Even Lovers Drown

"You two are sickeningly adorable."

Sage's amused voice jolted them apart and forced their attention to the bathroom door, where she stood, hair damp, towel hanging on her shoulder. For a moment, Saylor was worried they had offended her, that their blatant display of affection may have disgusted her. She doubted Sage wanted to see them lip locked in the hotel room the three of them shared, and she certainly didn't want to upset Blake's friends. They were a band, a tightly bonded family. She wanted them to approve of her.

But Sage's lips tweaked in teasing smile, and a feminine chuckle slipped past the pink threshold.

"Jesus, Saylor," she said, "you're staring at me like I'm a pastor that just walked in on you violating his little girl."

Heat traveled up Saylor's neck, embarrassment flooding her veins. She ducked her head, a desperate attempt to conceal the blush she was sure had begun to spread. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Blake lying back on her elbows, eyebrow cocked. Relaxed, absolutely relaxed. Sage walking in on their kiss hadn't worried her in the least.

"Sorry," Saylor mumbled.

Again, she chuckled, an almost nerve-settling chime. Sage found amusement in her actions, maybe even in their open displays of affection. She was not upset, not offended, not irritated. And why would she have been? Blake and Saylor had kissed in public before. The most they received in response were teasing comments, and those had been geared toward Blake.

A gentle squeeze of her hand drew her gaze from her lap and to Blake's face. She smiled, an attempt at reassurance. Paired with her startling blue eyes, the ones Saylor could drown in, the gesture worked in dousing her embarrassment.

"Too cute," Sage mumbled, before snapping her towel from her shoulders and throwing it at Blake's head. It landed on target, unceremoniously blanketing the lead singer's tousled curls and shielding her face from view. "Shower's yours, whore."

Blake yanked the offending fabric from her head, scowling at Sage. "I am not a whore."

"Oh, right, you're a reformed whore. Shower's still yours."

"Bitch."

Sage waved her comment off and left her spot in the doorway, snatching a bag from her bed and taking a new perch at one of the multiple mirrors. Saylor chuckled. While she had no doubt there was some truth behind the statements made, the ones about Blake's behavior, she found their friendly banter humorous, as well as endearing. They were close friends, they picked on each other, they attempted to embarrass each other. That was normal.

That couldn't frighten her away from Blake.

"I'll be done in a second," Blake said. She pecked Saylor's cheek, a quick press of her soft lips to skin, and stood, clothing in hand. "Don't believe anything Sage says." And, with one parting glare directed towards the mentioned band member, she disappeared into the bathroom.

Maybe Saylor should have squeezed her hand to reassure her their banter couldn't destroy their growing relationship.

"She's such a spazz," Sage said.

Saylor’s eyes drifted to her, away from the closed bathroom door that hid Blake from her eyes. Pushing away all thoughts of the potentially nude form behind that door, the one belonging to the woman she was growing to adore, she watched Sage draw her eyeliner pencil around her eyes in practiced strokes.

"She's scared something one of us says is going to scare you away," Sage continued.

"And you think she's being silly."

"More like an idiot. If you're worth it and you really like her, whatever jokes we make won't be enough to tear you two apart."

"I do like her," Saylor mumbled, her gaze dropping to her lap.

But was she worth Blake's affection? She wasn't perfect by any means. She had been broken, her soul shattered after a miserable relationship. She was more work than necessary. Getting her to take a chance on a friendship, just a friendship, took the insistence of her brother, her mother, and a complete change in Blake's behavior. The same relationship that destroyed her mental soundness left physical scars, constant reminders of her personal hell anytime she was forced to acknowledge them.

She was still healing.

"She likes you," Sage said, reassuring smile reflecting in the mirror. "And she hasn't touched another woman since the first performance. I'm guessing that makes you worth it."

Saylor perked at the statement, eyes darting to Sage. "She hasn't?"

Blake gave up meaningless sex long before Saylor had said a civil word to her. She had been denying the desperate groupies that flocked to her, halted her player-like antics. For what?

Shrugging, Sage capped her eyeliner pencil and tossed it into her bag. "Too hung up over you to touch anyone."

For her. All of the changes Blake made were inspired by her desire to claim her. Maybe it had been strictly out of sexual need. In the beginning. But she never gave up the pursuit, regardless of how many times she failed, and, somewhere in the midst of their interactions, she realized she wanted more out of Saylor. Instead of running from that want, instead of running as she learned more about her, she stayed. And she never demanded Saylor change anything in return or made her feel guilty for all the changes she had made.

Because Blake was not Katie.

Sage turned from the mirror, makeup the epitome of perfection, and hopped onto her bed, a surprisingly graceful act completed with the elegant tuck of her knees. Her intense green eyes stared into Saylor's. Emotions didn't flit through them, her thoughts didn't glow behind them. She just stared at her. Almost intimidating. Silence wrapped around them, Sage content staring and Saylor anxiously awaiting the verbalization of her thoughts.

Finally, Sage spoke, "I know we don't know each other very well, at all really, but if you ever need to talk, about Blake or," she paused, "whatever, I'm here. I might understand better than you'd think."

Saylor's thoughts raced. The offer couldn't have been impromptu, a random helping hand to Blake's potential girlfriend. She doubted Sage was friendly enough to go out of her way to volunteer help for each of her band mates' prospective partners, and they didn't know each other well enough to be considered friends. Acquaintances, maybe, but "friends" was pushing it. She knew something, had to know.

"Davy told you?" Saylor asked.

Where else could she have gotten any information about her? Her older sibling was the only one on tour who knew. Had he let it slip?

"He didn't tell me anything. I can just tell."

"How?"

If Davy hadn't told her, what about Saylor was tipping her off? Did anyone else know? She didn't think she had been quite that obvious, aside from the times she thought Blake and Katie were synonymous. Her more noticeable reactions hadn't happened in Sage's presence.

"I've been there, through something similar. I know what it's like."

"Something similar?" Saylor repeated.

Sage had been in her position, had her mental security shattered by someone she held close? She had felt the same helplessness? The same weakness? The same internal tear, one side holding on and the other begging to find safety? She didn't seem the type to let someone hurt her. She seemed stronger.

"My foster parents were abusive," Sage said.

Saylor's eyes widened. Her mouth opened, as if to respond, but no words came out, and she was left with her jaw slacked.

"Typical orphan case, I guess," Sage shrugged, "Taken from my parents at age seven. They were too strung out to notice. I was shoved into the first foster family that would take me."

"You didn't have to tell me."

"It's fine. Everyone knows."

"You told all of your friends?"

She nodded. "Our fans know, too."

Nerves shot through Saylor's stomach at the prospect of telling so many people personal details of her life. So many strangers. She couldn't even tell Blake, and she deserved to be told more than anyone.

"Why?"

"An interviewer called me out, asked why I was such a bitch all the time. Rather than curse him out—and, God, did I want to—I explained why I was so closed off. Childhood abuse,” she chuckled, “it’ll do that you."

"You're okay with strangers knowing?"

"I'm glad they know. I have this huge support system of people I can lean on when the people around me just aren't enough, and I can be there to support them."

Would there be a day the people who knew, her family, couldn't help? Already, Saylor didn't think they understood. Not completely. Saylor questioned whether her therapist truly understood some days. They couldn't always give her the advice she needed.

But Sage did understand. Sage could help if Saylor could just tell her.