Even Lovers Drown

Blake crossed her arms over her chest, silently observing Saylor while she worked. She wasn't going to leave. Not yet. She was going to get this woman to talk to her, a new goal that she hoped to achieve tonight. Her original goal, the taming of the wild redhead, was still in the forefront of her mind, and that goal would be achieved. Eventually. Once Blake broke through Saylor's ice queen-like front, they would be well on their way to warming up her bunk. Enough of Blake's smiles and comments would break that wall.

Unless Saylor was straight. The woman in question stood ridged, no longer folding shirts but staring at merchandise and occasionally tweaking their placements. Unnecessary work, something to avoid turning around and looking at Blake. Was she so uncomfortable with Blake's presence because she was straight? Was she homophobic? But Davy was gay and they seemed to get along fine.

Speculation wouldn't help Blake get anywhere. She would ask outright, but she didn't think Saylor would respond. This woman was difficult, but Blake would figure her out.

"You know," Blake said, walking around the table to stand next to Saylor, "If you're going to sell our merch, you should at least wear a shirt."

"Oh, really?" Saylor asked, eyes trained on the merchandise.

She could see Blake scanning over the piles of shirts from the corner of her eyes. The egomaniac was looking right at the piles and didn't seem to realize that her band wasn't the only one with merchandise at the table. She was probably so blinded by herself that she thought shirts with full band pictures of Say Goodbye were just pictures of her.

Granted there were shirts with just Blake's picture on them, pictures of her looking timid and inviting—nothing like the conceited woman standing next to Saylor—but that wasn't the point.

"You should wear this one," Blake said, pointing to the shirt with her picture in the center. The picture happened to be one of her favorites, the reason why she approved it. "All the girls on my team wear my shirts."

Saylor resisted the urge to release a harsh laugh and tell her off. "Your team? Like that vampire versus werewolf thing?" She tore her eyes away from the merch wall to look at Blake. "I'm twenty-four, not thirteen."

The green eyes that stared in Blake's blue ones shone with irritation. Though she seemed to be attempting to keep her voice neutral, a harsh edge tinged her words. Blake was efficiently pissing her off.

But she was talking. Angry or not, her sentences were progressively becoming longer. Why she was getting irritated, Blake didn’t know. She hadn't said anything she would have found offensive. It didn't matter though. Saylor was opening up, and Blake would hook up with her regardless of how she felt about her. Angry sex was good enough. Angry sex with a redhead, she wouldn't be able to walk for days.

"I meant team rainbow," Blake clarified. She grabbed a shirt from the top of the pile and checked the tag. "You're a small, right?"

Blake unfolded the tee-shirt before Saylor could respond, holding to eye level. A little small. The fabric would hug Saylor's breasts nicely and wouldn't be long enough to cover her midsection. More like the girls Blake slept with regularly. Smirking at the mental image, Blake brought the shirt away from her face. The furious green eyes she met knocked the smirk from her lips.

"Give me that," Saylor snapped, snatching the shirt for Blake's hands.

The smirk returned to Blake's face. Success. Saylor would wear the shirt. Why else would she have grabbed the shirt from Blake's hands so quickly? And the fury in her eyes, Blake was simply misreading what she was seeing. Saylor wasn't angry. Her tight jaw, tense shoulders, and angry eyes were the effects of poor venue lighting. Saylor was never irritated with her, the lighting only made her look that way.

"So, I was thinking," Blake said, "After a night of selling merch, you're going to be sweaty, exhausted, and downright cranky. The van is hardly going to be comfortable, and you'll start off tomorrow in a bad mood." Blake stepped closer to Saylor, nearly touching her. She could feel Saylor tense in the close proximity but ignored it and brought her lips to her ear. She mumbled, "You should stay in my bunk. I'll make you feel good."

Saylor's lungs constricted, sending a dull ache through her chest. Her breathing cutoff and a wave of nausea washed over her. The words "Let me make you feel good" in Katie's intoxicating alto, ran through her head. Saylor could see her face, could feel her hands rubbing her body, could remember the pain she caused her. This was too familiar, too much.

Forcing air to her lungs, she continued refolding the shirt Blake rudely plucked from the stack, her movements slow and precise to keep her from having to look at the woman next to her. She could see the slight tremors of her hands as she worked and hoped that Blake couldn't see she had gotten to her.

"Get lost," Saylor said, her voice surprisingly firm.

Blake pulled away from Saylor's ear and tilted her head, smiling despite her confusion. "Excuse me?"

Saylor placed the folded shirt back on the stack and looked up at Blake. "I'm sorry, you must not get that response enough to know what it means. I'll speak slower." She took a deep breath to calm her jittery nerves and said, "Get. Lost."

Before Blake could process the words, Saylor turned her back to her, attention on one of the various cardboard boxes. It took Blake a moment to interpret the unfamiliar decline, to realize she had been denied by Davy's little sister. Her smile melted off her face, her lips parting in shock. Not only had she been denied but she hadn't even been given a chance to respond. Saylor dismissed her like she was no one.

This couldn't be happening. She must have jumped through a wormhole into an alternate universe, at the very least was stuck in a nightmare or subject to some cruel joke. There was no way her offer had been refused. She had fame, she had money. Women wanted her for that, jumped at the chance to be with her for that. This kind of thing didn't happen.

Perhaps her failure wasn't witnessed. She could pretend it hadn't happened and ignore Saylor for the rest of tour. She could claim she wasn't into redheads, that they didn't catch her attention. All would return to normal, and she wouldn't have to think about this.

But one glance around the venue proved that wouldn't be possible. Sage, now on the floor level of the venue, was shaking with unreleased laughs, hand over her mouth, her body leaning against the stage. Hayden was reluctantly handing money to Hunter, whose rare smile was spread across his face. Reese flashed a reassuring smile and shrugged, as if to say it would be okay. Davy had returned to the venue, two merch girls under his arms. His eyebrows were drawn, his gaze shifted between her and Saylor. They knew, and Blake would never be able to live this down. Shaking her head, Blake stormed from the venue.

Hunched over the box of merchandise, Saylor listened to Blake's brooding footsteps flee from the arena. Her fingers shook as she pretended to shift through the shirts with purpose. Tense muscles kept the rest of her body from succumbing to the same unsteady fate. Tears burned in her eyes, begging to stream down her cheeks. Her stomach refused to settle.

And she was angry with herself, almost more than she was with Blake. She had been doing so well. Irritation and exhaustion may have kept her from burrowing under the table when Blake approached, but she made it through a majority of the conversation. She was conversing like a normal person. She would blame Blake for ruining it, for causing the sporadic fear spike, but Blake had nothing to do with it. Katie did.

A hand rested on her shoulder, the quiet words "She's gone" accompanying it in the soothing voice of her brother. Tentative, she looked up at him, positive she looked absolutely pitiful. His green eyes were soft, appraising her current state. She couldn't fake a smile for him. Blake's offer, her own inability to communicate, Katie, it was all too much.

Davy sighed. "Sarah, Jenny, I need you two to watch the table for a little while."

He was going to take her somewhere to calm down. She didn't need to ask him for the short break, he knew she wouldn't make it two more minutes without breaking down. And he knew she didn't want to be around people when that happened.

Saylor wondered if anyone besides Davy could see her discomfort. Could they see she was on the verge of curling into the fetal position and bawling her eyes out? Or did she just look like she was going through merchandise?

"Okay," one of them chirped.

He gave the pair a look, a mix of knowing and exhaustion in his green eyes. "That means don't leave the table."

"We won't."

"Even if that drummer walks by."

Tears collected in Saylor's eyes, threatening to spill over. A pair of hyperactive nineteen-year-olds could converse better with the same sex than she could. She should have been able to do what they could do, but one bad relationship continued to hinder her.

"Can we call her over?" the other asked, hopeful.

"No." Davy gently wrapped an arm around Saylor's shoulders. "Come on," he whispered, forcing her upright, out of her hunched position over the box.