you get a haircut?"

Chase blinks at her and drags a hand through her freshly cropped hair. Emmy is nearly overcome with the urge to scratch her nails over Chase's fade. "Oh, yeah. You like it?"

Emmy nods and flushes, wondering why it only took a few weeks to reduce her to a blushing, anxious mess around her. Before she embarrasses herself further, she leads Chase into the house and sits with her on the couch. It all feels achingly nostalgic and comfortable with the snow falling outside.

As Chase sheds her outer layers, Emmy wrestles with what to say. There is not much she can say without giving every disgusting detail away, and she's hesitant to do so. Especially since she has no clue where she and Chase stand. The last thing she wants to do is rope her into this insanity and get her hurt somehow. Thankfully, Chase breaks the silence first, sauntering back into the living room with her backpack in hand.

"So—uh, I'm just really sorry for leaving you hanging," she awkwardly begins and sits on the couch a respectable distance away from Emmy. Her decision to tackle this conversation immediately is more than a little shocking, but not unwelcome. "I could've said somethin' earlier."

"Yeah," Emmy muses and trails off, waiting for Chase to continue.

The silence persists long enough to get under Emmy's skin. Then, Chase says, "I really like you, I just need time."

Time. For what? Deciding if Emmy is worth the effort of committing to a relationship?

Instead of questioning her, Emmy sighs, "Okay," and scoots closer to Chase's side. It's hard to feel like anything but some secret Chase has. "But—you're not just gonna keep having sex with me and eventually decide you've had enough?"

Chase looks at her abruptly with genuine shock in her eyes. "What? No—no I really wanna be with you," she says hurriedly and pushes out a dry, nervous laugh. "Uh—I'm just nervous. I don't really ever feel like this."

"So you've never had a girlfriend?" Emmy hides a smile behind her hand. Things are beginning to make more sense, though she still can't shake that unnerved feeling in the back of her mind.

Chase flushes a deep red from her ears to her neck and averts her eyes. "Nope. So, I'm sorry."

Before Emmy responds, Chase grabs her hand and squeezes it.

"I like you so much though," she says quietly and Emmy gets the impression there is a lot she isn't saying, but she doesn't pry.

"I do too," Emmy says as the silence persists. "I just don't want you to do that again."

"Do what?"

Emmy gives Chase a long look. Her glasses are sliding down the ski slope of her nose bridge while that red flush has yet to dissipate. No matter how nonchalant she tries to appear, Emmy sees the anxious light in her eyes behind the lenses.

"Leave me hanging for so long."

Chase faces her and nods. "I won't. I promise."

Emmy knows there is more she should say. About Gia, about the constant state of being high, about anything, but she just can't. Words evade her and it feels like her energy is at an all time low. Nothing can happen until the stalking situation is resolved but she has no idea how to even begin to approach that.

The thought of her watcher prompts her into standing and excusing herself to go to the bathroom. Once inside, she checks her phone.

Unknown: Show me what panties you have on.

Unknown: I know who you're with btw.

Unknown: I don't need the laptop to know what you're doing.

Unknown: I know where you live.

Emmy nearly drops her phone as a violent wave of nausea washes over her.

It feels as though time warps and a single moment lasts an eternity as Emmy stares in horror at her screen. Someone is looking inside her house right now. They see Chase, they see her, and there is nothing she can presently do about it. The thought of going to the police almost makes her gag. It would be impossible to explain the videos of her begging for it, thanking them for it. Emmy sets her phone face down on her counter as she grips the sink and takes in massive, unsteady breaths.

It vibrates again.

Unknown: Don't keep me waiting.

Unknown: I'm not above sending your shit to her.

Emmy swallows hard and turns the sink faucet on. While the water splashes noisily into the basin, Emmy hurriedly pulls her sweatpants down and snaps a shaky picture of herself. The pair she wears isn't anything special—a simple white number with a dainty bow on the waistband. It doesn't have to be special; Chase will go nuts.

Emmy sends it and adjusts herself in the mirror, ensuring her eyes aren't too wide and her face is no longer flushed before she returns to the living room. When she enters, Chase sits in the center of the couch with her legs spread wide and a sardonic smile on her face. She's looking at her phone and snickering until Emmy steps in.

"What's so funny?" Truthfully, she doesn't really care, but she would do anything to get her mind off of the ashamed, sticky feeling clinging to her. Part of her can't believe she's able to face Chase.

Chase looks up as though she's been ambushed and she shrugs. "Uh—stupid ass meme," she mumbles and pockets the phone before appraising Emmy with a vaguely concerned look. "Are you good?"

Emmy shakes her head because she doesn't trust herself to lie.

Chase beckons her and pulls her close when she sits on the couch. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

Emmy buries her face in Chase's shirt and breathes her in. Untangling this situation is something she wishes she had a manual for. Eventually, she pulls away and shakes her head. "I don't even know where to start," she admits and takes one of Chase's hands to absentmindedly play with. "I just missed you and I needed to get my mind off of everything."

Chase has nice hands if not a little chewed up around the edges. Emmy presses her palm flat against Chase's, marveling silently at the sheer difference in size. The sight of Chase's long, spindly fingers conjures memories from the nights they shared and it doesn't take long before Emmy gets flustered by her own thoughts.

"I can help you with that," Chase murmurs and brushes a lock of Emmy's hair from her face. For a few moments, it feels as though she's living in a romance movie.

Then, Chase's hand drifts lower, trailing down the spaghetti straps of Emmy's tank top and her neckline. It feels wrong like she's suddenly been doused with ice cold water.

"Wait—"

"What's wrong?" Chase does not stop despite Emmy's tension. Though, when she processes the soft touches, they aren't as invasive as she thought at first. The constant harassment is messing with her head more than she thought.

Emmy pulls away from Chase and keeps her eyes lowered. All of her thoughts feel as though they're contradicting each other and she can't shake the awful feeling of being watched. Maybe they're looking through the window now, concealed from Emmy's notice by the thick snowfall and her frazzled mind.

"Sorry," she sighs and it sounds a lot more exhausted than she estimated. "I'm really messed up right now, I think. Do you wanna just hold me for a while?"

Chase takes her hand and nods.

"I don't wanna move all the way to my room—let's stay out here," Emmy murmurs and pulls Chase from the couch. "This has a pull out bed."

"Hell yeah—very fancy," Chase remarks and gets to work on setting up the bed without being asked.

It feels nice to let her mind drift off while someone else takes the reins and Chase seems more than happy to. Once the bed is fully pulled out and the squashed pillows have been sufficiently fluffed, Chase guides Emmy and lays her down before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Emmy burrows under one of the soft blankets and attempts to temporarily ignore everything going wrong in her life. She refuses to think of the last time she and Chase saw each other, the stalker slowly driving her insane, and the disgusting feeling she gets every time Chase looks at her with kind eyes. If she knew all the things Emmy was doing for someone she does not know, she would not be looking at her like this. Putting everything out of her mind is far easier said than done. It soon becomes unbearable to face her and Emmy drags her down onto the bed with her.

Chase holds her from behind, securing her against her chest with long, thin arms and tucking her chin on top of her head. It feels nicer than Emmy would like to admit and she realizes if she isn't careful, she could fall asleep like this.

Time passes and Emmy's breathing slowly calms. Chase remains still and silent while she cradles Emmy in her arms and rather than making her feel anxious, it soothes Emmy in a way she can't describe. It does not take very long before her eyelids grow heavy and she knows she will be asleep sooner or later.

Then, as Emmy sits at the cusp of unconsciousness, Chase's hands begin to wander. It starts innocently enough. Chase runs a hand from Emmy's arm to her shoulder before drifting to her waist, but it does not stay there long.

"Do you wanna do anything?" Chase asks softly and the hand on Emmy's waist goes to her hip. When Emmy does not immediately answer, Chase gropes her and slides her hand back up the length of her body, slowing when she reaches her chest.

"I don't know," Emmy murmurs and flushes hard with all of the contact. Chase is the only person in the world who has ever touched her like this—it's difficult not to have a reaction no matter how frazzled and exhausted she is.

Chase hums thoughtfully before sliding her hand back to Emmy's waist.

"I promise I can take your mind off of everything if you'll let me."

Then, Emmy feels something poking against her ass. She blinks, stunned, and is grateful to be facing away from Chase.

"What is that?"

Chase snickers and pushes her hips firmly into Emmy's ass. That presence can only be one thing, but Emmy does not want to assume. "What do you think it is?"

Emmy shrugs and elects to play dumb while her face blooms with heat.

"My dick," Chase answers for her, "I really missed you."

Emmy does not know what to say to that. She missed Chase, of course she did, but this feels very sudden and she isn't sure what to do with it.

"I'm tired," she says and Chase pulls her closer, forcing her strap harder against Emmy's ass.

"I know," Chase says into her hair. "It's okay."

Then, Chase turns her over and kisses her. It happens very suddenly and Emmy barely hangs on as Chase slots their lips together. All at once, it feels like a massive relief and foreboding. Emmy wants to sleep, Chase wants to have sex, and they can't both have what they want. Emmy kisses her back and relents because she missed her terribly and can't fathom how she would feel if her unwillingness scared her off. The thought of dealing with everything on her own is nauseating.

"Okay," Emmy sighs and it is enough for Chase.

At some point, Chase ends up hanging over Emmy, kissing her as though she's trying to make up for all the lost time. Every touch feels like an invasion and Emmy is too caught up in the sensations to discern whether or not it's because of her stalker. It does not take long before Emmy realizes how easy it would be to give into Chase and allow her to make all of the decisions.

As Chase pulls Emmy's top over her head, Emmy says, "I don't know what to do." Her voice sounds strange in her ears, strained and soft and so unlike her it would be shocking if she weren't so numb.

"It's okay," Chase says quietly and tosses the garment aside. "I've got you." Hearing that feels better than Emmy expected it to and she fully gives herself over, completely at Chase's mercy.

---

The new week begins and passes uneventfully. Emmy's classes are dull and she has a difficult time staying motivated while being tormented constantly. It feels like a weight has been placed on her soul and Chase is little help. Not being able to tell her anything slowly gnaws at Emmy, but she can't find a solution no matter how much she wracks her brain.

Over the course of the week, Emmy settles into a sort of routine with Chase. She finishes her classes for the day and goes straight home where Chase is usually waiting. More often than not, Chase greets her with some sexual act Emmy may or may not be down for. When she is not feeling up for it, she never says so. It is easier to just give in.

All throughout this, Emmy's stalker ensures she never has a single moment of peace, always sending pictures sneakily taken from the webcam or worse, looking inside of her classroom window or in passing in the halls.

As the week progresses, Emmy carefully avoids looking at herself. Despair and exhaustion drag her face down and if it weren't for Chase, she figures she would feel terrible constantly without respite.

Friday night, Emmy goes to Chase and it does not take long before they end up in bed.

Chase drills Emmy into the bed and she slumps down, draping her weight over Emmy as she writhes underneath her. It's claustrophobic and Emmy is overwhelmed with Chase everywhere, surrounding and smothering her. It feels like it's too late to escape and she finds she does not care as much as she should. When Chase murmurs, "Promise me you'll never fuck anyone else," her chapped lips are so close to Emmy's neck her words feel like a kiss.

A surge of guilt wells up within Emmy and she struggles to fight it back. She wants to break down and crawl into Chase's arms, but she's stuffed with dick and preoccupied with doing whatever Chase wants. She wants to apologize for indulging some random weirdo on her phone and confess everything and grovel at Chase's feet. Emmy does not think she has ever felt so small.

"Promise me," she hisses and stretches away, bracing herself over Emmy and caging her in with her wiry arms.

Emmy blinks up at her, shocked at the sudden stillness within her and Chase's expression above. Her sharp eyes are narrowed and alight with the same instability that initially piqued Emmy's curiosity. Right now, it is hard to feel anything but oily unease as she stares vacantly into Chase's eyes.

For a long, horrible moment, it feels like Chase knows.

Emmy stumbles over her answer and nods. "I promise I'll never fuck anyone else."

Chase slowly, painfully slides out of her and her eyelids flutter shut as Emmy speaks. Once her strap is nearly fully unsheathed from Emmy's cunt, she sucks in a deep breath before snapping her hips forward, thrusting violently and without warning. The force of it pushes a strangled groan from Emmy and she wants nothing more than to curl in on herself. It happens quickly and as Chase pushes her dick as deep in Emmy's guts as it can go, she grows abruptly still and looms over Emmy.

"Say that again—say my name," she demands softly and Emmy just wants to feel anything other than the gaping pit of shame opening within her.

"I'll never fuck anyone else, Chase."

"You promise?"

Chase's dick slowly pulls out again and Emmy clenches in anticipatory resistance without meaning too. She struggles to relax; that will just hurt worse.

"I promise, Chase," the words feel like they rip through her. Lying to Chase's face like this might be one of the worst feelings she has ever had. Each word she says digs her a deeper hole and she wallows in the grave of her making. "I promise I'll never fuck anyone else, Chase."

On Sunday, Emmy breaks this promise.

She gets a text as she walks by one of the STEM buildings on her way home from studying at the library.

Unknown: Go to the supply closet on the second floor.

Unknown: It's next to the bathrooms by the elevator.

Unknown: It'll be unlocked. Get there at 4.

Emmy: Ok

It is nearing four now and Emmy finds herself anxiously pacing around the building. The air is bitingly cold and the chill seeps through her layers, stiffening her bones and making her reconsider everything she's ever done. Bare, dead trees line the perimeter like a sad fence. Their jagged, naked limbs reach futilely for the sky and Emmy traces the lines they form against the low clouds. It won't be long before it begins to snow.

As Emmy enters the nearest set of doors, she mulls over her past winters. This has always been her favorite time of year between the holidays and seasonal activities. Hot coco and warm outfits. Christmas movies and days spent snowed in.

The halls are quiet and Emmy feels like her footsteps echo abrasively. It's a Sunday—no one is here to witness whatever horrible thing is about to happen. This is an old building as well. As Emmy walks, she examines the ceiling, the corners, searching for cameras she does not find. There are very few windows and when she passes one, the world outside is covered in a sheet of white, unbroken as far as she can see. It feels a little like she's dreaming and she distantly wishes she was.

When she enters the stairwell, the cold she carried in from outside feels as though it follows her and she shivers while slowly moving to the second floor. It is even more eerily silent here and Emmy has to force herself to take the first, awful step.

As she searches for the elevator and the closet, Emmy tries to imagine what Chase is doing. Likely studying or taking something apart. She mentioned building a new computer the other day and Emmy is suddenly struck by how little she knows about Chase's day to day life. If she survives this ordeal, Emmy resolves to be more attentive where she can. Despite Chase's nerves and uncertainty, Emmy is determined to be with her.

It does not take long for her to find the closet. She steps into the darkness and switches the light on. It's a small space; barely large enough for her to spread both her arms out. Her wingspan is nearly the width of the room. As she glances at her surroundings, the many cleaning products and tools and chemicals, she checks her phone. She is here five minutes early.

Fifteen minutes pass and Emmy grows so anxious she feels she could crawl out of her skin. They surely did not forget—they don't strike Emmy as the type. More time crawls by and Emmy can't decide whether or not to stay where she is.

This is what she deserves. The more time passes by, the more certain she is of this. Not only the waiting, but this terrible and endless torment. It feels like it has been like this forever and it is difficult to recall a time when she existed in peace. The previous months were stressful but she would return to them in a heartbeat if it meant her escape. But she thinks of Gia and everything she said to her and she knows this is no worse than what Gia went through. Maybe after this, whatever this is, it will be done.

Then, her phone vibrates. It is 4:30.

Unknown: Turn the light off.

Unknown: If you try to look at me I swear to fucking god all those pictures and videos go straight to your parents.

Unknown: Do you think they'll enjoy knowing how much of a disgusting whore their daughter is?

Tears well up in her eyes as she reads but she hardly feels them. Emmy numbly pockets her phone and switches the light off.

A few terrible long moments pass in the darkness before the door opens.

When the dim light from outside spills into the small closet, Emmy holds her breath. This isn't real—this person being here in the same space as her does not make sense. They are someone supposed to be confined to her phone. Emmy hears them step inside and it all feels abruptly and nauseatingly real.

There is a presence behind her and Emmy does not dare let her breath out. Turning would be ridiculously easy. She wants to. She almost does before a hand stills her. It rests on her shoulder as briefly as a landing insect before withdrawing. Somehow, Emmy manages to keep her eyes forward and the tears begin to fall freely. She sniffles and the light from outside is snuffed out with the closing door.

Moments later, a heavy strip of fabric is pressed over her eyes and she barely stifles a shriek. They seem intent on remaining as anonymous as possible—nonspeaking and unfeeling. All of their caution only solidifies her theory that this is someone she knows. The knowledge unsettles her more than anything.

The light switch flicks back on and Emmy sees nothing. The fabric of the blindfold is so thick nothing penetrates it and she feels her hair stand on end in unease. Moving right now is impossible and she stands rail straight with her fists clenched at her sides. Some distant, more irrational part of her mentally braces for impact.

Nothing happens for a while, though she knows they are still there. She feels them circling round her as a shark would, silently appraising her. Emmy wryly wonders if the real thing is as good as they imagined. She hopes not—maybe they'll leave her alone if they don't think she's pretty enough.

Clammy hands take her wrists and hold them before her body. This is the first time they have ever touched her and their slick palms make her skin crawl with dread. Although they refuse to clue her in on what their plans are, it isn't hard to deduce she's being restrained.

Emmy remains dutifully and fearfully silent as her arms are tied to something chest height in front of her—probably one of the wire shelves housing the bottles of chemicals. Going purely off of her other senses, she estimates this person is larger than her and she picks up on the faint and oddly familiar scent of cologne in the air. It mingles with the chemical residue and it does not take long before she begins feeling light headed.

Then, they leave her and step away. Emmy releases a breath and gingerly tests the strength of her restraints. The soft motion jostles the shelves and she hears the muffled churning of liquid within the bottles. It all feels very surreal, almost as though this is happening to someone else and a dream.

It does not take long before they return and place their hands on her hips. It is very cold out and Emmy has a substantial amount of layers on. A small part of her wanted to dress so warmly just in case it deterred them, but that does not seem like the case. Their long, thin fingers slip into her waist band and quickly pull her jeans down over her ass, letting them pool at her boots without fully undressing her. For some reason, this only makes her feel worse, like something dirty being used as quickly as possible.

Despite not having her sight, Emmy feels the desperation in the way they touch her. They must have wanted to do this for a very long time.

For a while, they allow her the decency of keeping her panties. She was not instructed to wear anything in particular, but she elected to wear something simple. A baby blue bikini cut number. Their hands rest on her ass and pull her apart. She feels their breath glide along her feverish skin and struggles not to flinch.

They pull her panties down and the cool air of the room hits her hot cunt like a slap. Now, she finds it impossible to contain her knee-jerk reflexes and flinches. Their breath is inches away from her pussy and she stifles a cry. The blindfold is soaked in her tears now and it rubs uncomfortably against her raw skin. Several long moments pass and they don't do anything. That sickening unease creeps back into Emmy's mind until she wonders if they even intend on touching her. The thought of being something to look at is almost as nauseating as the thought of being touched.

All while this happens, Emmy desperately attempts to learn as much as she can without relying on her sight. There is that smell again—the cologne and bleach and vinegar scent flooding the room. It's difficult to discern what about the cologne smell is so familiar. It isn't like she spends a lot of time around men. The soft noises in the space do little more to help her. She hears their shuffling footsteps as they back away from her once more, and then the haggard sound of their labored breathing. If nothing else, she can at least tell how excited they are.

Then, she hears something clatter. Them or a product they hold or something else. Emmy does her best to stifle her tears and breathing to listen to what's going on. All of her awareness is cast behind her, straining for a hint.

The eerie silence is abruptly broken with a loud snap and a soft grunt of exertion. Oily, churning nausea bubbles up from within Emmy and she tastes bile in the back of her throat. That snap means nothing good for her and it's a miracle she doesn't vomit from the pure fear she feels.

They return to her and once again spread her open, probing curiously at her hole with one hand. Emmy has a cold suspicion the other hand is busy holding something.

Something blunt begins to press against her unwilling cunt. It's cold, a bit rough, and about the width of a large coin. Though Emmy can't be sure her estimation is accurate when her mind is desperately working out how to escape this situation. Let her parents know, let the whole world know—it would be better than this eternal torment and a life of looking over her shoulder.

But it does not stop. Despite how closed off and clenched she is, they force the object into her cunt. It is a very slow process without her consent and without lubrication. It feels much different without being turned on like she's been with Chase in the past.

The pain starts immediately and squirming only makes it flare, so Emmy learns early on to keep as still as possible. In exchange for her body's forced compliance, she retreats into her head, desperately trying to bury the searing stretch and the sharp pain. As agonized noises escape her without her permission, Emmy leans forward as far as she can as though she's trying to eject herself from her body.

One of their hands remains anchored to her ass, holding her open, and the intrusion feels endless. Emmy cries and whimpers and sobs as she is forced to take inch after inch. The sense of being used like she means nothing is worse than the pain. It burns and something uncomfortably warm begins to trickle down her thighs—blood or something else.

Emmy's senses are horribly skewed. She could be upside down now and wouldn't know it. The only tether she has left to the world is their hand on her, and even that leaves her after a time.

Focusing on anything other than the burn is impossible. Attempting to listen or feel or smell anything about her assaulter proves to be useless. Whenever she stiffens, the intrusion picks up the pace. It feels like they have been pushing this inside her for hours.

Eventually, the firm, insistent intrusion stills.

Emmy finds herself able to breathe again but it is difficult to brush off the ache. The pain in her cunt has ebbed from a sharp, stinging sear to a slow, throbbing ache. It is just as bad as it was at first and Emmy sobs, unable to hold herself back anymore.

While she stares into the darkness of the blindfold, she mulls over her future. Is this what the rest of her life will look like?

Even if they decide to leave her alone for a time or get bored of her, Emmy will always live with the knowledge she allowed this to happen to her. It is a realization more simple than she would like to admit.

A long time passes where nothing happens and Emmy wonders if she has been left here, restrained and blindfolded with something awful protruding from her pussy. The pain finally subsides into something manageable and Emmy would cry in relief if she had not already exhausted all her tears. Then, they begin to pull it out of her, without warning and as roughly as they inserted it. Emmy assumed it would feel less awful if it was quick, but when they tear the object from her cunt, it feels like her cunt is rubbed from the inside out with coarse sandpaper.

Emmy screams, she can't help it, and the room rings with the lingering reverberations of her voice. Her watcher says nothing and something clatters to the floor. All of the sudden noise feels abrasive after spending so long only listening to her own small gasps of pain.

Then, a presence appears next to her head, close enough she can feel their breath on her cheek.

"I'm gonna untie you," they whisper. Their voice has an odd diffused quality to it. This is someone she knows—why else would they go through the trouble of hiding their voice.

They continue, "If you take the blindfold off before I'm gone I swear to fucking god I'll strangle you."

Emmy waits and doesn't breathe. It takes her an embarrassingly long time to realize they are waiting for her response. She nods.

"Wait here for ten minutes, then you can go," they murmur and then their presence is gone as quickly as it came.

The restraints at her wrists come loose and Emmy immediately crumples to the floor, still submerged in her world of darkness. The door opens and closes. Instead of immediately taking the blindfold off and examining herself, Emmy remains on the floor, blind and too terrified to move.

More than ten minutes pass before she removes the blindfold. Emmy does not bother checking the time. She does not want to know and she does not want to face the reality of what just happened. For now, she exists in a bubble of unreality, the closet set apart from time.

The light is harsh on her eyes and she blinks rapidly to adjust. Once everything begins coming into focus, she forces herself to stand and dress herself. Blood streaks down her inner thighs but there is not as much as she thought. As Emmy numbly assesses herself, she finds her cunt swollen and raw. A broken mop handle is on the floor, painted with her blood and fluids. She was forced to take quite a bit of it—her blood reaches about eight inches up the length of it.

Emmy sits motionless and unfeeling in the closet until her legs go numb underneath her. Then, her phone vibrates.

Chase: do u wanna come over tonight?

Emmy: Yeah.

Notes:

I am incredibly sick and stressed out today so I'm sorry if this isn't up to standard. We're in the last stretch now.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Spiderweb