One Heart

1. Because you're special

The whisky burned as it slid down the back of Sorah's throat. The heat, and the way the fumes flooded her nostrils was comforting, a familiarity that calmed her. One that softened the cold, hard world just a little.

Each sip scorched its way from the back of her throat right to the pit of her stomach where the tingling warmth spread throughout her entire body. Her senses were dulled but for now her mind was sharp.

What was left of the amber liquid sloshed around in the bottom of the bottle as she rested it on one knee; only a third of the contents remained. She squinted in the dim light, sure they couldn't have polished off that much already.

With a shrug, Sorah took one more swig before handing the bottle back to the blonde at her side.

A steady pulse droned from the stereo, reverberating in her chest. The room was blurred around the edges like a worn photograph, softened by the glow of candlelight. She focused on what she could see, hear, feel. It was all she could do to shut out the voice in the back of her mind reminding her that alcohol couldn't solve her problems. It was just a mask, a scab over a festering wound that refused to heal. But that didn't stop her, because for a single moment she could forget the wound even existed. And that was enough.

Words, sounds, thoughts. They all spun around in her mind, a loud chatter that began the moment Alyssa had mentioned her dead mother. Sorah's mouth dried up. Her tongue grew heavy, stilled by the memories she fought to forget. She wanted to tell Alyssa they were the same, that she knew how it felt.

"Sorah?"

Blurred senses sharpened as reality snapped back. Sorah clenched her eyes shut, climbing her way out through the tangled mess of images in her mind. She blinked. Once, then again, bringing herself back to the moment. The dimly lit room was now too bright to stand, the music too deep, too pervasive.

Alyssa stared at her, waiting.

Each sip of whiskey had now caught up with Sorah. The room spun, and her head grew too heavy for her neck to hold. She raised her brow in question, her mouth too full of cotton wool to speak.

Alyssa waited with a patient smile, her eyes lighting up when Sorah at last acknowledged her. "I know I've only known you a couple of weeks, but I feel like we've become really close."

Sorah forced herself to smile back. It was more of a grimace. It was hard to think of anything when her mind was swimming in the darkness she usually kept at bay. Often the alcohol helped.

And if she drank enough, she could forget how much it hurt. Only sometimes the alcohol made it worse. Sometimes it reminded her that she cared more than she'd like to admit. It reminded her she wasn't fine. Wasn't safe.

This time the pain hadn't been covered, but instead pulled to the surface. The near-photographic image splintered her mind and tightened her chest. So much blood, a scarlet smear against the white tiles. The horror-scene flashbacks were the only time she could pull her mother's image to the surface. The only time she could remember her face without a picture as reference.

It was the last image she wanted to see.

So when Alyssa leant up against her, pressing their lips together, Sorah welcomed the distraction. The fabric of the couch was cool against her back as she accepted Alyssa's weight above her.

The kiss was wet. It was clumsy and rushed and didn't live up to expectations. Whatever Sorah had expected, this wasn't it. It bored her. But more than that, the feeling of lips against hers grated on her nerves like a frequency too high to stand.

Cool air touched Sorah's lips as they parted, but as she shifted to sit up, Alyssa pinned her against the couch, kissing her neck and jaw.

Sorah ran her tongue over the surface of her mouth and swallowed, working to return it to the way it felt before the invasion.