Glyma cried harder thanshe had in a long while, snotting all over Quin’s fancy blazer. The Daemon didn’t seem to care as she ran nimble fingers through Glyma’s hair, emitting soft noises that held no word or meaning beyond comfort and safety. Glyma could break down because Quin was here to hold her together. She’d forgotten what that kind of support felt like.
When her tears finally dried, she heaved a weighty sigh and released Quin from the death grip she’d had on her suit jacket. She hurriedly wiped her face on the sleeves of the cardigan, remembering too late that it wasn’t evenhercardigan. It was Quin’s.
“Sorry,” she croaked wetly, displaying the ruined sleeves for Quin to see.
“I literally couldn’t care less,” Quin said, voice raw like she was fighting tears herself.
The veins of her black sclera—which were normally invisible—were prominent now, an almost ghostly gray color, giving her eyes the appearance of cracked cement. Her cheeks were dry, but her eyes were glossy. And her voice was rough when she spoke.
“I’m sorry I can’t fix this,” she said, using the sleeve of her blazer to wipe even more tears from Glyma’s cheeks. “I wish there was something I could say to make it better, but I can’t. I’m just so sorry.”
“You are making it better. You’re here, and that’s enough,” Glyma said between sniffles, fighting embarrassment for weeping in front of the woman she’d been hoping to seduce.
Quin didn’t look like she believed her, but she nodded anyway. “What can I do? Tell me what to do.”
“Tell me everything’s gonna be okay,” Glyma pleaded, and the tears in Quin’s eyes welled. “Lie to me.”
Cupping Glyma’s face in her hands, Quin swiped her thumbs over her cheeks and said, “Everything is going to be okay, Glyma. I promise.”
“Okay,” Glyma sniveled as Quin drew her down until their foreheads met. Her hands dropped to frame her neck, and they breathed each other’s air for several long seconds.
Quin’s eyes were closed, but Glyma kept hers open, memorizing every line and angle of her face. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows, though a few hairs in the middle were starting to grow anew, hinting that she plucked them. Her thick, dark lashes and sharp nose. Her thin mouth, lips parted as she exhaled. The brick-red of her skin, harsh and beautiful.
She memorized it all. For all she knew, Quin would never allow her this close again.
At long last, Quin finally opened her eyes and leaned away, red stare mapping out Glyma’s face like she was memorizing herright back. Her hands still rested on Glyma’s neck, and they were so warm, like she’d been holding coals only moments before. It made Glyma shiver.
“Cold?” Quin asked, dropping her hands to Glyma’s arm where she rubbed warmth into them.
“I’m fine,” Glyma said, retrieving another cigarette from her dress pocket. She was a stress-smoker, but she feared it was turning into a more addictive habit as she knocked one free of the pack and shoved it between her lips.
The lighter refused to catch, no matter how many times she flicked it, and she released a helpless noise of frustration. Before she could chuck the stupid thing into the scraggly grass, Quin took it from her and easily engaged the lever. The flame danced between them a moment, and Glyma angled the cigarette into it until smoke flooded her mouth.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, and Quin just nodded, tucking the lighter back into Glyma’s pocket, hand heating her thigh through the fabric. “You getting fresh with me?”
The joke broke through the sorrow somewhat, and they both chuckled lightly. Quin reached up and tucked a wave of hair behind Glyma’s ear, her fingertips tracing the lobe, then the skin underneath. Glyma didn’t dare move for fear of scaring her away, but Quin withdrew anyway, releasing a sigh that she could only interpret as disappointment.
“Maybe in another life,” the Daemon said with a half-hearted smirk.
Glyma took a drag, angling her head up to blow the smoke into the sky. “But you only have the one.”
The words landed hard, and Quin looked stricken for a moment. Glyma offered her the cigarette, and the Daemon took it. She moved out from between Glyma’s knees to prop her ass against the hood of the car so they were sitting side-by-side.The cigarette glowed with every inhale she took, illuminating her face like a dying campfire.
“I know, and I’m doing a good job of mucking it up, aren’t I?”
Measuring her words carefully, Glyma wiped her nose on her sleeve and said, “I just think you should be happy, regardless of what that looks like to anyone else. Everyone deserves to spend their one life happy.”
“Areyouhappy?” Quin challenged, handing the cigarette back.
Glyma accepted it, flicking ash off the end. “I don’t mean a fleeting, empty happiness. Or a passing excitement. No one can be that kind of happy all the time. What I mean is, everyone deserves to live a life free to make their own choices and be authentically themselves. And when we honor ourselves and each other like that? That’s happiness. That’s joy and fulfillment. And it gives us the strength to face life when it’s so fucking hard we think we’ll break under the weight of it.”
She pointed the cigarette at the facility doors where her mother—in body, if not in mind—resided. “Life is already hard, even without the prejudice and the hate, the injustice and cruelty. Sometimes, life fucking sucks. So why should any of us choose more misery? Why should any of us abandon ourselves in the midst of it?”
Quin hung on her every word, eyes wide and wet. Glyma exhaled smoke in a rush and shook her head. “I refuse to live that way, and yeah, not everyone likes that. But the people that do?” She barked a laugh. “At least I know they like me for me.”
“I think I’m in awe of you,” Quin said, the crests of her cheeks darkening.
Glyma’s tail snaked over the hood of the car to coil up Quin’s arm. “You’ll get there one day, kid,” she teased, and Quin rolled her eyes with a huff.
