Chapter 6
4232words
Now across the room, Grace looked like something conjured. She wore the same white slip dress, the strap falling delicately down her shoulder, slightly revealing the tops of her breast when she shifted. Her long limbs were tucked in beneath her, her eyes were half lidded from smoke and ease. Her hair was lightly mussed, dark brown near black framing her face. The soft amber lamplight lit shadows across her collarbone.
Mary's breath caught.
There it was again - the quiet ache. The holy pull Todd warned about.
Grace exhaled slowly, the plume curling up in the air. "You alright over there?" she called, her voice thick and lazy.
Mary sat up straighter, and nodded. "Just tired. Didn't sleep."
"Sleepy doesn't hang on your body like that." She chuckled and tapped the bed with an open palm. "Come over here. You're so far away."
Mary looked away. Grace looked at her for a few moments before setting the pipe onto the nightstand. She stood and glided across the room. She sat in front of Mary, laying her head on Mary's thigh. The touch sent electricity through Mary, her other leg beginning to bounce nervously. In another life, she was used to this kind of fondness from Grace, this closeness. But something else crawled on her skin and sat uneasily in her throat.
"You been cryin'?" Grace murmured, looking up at Mary. Mary looked down at her and frowned. "No," she lied.
Grace chuckled, making Mary's heart flutter. Grace reached up and with a gentle finger traced the bags underneath Mary's eyes. Her finger trailed down and she cupped Mary's cheek in her hand. "You're such a bad liar," she said with a gentle smile. Not mocking, just knowing.
She rubbed her cheek with a lazy thumb. She looked softly into Mary's eyes, as if taking in every detail. "Y'know I used to remember every inch of your face before I left," she whispered.
Mary's breath hitched, and the tears began to poke from the corner of her eyes. "Why'd you leave me?" she asked quietly. The question surprised her. It was something that she screamed into her pillow the night she discovered Grace's disappearance, but refused to ever think it again. She knew why Grace left, it was for her own safety. It was simple. Yet it still gnawed at her. Why didn't she take her with her?
Grace's face flashed with an unclear emotion, but just for a moment. She dropped her hand into her lap, but kept her gaze on Mary. "Didn't know I was leaving you. Not at the time."
Grace ran her thumb on the hem of Mary's dress, her eyes thoughtful. "You never left me," she murmured. "And I carried you everywhere. You ever feel that? Like you still got someone's skin sown onto you?"
Mary didn't answer. She couldn't. Her chest felt like stone, her breath felt ragged.
Grace tilted her head and then smiled wider. "I think you need to let your brain settle down." She stood up and walked to the dresser. She grabbed the little wooden box she kept her pipe and weed in and sat on the bed. She rustled around in it and pulled out a small piece of paper wrapped in wax paper. "And maybe let your heart do the talking for a bit."
"What's that?" Mary shifted slightly in her chair.
Grace smiled, slow and lopsided. "A gift." She set the box on the night stand but still held the paper. She stretched out on the bed, lying on her stomach. She held her ankles in the air, crossing them back and forth like a schoolgirl with a secret. "I got it on the bus on the way in. I took one a few days ago." She swayed the paper back and forth. "It's just like a little window into the soul."
Mary crossed her legs and furrowed her brow. "So... hippie drugs?"
Grace laughed, full and low. "Sure, if you wanna think about it like that." She beckoned Mary with a long finger. Mary blushed slightly and rose, walking over to the bed. Grace patted the space between her and the foot of the bed and Mary sat. She eyed the paper with a raised brow which made Grace laugh again. She then took her hand, gently. "Trust me. You won't lose yourself. You'll just find something you didn't know you lost."
Mary stared at the paper. It looked like nothing. A simple square with splashes of water color. But in Grace's hands, it felt like it was something more than what it appeared to be. It held weight. Meaning.
Grace leaned her head on Mary's lap again. She turned up at her expectantly, though her eyes stayed soft, a playful smile tickled her lips. "We'll take a walk outside," she murmured. "Before it sets in fully so you won't be feeling too stuck. And I'll be with you every step of the way." She reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind Mary's ear.
"Do you trust me?"
Mary looked at the square again, then down into her face. Of course she trusted her. She’d follow Grace into a burning building, if only she held out her hand.
“Alright,” she breathed. “What do I do?”
Grace sat up, unwrapping the wax paper with careful fingers. “Stick out your tongue.”
Mary opened her mouth, hesitating just slightly. She extended her tongue. Grace smiled—more to herself than Mary—and placed the square gently onto the pink.
“Good girl,” she whispered. “Now close your mouth. Let it melt.”
Mary blinked slow, the paper had long since dissolved, leaving a bitter echo on her tongue. Grace hummed along to the man crooning, sliding on her sandals.
"You feelin' it yet?" she called, not looking up.
Mary opened her mouth, then paused. She was certain she was feeling something. Not high, not yet. But the corners of the room at softened, her skin made itself aware in a very new way. As if every hair had raised and awoken.
"I'm not sure," she said. "I just feel... warm." She reached and touched her cheeks.
Grace smiled, and turned to her with her hand outstretched. "C'mon, let's get goin' before it really kicks. The night is gonna feel good on you."
Mary took her hand without hesitation, their fingers intertwining tightly like roots.
They walked out of the room, down the hall into the outside. The screen door slammed shut behind them and they faced the woods behind the boarding house. The night was quiet, sans for the hum of insects, the rustling of leaves in the summer breeze and the faint pulsating of the music behind them. The street lamps on the side of them emanated a strange light, reflecting colors in hazy ways.
And Mary felt it. The distant buzzing behind her eyes that made the whole earth hum ever so slightly. Shadows swam and swirled in the corners of her eyes. Grace's hand felt impossibly warm, like a flame her parents would swat her hand away from as a girl.
"Everything is buzzing," she said, her voice small.
Grace glanced over, still walking. "That's the world singing. The hum. You just needed new ears to hear it."
Mary nodded, but had no idea what Grace was saying. Her eyes felt wet unexpectedly, and she squeezed Grace's hand tighter.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
Grace stopped, turning to face her fully. She dropped Mary's hand and held her cheeks in both hands. She smiled and gently rubbed her jawline. "You got nothing to be scared of," she murmured. "I'm stayin' right by your side."
Mary looked up at her, reverent, her eyes still glistening and dilated. Grace's skin swirled and glowed, humming with faint color illuminated by the street lamps and moonlight. Her dark hair seemed to shimmer, her deep eyes pits of warmth. Rings of light haloed around her head, radiating from every patch and wrinkle of skin. Her lips were more vibrant, more luscious. Her white silk slip was a cacophony of swirling color, making her seem more godlike than human. Everything about her was godlike. Mary's breath caught.
"Oh," she whispered. The tears began to fall now.
Grace moved her hand, to wipe at them, chuckling softly. "What's wrong?"
Mary sniffled, overwhelmed. She brushed her hair from her face. "What are you, Grace?" she asked, her voice wrapped in pure awe.
Grace laughed a little deeper now, smiling brightly. Her teeth glinted a fluorescent white, color tickling them softly. Her laugh was joyous, infectious, making Mary laugh a softly in return.
"I'm just me," Grace said, dropping her hands to clasp Mary's. She squeezed gently. "I'm just me."
They kept walking, Grace humming gently. The sound seemed to echo in Mary's ears. Not loudly, just softly enough that reminded her of when her mother would sing to her when she was sick as a girl. Mary later asked what she was humming, to which Grace would laugh that infectious laugh. Sometimes it was old hymns that was drilled into her, other times it was the same man from a band with a name Mary couldn't remember. She couldn't remember or hold onto a lot of things Grace said while they walked. Every time Grace would speak, Mary would turn to look and would feel her tears threaten to fall again, her breath catching. She was distracted by Grace's design, her person. It was impossible to focus on anything besides how even in the darkness as they walked through the woods, Grace would seem to illuminate. She was acting as Mary's northern star, her guiding light. Not just in this trip, but perhaps
Mary didn't know where they were walking to until she recognized the familiar sound of the babbling creek. They were opposite from their normal spot, now facing the dirt path that led back to the church. Mary looked up. The trees seemed vaster, bending in stranger angles, the stars swirling in small colorful specks. The hum Grace spoke about, melded in the cacophony of wilderness. The crickets and toads swelled, the creek's babbling was a consistent delicate hum.
She brought her head back down, right as she felt Grace's hand part from her's. Grace walked forward, nearing the edge of the creek before she stopped. She shrugged her shoulders, letting her slip fall, shedding it like second skin. She carefully slipped out of her sandals, then turned. Mary's breath stopped. Grace was bare and naked as scripture. Holy and transfigured. The slivers of moonlight cascaded down her flesh, curving around her small, soft breasts and casting shadows across her collarbone. Gold swirled and shimmered across her skin, her perfection illuminating brightly as day. A small smile curved Grace's lips and she held out a delicate hand. "C'mon," she called, no notes of bashfulness in her voice, only invitation.
Mary didn't think. She shook off her clothes, shedding her dress and undergarments and anything else that tethered her to earth. When she looked up, Grace had already turned towards the creek, stepping into the water in slow measured steps. It took everything within Mary not to run after her.
She stepped into the water, the slight chill biting at her flesh as she followed after Grace. A laugh escaped her lips as she came closer, and closer, until the two women were standing in front of each other, only breaths apart.
Grace reached and brushed a wet strand of hair away from Mary's cheek. "You've been lookin' at me like I hung the moon," she chuckled.
Mary trembled slightly. "Maybe you did."
Grace's breath caught, somewhere between a laugh and an ache. "You're drunk on starlight, girl."
Mary reached, her heart beating frankly. No longer thinking too deeply, whether it be the drugs or the butterflies that rummaged in her ribs, she grabbed Grace's waist, wrapping her arms around her, pulling her closer. "Maybe I'm just drunk on you," she whispered.
Grace looked at her, something unrecognizable crossing her eyes. She then leaned down, lifting Mary's chin slightly. Her lips parted slightly, and Mary eagerly took the invitation. Their mouths crashed together. They softly moved in unison, pulling each other closer. Water and heat pulsed through them. Mary gasped in her mouth as Grace's hand trailed down her belly. Further and further until it reached the sacred wet between her thighs.
The creek bore witness. Their bodies moved like reverent prayer.
Mary clung to Grace, wrapping her leg tightly around Grace's. Grace's hand moved slowly, softly first, like she was memorizing pages in scripture. Then plunged deeper. Her fingers curled and twisted as she laid her head on Mary's shoulder. Grace buried her head into the nook of her stretched neck, her fingers curling into Grace's waist. She cried Grace's name like liturgy, feeling as though she might burst from her own skin. Grace gently kissed Mary's neck as her fingers drew in and out, deeper.
"Grace," she moaned. "Oh... Grace, please."
Grace moved her head, her kisses exploring every piece of skin. She caressed Mary's breast, kissing across her sternum, her throat.
The stars spun frantically overhead.
Mary came in shuddering gasps and tightened thighs, baptized in pleasure. The water bloomed in ripples of light.
The creek flicked up their waists, but Grace's touch pulled Mary higher. They leaned in, their foreheads touching. Grace's breaths match Mary's, shallow and sweet.
"I want you," Grace whispered, so close that their lips grazed.
"Then take me," Mary whispered back, her chest heaving.
Grace kissed her, deeper this time, need surging through. Their hips found rhythm before their feet touched the moss on the shore. But Grace pulled back slightly, leading her backward onto land. Mud gave way to stones and more moss, water rushing away from their bared feet. The grass tickled at their ankles, and they shivered and gasped from the cool crisp air. Goose pimples decorated their skin, but that could not stop the desperate heat that filtered through them.
They collapsed on the soft earth.
Mary landed beneath her, air knocking out of her lungs in a short gasp, hair haloed in the damp moss. Grace hovered above her, hair dropping from her hair onto Mary's flushed chest.
"You're so beautiful," Grace breathed, almost reverent.
She ran her finger down the plan of Mary's stomach, across her hip, and back up between her breasts. Mary's breath caught and her back arched.
"Please," she whispered, half a moan.
Grace didn't ask what for. She lowered herself onto Mary's body, skin to skin, slowly, as if savoring the touch. She kissed down Mary's body, starting from her nipples, down to her stomach. Each press of her mouth and touch felt like a consecration.
When Grace finally reached the throbbing heat between Mary's thighs, Mary cried out. Not from pain, not necessarily from pleasure, but from the sheer holiness of it all. Like Mary never had truly owned her body. Like it never really belonged. But now, Grace was giving her back to herself. And she reveled in every second of it.
She spread her thighs wider, one hand gripping the grass next to her, the other deep into Grace's curls. The night pulsated around them, the stars blinked amongst the canopy. Mary moaned, blending with the sound of the hum. She lifted her hips, desperate.
"Grace, right there,"she gasped. "Oh God- Oh Grace."
Grace hummed into her, curling her tongue slightly. She pressed her fingers inside, her tongue and digits moving rhythmically.
Mary came undone like silk unraveling. Her body shuddered, her thighs tightened around Grace's head, her mouth slightly parted in a silent scream. Her hips bucked and her legs twitched, a flood of warmth and light flooding behind her eyes.
She fell into the earth.
Grace crawled up her body, laying her head on Mary's breast. Her lips and cheeks glistened in the starlight, eyes shining with something ancient and tender. She reached up and caressed her collarbone. "Are you okay?"
Mary laughed, or tried not too. Warmth flooded across her face and chest and she held no words, only light. She pulled Grace's head up to her lips and kissed her, all tongue and heat and gratitude.
Grace broke the kiss with a sigh, moving her head into the crook of Mary's collarbone. She looked up, a small grin playing on her face. "You looked like you saw God."
Mary reached and gently brushed at Grace's curls with tender fingers. "I think I did."
Grace reached up, kissing her again. She held Mary's hand in her cheek, testing her tongue in her mouth, letting Mary taste herself. Their hips joined together, moving in small rhythmic circles. Mary's breath hitched when she felt Grace's hardness on her inner thigh.
"Is this okay?" Grace asked softly, the question threaded with restraint.
Mary responded by pushing Grace onto the dirt, a small gasp escaping her lips. Mary climbed on top, as if she had done this a thousand times, and gently guided Grace inside of her. They both gasped, Grace arching slightly beneath her, raising her breasts to the heavens.
Their bodies met, held and trembling.
Mary rocked her hips forward, tentative at first, her hands braced on Grace’s chest for balance. She could feel every inch of her — the way Grace’s body welcomed her, the way her breath hitched and her hands gripped at Mary’s waist, anchoring them both in this sacred moment.
It felt like opening a door that had always been waiting.
Grace’s eyes fluttered open, dazed and reverent. “Mary,” she whispered, as though saying it for the first time. “You feel like… like sunlight through stained glass.”
Mary moved again, slow and unsteady, and a cry left her lips. Not from pain, from something deeper. A rupture. A bloom. Her whole body felt electric, lit from the inside out. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Grace’s, her chest brushing against hers, their breath mixing between them.
They rocked together, bodies curved in worship.
Grace’s hands roamed. down Mary’s spine, over the slope of her hips, the soft dip of her belly. Her touch was reverent, hungry. She murmured something low. Maybe a prayer, maybe Mary’s name again, maybe nothing at all. It didn’t matter. Mary couldn’t hold onto language anymore.
Her movements became more certain, a rhythm blooming between them like a song only they knew.
Mary’s head tilted back and she gasped, the stars spinning above her like they were caught in a current. She clenched around Grace, her thighs tightening as she rode her, deeper and deeper into something she couldn’t name. Her hands tangled in her own hair, then found Grace’s again, clutching like lifelines.
It was too much. It wasn’t enough.
Grace reached up, cupping Mary’s face as she rose and fell above her. Her eyes were glassy, wet. She looked like she was about to cry. “You’re divine,” she whispered. “I swear it. You’re divine.”
Mary leaned down and kissed her, open-mouthed and broken. “Don’t let go,” she begged. “Please. Please don’t let go.”
“I won’t,” Grace breathed, holding her close. “I’ve got you.”
Their bodies moved as one. A rising tide, a sacred storm. Mary felt herself dissolve, pulled toward the center of something far larger than them. Something holy. Something burning.
She broke first, her whole body wracked with trembling pleasure, mouth open in silent exaltation. And as she came, her eyes lifted again toward the sky, and she thought, for a moment, that she could see God in the stars.
Grace followed her soon after, hips stuttering, a soft cry torn from her chest as she clung to Mary like she was a revelation.
The night pulsed around them. The creek lapping at its banks, the insects humming in a strange, slow rhythm. All of it quieter now. Still. Like the air itself had taken a breath and held it.
Somewhere deep in the water, something shifted as if the world had tilted slightly toward them, bearing quiet witness.
They moved as if stuck in a dream back to the boarding house. They shuffled down the hall, into the Grace's room, barefoot and trembling. Mary's hand stayed in Grace's the whole way, focusing on her sweet scent underneath the creek water and sex. It was floral, saccharine. It seemed to be the only thing that kept her grounded as she seemed to float into the bedroom.
The air was thick in the room, the fan churning but no coolness came. The incense had long burned out, leaving the trailing scent of ash and something like perfume. The record had ended, the faint clicks of the needle hitting the grooves was the only thing that sounded.
They slipped into the sheets, silent like thieves, Mary too afraid to break the spell that lingered above them. Mary tucked herself underneath Grace's chin, curling into the spaces between her curves as Grace stroked her spine absently. Her hand laid between Grace's breasts, feeling the quiet thump of her heart. It should've been heaven, it should've felt like peace.
And it did, just not completely.
Mary stared over Grace's shoulder, eyes fixed on the ceiling above. Her chest rose and fell underneath the weight of it all, the starlight, the sex, the sky splitting open. But something else stirred, less quiet now than it was before. A lurking thought.
"I feel like I can never go back," she mumbled into Grace's breast, so quiet that she wasn't sure if she said it aloud.
Grace paused, then resumed. "Maybe you're not meant to go back."
Mary blinked. She thought about the chapel, the cross in her bedroom. About her father's voice. About Todd's face when he spoke about Grace. About all the things she would have to answer for. The things she couldn't yet name. The things she was already hiding.
Outside the wind stirred the trees. Something knocked on the window, maybe a branch, maybe something darker.
Mary turned her head into Grace's breast, shutting her eyes and focusing on the steady drumming beneath her flesh.
"You okay?" Grace asked, her voice low.
Mary nodded, but she wasn't sure.
Silence between them settled. The warmth of the bed had already begun to dull and sleep hovered imminently. Not the peaceful kind, one that promised fitful dreams.
Grace kissed the crown of her head. "We're gonna be okay."
And Mary almost believed her.
