Chapter 8 Twelve Floors Down
735 Words
Joelle didn’t sit.
She paced.
Slow, quiet turns across her living room rug, mug in one hand, her other thumb grazing her lower lip every few steps. Her message was still open on the screen, sent. Read. No reply.
She wasn’t sure what answer she wanted. Just that silence felt like the wrong one.
The clock blinked 9:41.
The city buzzed beyond the windows horns, streetlight flickers, someone laughing too loudly down below. But her apartment felt like air pressed between two palms: still, warm, and waiting.
She stared at the phone again. Still no dots. Still no name lighting up the screen.
Joelle took a breath. Then another. Then stopped completely when
Three soft knocks.
Not rushed. Not hesitant.
She froze.
Set the mug down.
Walked slowly toward the door and opened it like it might bite her.
Talia stood there.
No makeup. Hair pulled back in the same lazy knot she always wore when she wasn’t trying. A soft black tank top. Jeans. No shoes.
She looked up at Joelle like she already knew the answer.
“I didn’t know if you’d come,” Joelle said, her voice half-breath.
Talia didn’t smile.
“I didn’t know if you’d want me to.”
Joelle stepped back.
“I do.”
Talia came in, and Joelle closed the door behind her. Neither of them moved for a long moment.
Talia scanned the room. The folded blanket on the couch. The half-drunk mug of wine. The candle Joelle had lit without realizing it. It all said, I’ve been waiting.
Talia met her eyes.
Joelle didn’t speak. She didn’t trust her voice yet.
So she walked forward. Closed the space between them with small, careful steps.
And when she reached Talia, she didn’t kiss her.
She just pressed her forehead to hers.
They breathed.
That was enough for a minute.
Then Joelle whispered, “I was afraid of wanting you for real.”
Talia’s eyes softened, even as her voice stayed low. “I know.”
Joelle’s hand brushed the side of her jaw. “But I do. I do want you.”
Talia nodded, eyes still holding hers. “Then take me like you mean it.”
They moved slowly through the apartment.
Like dancers who didn’t want to disturb the rhythm of the moment.
Joelle pulled Talia’s tank top over her head, fingers trembling not with nerves, but with anticipation. She had undressed before. She had touched people. Slept with people.
But this..this undressing felt different.
It wasn’t hunger.
It was reverence.
Talia’s skin was warm beneath her hands, her breath a whisper in Joelle’s ear. Their lips met in quiet pulses slow, then deeper. The kind of kiss that undoes weeks of silence.
Joelle let her hands explore not for permission, but for presence. Her fingertips trailed down Talia’s back, counting every bone, every freckle, every inch that made her real.
Talia’s hands moved too over Joelle’s shoulders, her spine, her waist, always firm, always certain.
They collapsed onto the couch not rushed, not clumsy, just tangled. Joelle kissed the dip of Talia’s collarbone like it was sacred. Talia arched into her, one hand curling into Joelle’s hair, pulling her closer.
And when Joelle whispered her name just once Talia whispered back:
“I’m here.”
There was nothing loud about it.
No heavy breathing. No dramatic gasps. Just bodies moving in sync, slow and deliberate. Joelle ran her mouth along Talia’s jaw, down her neck, across her stomach—tracing stories she didn’t know yet.
Talia responded in sighs. In shivers. In fingertips grazing Joelle’s ribs and lips and throat.
They didn’t say I love you.
They didn’t need to.
Every kiss was a line of poetry. Every look a confession.
When Joelle reached the peak of herself body trembling, breath breaking Talia held her. Not possessively. Not proudly.
Just… fully.
And Joelle collapsed into the warmth of her chest, her lips brushing against the pulse beneath Talia’s collarbone.
They lay there for a long time after.
Sweaty. Quiet. Softened.
Talia ran her fingers through Joelle’s curls.
Joelle closed her eyes, not because she was tired—but because she felt safe.
And she said, without needing to be asked:
“I’m not looking for perfect.”
Talia kissed her temple.
“I’m not offering it.”
They smiled together.
The room was quiet, but not empty.
The silence finally sounded like peace.
- Writer
