Chloe's Night (II)

Chloe hovered in the elevator for nearly a full minute, before she was whooshed upwards and Andy opened the Suite for her. He didn’t say her name or beckon her in; he just stepped back, made himself as thin as possible, and let her enter first. The air inside was cool, salt-edged. Chloe stepped across the threshold with the care of someone trying not to trip a wire.

The Suite looked unchanged from the last time she’d been here, but she moved through it like a stranger: glancing from the dining table to the couch to the floating staircase, as if cataloguing every piece of furniture for hidden threats. She kept her eyes off Andy, instead focusing on the coffee table, the line of pale blue tile on the kitchen’s backsplash, the faint, familiar indent in the sofa cushions. She fiddled with the hem of her dress, rolling it between thumb and index finger, letting the fabric’s static charge tickle her wrist.

Andy waited, a few feet behind, his own presence dialed down to the lowest setting. He didn’t make a move to approach, didn’t try to fill the silence with words. He just watched Chloe, patient as stone, letting her take inventory.

She wandered to the couch, sat on the edge with her knees together, and tucked her hands under her thighs to keep them from shaking. Andy moved to the kitchen island but didn’t lean on it; he stood there, hands clasped lightly, looking over but not staring. The silence stretched, elastic but never quite snapping. In its space, every sound magnified: the whirr of the fridge motor, the distant hush of ocean through the sealed windows, the almost-silent rasp of Chloe’s breaths.

Eventually Andy took a step closer, and then another, but stopped at the far arm of the sectional. He left the length of the couch open, as if refusing to crowd her into a decision she wasn’t ready for.

Chloe didn’t look up, but she could feel his presence. It wasn’t looming or aggressive, just… steady. The word came to her unbidden, and she wasn’t sure if she resented it or not.

He waited for her to say something, but the words wouldn’t line up in her head. They tumbled and collided, refusing to be the first one out. Instead, she sat with her hands pressed hard against the cushion, staring at the spiral in the rug under her shoes.

“You don’t have to talk,” Andy said, and the sound of his voice was almost a shock—soft, low, not at all what she’d braced for.

Chloe shook her head, quick and birdlike. She tried to speak anyway, but the effort caught in her throat. She coughed, swallowed, then started again.

“I thought if I came here, I’d know what to say,” she managed. Her voice was small but not weak, the words clipped by the edge of fear. “But now I’m here and I just…” She trailed off, losing the thread.

Andy nodded, but didn’t fill the silence. He sat at the opposite end of the couch, not quite facing her, elbows on his knees. He folded his hands and looked at the floor, as if he were the one seeking safety.

Chloe glanced at him—quick, then away again. She hugged her own arms tight, pulling her dress around her knees, wishing she could disappear into the upholstery. The confession, the dinner, the way everyone looked at Liesa, the way Norah’s voice never even trembled: it looped in her head, a reel that would not stop.

She blinked, and a tear surprised her, landing on her wrist before she could even feel it coming. She wiped it away fast, hoping he didn’t see. She glanced at Andy, and this time his gaze was on her—not piercing, but attentive, like he was taking her in one small piece at a time.

The silence grew softer. Chloe let herself breathe.

Andy didn’t try to move closer, but as the quiet stacked up, Chloe found herself shifting. First her knees drifted outward, then her hands released the **** grip on her thighs. She flexed her fingers, watched them open and close, then pressed her palms to her cheeks to erase the heat.

Finally, she curled sideways on the couch, bringing her legs up beneath her, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. She let her body tilt ever so slightly in Andy’s direction.

Andy noticed, of course, but he didn’t remark on it. He just matched her, shifting to mirror her posture, one hand absently stroking the seam on the armrest.

Chloe stared at the pillow, then at Andy’s hand, then at the space between them. The Suite felt smaller now, less like a stage and more like the inside of a secret. She listened to the echo of her own heart, the hush of fabric, the gentle tension of waiting.

She still didn’t know what to say.

But for the first time since dinner, she didn’t feel the need to run.

She sat with Andy, both of them turned inward, the distance closing by fractions as the silence grew less heavy, more companionable. The warmth of his presence, the way he didn’t rush or press, allowed her to stay, to breathe.

She rested her head on the pillow, eyes half-lidded, and let the weight of the evening ease off her spine. Andy was there, steady as the ocean outside, waiting for her to thaw.

She let him.

The Suite’s quiet did its work: it smoothed the night’s jagged edges, sanded down Chloe’s panic until only the throb of exhaustion remained. She leaned a little heavier into Andy’s side, listening to the careful rhythm of his breathing and the distant tick of the wall clock. If she kept perfectly still, she could almost convince herself that time had stopped and nothing bad could reach her.

Of course, it didn’t last. The ache under Chloe’s ribs was old, stubborn. It would not be ignored forever.

She cleared her throat, meaning to break the silence, but the words came out tangled. “Do you remember,” she said, but then her mouth shut, the rest of the sentence lost in transit.

Andy waited, didn’t push.

Chloe found the edge of the pillow and twisted it hard in her hands. She tried again, staring at the swirls in the rug. “When we were in middle school, you and me and Laura and that whole group? It feels like… forever ago. But also, not.”

Andy nodded, his profile soft in the lamplight. “It was a long time ago,” he said, voice even.

Chloe shook her head. “Not for me. Not— I still think about it. A lot.” She stared at her lap, eyes burning. “I’ve never really said this, but I think maybe I broke something that never got put back.”

Andy was quiet for a moment. “You mean the kiss,” he said, not a question.

Chloe nodded, a quick little motion. “God, yes. The stupidest thing in the universe.” The words rushed out, breathless. “I wanted you to like me so bad. I thought if I just— I don’t even know what I thought. I guess I thought I could make myself matter to you, just by… acting.” She flinched at her own phrasing, but pushed through. “When I did it, and you didn’t want it, I felt like I’d set the world on fire. And then Laura—” She stopped, tears now gathering in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “She died and it was like the universe just… cashed in all my bad karma at once.”

She looked up, seeking judgment, but Andy’s face was open, attentive. He looked at her with the same gentle patience he’d used on the sick bunny she’d rescued in seventh grade: a quiet, nonjudgmental kind of care.

Chloe pressed on, the words easier now that she’d committed. “I never told anyone, not really. Nina knew, but she didn’t care. Myra always said it was Laura’s fault, but I couldn’t— I knew it was me. I thought if I just kept being a good person, it would go away. But it never did.” She laughed, brittle. “Maybe that’s why I became a teacher. If I could save enough kids from their own dumb mistakes, maybe I’d undo mine.”

She waited for Andy to interrupt, to tell her she was being dramatic, but he just let her keep going.

“When Liesa finally confessed tonight,” Chloe said, softer now, “I felt… angry. But also jealous, I think. I wish I could just say sorry once and be done.” She snorted, then wiped her nose on the edge of the pillow. “But I guess I never will.”

She looked up, expecting to see disappointment. Instead, Andy was closer now, his hand resting on the pillow between them. She didn’t remember when he’d moved it there, but she didn’t mind.

“I don’t think you ever needed to say sorry to me,” Andy said. “You were thirteen. And you didn’t break anything, Chloe. Life just happened.”

Chloe stared at their hands—his so much larger, the bones of her own thin and white next to his. She let her fingers inch closer, until they overlapped. She squeezed, just once, testing if it was allowed.

It was.

Andy squeezed back, gentle and certain.

Chloe breathed in, deep, and felt something shift inside her chest. Not the old ache, but something new—softer, less sharp.

She kept talking, because if she stopped, the ghosts might return. “After Laura, I kept having this dream,” she said. “I’d be at the river, but it was frozen over. I was always standing on the ice, and I could see her below, like she was waiting. If I moved, I’d crack the ice and she’d vanish. If I stayed still, she’d be trapped forever. So I never moved.”

She felt Andy’s thumb trace slow, careful circles over the back of her hand. “You don’t have to stand still, Chloe,” he said. “You can keep living.”

“I know,” Chloe said, but this time she let herself believe it, a little. “It’s just… hard.”

He nodded, and she realized he understood. Maybe better than anyone else.

They sat like that, hand in hand, for a long time. The heaviness in the room was still there, but now it was different: not the pressure of buried shame, but the weight of something settling into place.

Chloe’s body softened, shoulders lowering, her spine no longer so rigid. She let her head drop against Andy’s arm, allowed herself the comfort without questioning whether she deserved it.

Andy shifted, careful not to jar her, and brought his other hand up to cradle her shoulder. He didn’t try to pull her closer or make a joke to lighten the moment. He just stayed with her, present and unafraid.

After a while, Chloe spoke again, her voice smaller but braver. “Do you think Laura would hate me, if she were here?”

Andy shook his head. “No. I think she’d want you to be happy. To keep living. That’s all she ever wanted for anyone.”

Chloe closed her eyes, a single tear sliding down her cheek, but this one felt different—more like relief than grief.

They stayed on the couch until the clock ticked well past midnight, neither one moving or speaking much, as if any sudden noise might dispel the calm that had finally settled over them. Chloe’s head rested against Andy’s shoulder, his palm wrapped around her forearm, warm and steady. She felt his breath at her temple, the slow expansion of his ribcage, the heat radiating from his skin. It was more comfort than she remembered being allowed.

She lost track of time. Eventually, her fingers began to wander, first tracing the inside of Andy’s wrist, then the line of his thumb, the veins on the back of his hand. She did it absently, at first, but the more she allowed herself to touch him, the less she wanted to stop.

She tilted her head up, met his eyes for just a second, and then looked away. “Is it okay?” she asked, barely louder than the hum of the air vent. “If I…?”

Andy smiled, small but real. “Of course.”

Chloe pressed her lips together, gathering nerve, then turned and tucked herself into the crook of his arm. She brought his hand up to her cheek, holding it there, eyes closing at the solid reassurance of his touch. He stroked her hair, thumb working gentle circles over her jawline, and for a moment Chloe let herself float.

Her hand moved to his chest, the fabric of his shirt thin beneath her palm. She could feel his heart, steady and slow. The rhythm calmed her, rooted her in the moment. She slid her hand up to his collar, then, with deliberate slowness, to the side of his face. She let her fingers linger there, committing the shape of him to memory.

He looked at her, patient, waiting for her to decide what came next.

She raised herself just enough to kiss his cheek—a feather-light brush, tentative, a question more than a statement. Andy turned, meeting her halfway, and their lips touched. Chloe startled at first, but then leaned in, let it deepen. The kiss was soft, hesitant, but it answered every unspoken question she’d carried into the Suite.

When they parted, Chloe didn’t move away. She watched Andy, his face so close it blurred, and let her own smile creep in. “I’ve wanted to do that,” she admitted, “since before I even knew why.”

He laughed, low and kind.

She kissed him again, less shy this time, and the warmth of it made her whole body go loose.

They sank together, Chloe curled against Andy’s side, her head tucked into his neck. His arms surrounded her, drawing slow lines up and down her back, never moving lower, never pressing for more. He kissed the top of her head, the bridge of her nose, the apple of her cheek, and every time, Chloe felt herself melt a little more.

Her hands roamed as if learning new territory: the curve of his bicep, the rough patch on his jaw, the fine line of scar on his knuckle. He didn’t flinch, didn’t joke, didn’t rush her—he let her explore at her own pace, and for that, Chloe could have cried again. Instead, she focused on memorizing everything she could, not knowing if she’d ever be brave enough to ask for it again.

She was the one who pulled him closer, who drew his face down to hers. She was the one who deepened the kiss, who let her fingers tangle in his hair, who shifted her body until they were pressed together chest to knee. Every movement was deliberate, an act of wanting rather than guilt. She was allowed this, she realized. She was allowed to want, to touch, to be touched.

When she finally broke, it was not from fear but from the need to breathe. She pulled away, eyes glassy but clear, and let her head fall to his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For letting me… be like this.”

Andy didn’t answer, just tightened his grip and rested his chin atop her head.

They lay back on the couch, Chloe’s legs stretched over Andy’s lap, his hand cradling her calf. They watched the patterns of light move across the ceiling, listened to the echo of the ocean beyond the glass. She dozed in and out, her limbs heavy, her mind light as air.

At one point, Andy lifted her up—gently, as if she might shatter—and carried her to the bed. He laid her down, tucked her beneath the covers, then crawled in beside her, one arm outstretched for her to find if she wanted.

Princess carried by the Master! +1 VP

She did.

They lay there, facing each other in the dim lamplight, the space between them filled with nothing but quiet.

Chloe pressed her forehead to Andy's, her hand at his chest. "I want to be closer to you," she whispered, "but I don't think I'm ready for everything yet." Her fingers traced small circles against his collarbone.

Andy nodded, his eyes soft. "We don't have to do anything."

"But I want to, just…" she said, guiding his hand to the curve of her breast, sliding it under the thin fabric of her top. She watched his face as he felt her weight and cupped her enormous breast almost reverently. "Is this okay?"

His breath caught. "More than okay."

Master touched her boobs! +2 VP

With trembling fingers, she pulled her top over her head. The cool air prickled her skin as she guided his hands back to her. "Just this," she murmured. "For now."

Andy's touch was reverent, gentle. She closed her eyes, letting the sensation wash through her as the last of her fear ebbed away. For tonight, she was wanted. She belonged.

Later, she drifted off to sleep wrapped in Andy's arms, her body still humming with the echo of pleasure, and for the first time in years, the ghosts stayed silent.

Andy stayed awake a little longer. He listened to her breathing, watched the rise and fall of her shoulders, the perfect peace of her face in sleep. He thought about what it meant to keep everyone together, to hold the harem—no, the family—through whatever came next. He thought about Liesa's tears, about Norah's anger, about the fragile seams that stitched this impossible group together.

He wondered if he was strong enough to keep it from breaking again.

But then he felt Chloe's arm loop across his chest, the gentle weight of her head against his heart.

Spooned the Master! +1 VP