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    When Cat woke up Monday morning, she knew exactly what she had to do. She had to tell Sam what happened between Frankie and her, and she had to do it immediately. She couldn’t take another minute of keeping this inside. But, when she made it into the kitchen, her heart pounding, she realized that Sam had already gone to work. The note on the kitchen table said: “Sorry love – had to go to work early. Have a lovely day. XX” Not sure whether she felt relief or despair, Cat sat down on the kitchen chair and stared emptily into the ominous Glasgow sky.

    Later that day, she thought of sending Sam a message instead. A simple message, with a few ruinous words. She stared at the screen hesitantly, reluctant to start. Where would one start? And then maybe – just maybe – she didn’t have to say anything after all. Maybe she could just pretend nothing ever happened. She’d be forever a cheater. So what. A liar, like Jay. Thousands of others. Big fucking deal. In return, she’d have Sam come home to her every night. They’d sleep in the same bed, together, Sam’s lanky body protectively wrapped around hers. Not everything is lost. Frankie wouldn’t say anything. They could go back to being friends. Could they? The phone beeped suddenly, vibrations pulsating through Cat’s hand. A new message. Almost mechanically, she pressed “Read message” and faced the letters. “Met my mom yesterday. Can we talk? Miss you. Frankie.” The memory of Frankie pierced Cat’s scull with a sharp intense pain. She shut her phone off quickly, as if the dangerous letters would escape from the screen and strangle her right there, at her desk.

    Then, she almost said it again, in the evening. Sam came back from the station, looking tired, yet happy to be home, to have come home to Cat. She threw her keys on the shelf, her wool coat on the chair, and crossed the room quickly to kiss Cat on the lips, her eyes playful and teasing. Her cheeks, hair, boots, were all wet, and smelled of cobblestones, rain, and fresh air, as if she brought the cold November night in with her. “The smell of Glasgow,” Cat thought to herself, “It fits her so.” She took Sam’s hands into hers, and looked up, intently, right into the tall woman’s eyes. “I’m going to tell her, now.” Cat thought, “and this smile, these playful eyes, these warm hands touching me, it is all going to disappear, will be destroyed.” Sam leaned over and kissed her deeply. Then again. Their hands parted, Cat’s hands moving up, Sam’s sliding down. The smell of rain and cobblestones was now all around Cat, taking over, intoxicating. Sam pushed her gently towards the wall, until Cat’s back was firmly against it, and slid her hands under Cat’s skirt. Cat gasped, becoming weak, so miserably wet, ill with desire. “One more time,” she thought. “Just one more time of this, before it is all destroyed.” When she came, she came so hard, she started crying. Sam picked her up, took her to the bedroom, put her on the bed and lay on top of her for a long time, soothing, kissing, caressing, until she finally calmed down. Sam didn’t ask her anything.

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