The Ex

The fitness class came to an end and the sweaty masses began to disperse, leaving just the instructor behind to make sure everything was put away and ready for the next time. Emma went through the routine without complaint, sorting the free weights back into the right order on the rack automatically with barely any input from her brain.

With the last jobs done Emma headed for the changing rooms, stripping off her sweaty workout gear without any shame as the women from the class dried off and got dressed. She greeted them again amicably and pretended not to notice when their eyes skimmed over her naked body. She had nothing to be embarrassed about, after all. She’d worked hard on her fitness; her tall frame was toned and athletic without looking over-muscled like a bodybuilder, and she liked it that way.

The showers were individual cubicles, thankfully, giving at least a bit of privacy as Emma released her blonde hair from the ponytail and washed it out. She wasn’t shy about being looked at, it was her own looks in return that she struggled to control sometimes, even with years of practice. Maybe it would have been fine, times had moved on and people were more accepting, but she had strong memories of what girls in locker rooms had thought of sharing their space with a ‘lesbo’ back at school.

After staying under the spray long enough that most of the others had left, Emma finally allowed herself to step back into the changing room, dried herself off, dressed in her comfy tracksuit and headed for home with her bag slung over her shoulder.

“Hey, Em-Em. How was the class?” the receptionist asked in a bubbly, effeminate voice.

“Hey Paul,” Emma let out a sound that was half sigh and half chuckle as her speedy retreat ground to a halt, “The usual, you know? I prefer the one-on-one stuff but Garry won’t let me get away without doing at least one group class a week. I’m glad it finished on time today at least.”

“Why? Big plans for the evening?” Paul asked, leaning forward on his hands and fluttering his eyelashes, “Heading out on the town looking for some action?”

“Oh, you know me Paul. Quiet night in, really. I’ve given up on trying to find anyone who isn’t intimidated by my height and my muscles.”

Paul shot her a look of disbelief, pouting his lips.

“Girl, I know plenty of men who’d love to climb you like a tree. Even more women, if you swing that way.”

“Hey, I like men just as much as you do!” She hid the half-truth behind a playful protest, “I’ll let you know if I want you to try and set me up, but I’m fine for now. Really.”

“Just give me a shout,” he replied with a wink.

Emma just rolled her eyes and let Paul have the last word, leaving the gym and climbing into her battered old hatchback. The engine coughed to life and propelled her away in a cloud of smoke, the rattling vibrations giving a haphazard massage to her fatigued muscles. It had been a long day, even with the class finishing on time, and she was looking forward to getting home.

After parking up as close to the building as possible, Emma locked the car and trudged her way up to the third-floor flat. She let herself in, dropped her bag on the floor, and then leaned back against the door with a sigh as she locked it behind her. Home sweet home, such as it was.

“Poppy?” she called out into the cramped, two bedroom flat. There was no response, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

Emma wandered into the office that had once been the second bedroom, a smile breaking onto her face as she saw the diminutive figure staring intently at the large screen, where she was tinkering with the colour balance of a photo of two brides kissing in a shower of confetti. The fitness instructor leaned over, wrapping her arms around the small asian woman and kissing the top of her head.

“Hi sweetie,” she said softly, “That’s a great shot. The wedding went well?”

“Oh, hey Em,” Poppy blinked for what might have been the first time in an hour, but didn’t take her eyes off the screen, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Emma stayed draped over her girlfriend as she continued to play around with the photo editing software. When it became clear that Poppy had either not heard or already forgotten the question, Emma slid down to rest her chin on her shoulder and kiss her cheek.

“Did the wedding go well?” she asked again.

“Pretty well,” said Poppy, as though there hadn’t just been several seconds of silence in the middle of the conversation, “One of the mothers kept trying to get into the background of every shot until I told her off.”

“That’s my big scary wedding photographer,” Emma teased, nuzzling into her neck.

“I don’t know about big or scary, but I’m definitely yours,” came the reply, flat and even as though stating the obvious.

Emma swallowed around the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “I know, Poppy. I know.”

Poppy finally tore her attention away from her work and turned her head to plant a gentle kiss on Emma’s lips. “I love you,” she said with a smile that could have stood in for her camera’s flash bulb.

“Love you too, Pops,” Emma smiled back, though hers was a little weaker and a lot more uncertain, “Should I go cook dinner?”

“Yes please,” the photographer nodded, already starting to hyperfocus on the screen once again.

Emma pushed herself upright again, a little unsteady on her feet as she looked down at her girlfriend with a confused mix of emotions swirling in her chest. One thing was certain though, she really did need to get working on a proper meal for the two of them. She was starving after burning through a lot of energy running her class, and Poppy had probably not eaten anything substantial since breakfast. With a heavy sigh, she left the editing studio and walked into the throne room.

“No! Absolutely not!” Sarah was screaming as Emma stumbled in the unexpected location, “Keep the rest of the harem if you have to, but not her. Anyone but her. She doesn’t deserve him. GET HER OUT OF HERE!”

Recovering from the shock, partially, Emma looked around. Sarah Brown (wait, Sarah Hawkins now) was red in the face, sitting forward in a wooden chair and pointing angrily at Emma while shouting at an unimpressed redhead. A woman with dark skin, bright green hair and facial piercings was sitting next to her, trying not to laugh. A gothic girl, barely an adult, was in the next seat looking like a rabbit in headlights.

“Hi Em. It’s been a while,” said her ex-boyfriend Matt in a tired voice, “How’ve you been?”

Matt was sitting on a golden throne at the top of a set of steps, propping his head up on one hand as he leaned on one of the arms of the chair. He looked good, if frustrated, and shared an awkward smile with Emma as she tried and failed to process what was going on.

“Oh, you know. I’m alright.” She said, still scanning the room for any possible explanation. “I heard you got married. Congratulations.”

“WHY IS SHE STILL HERE?” Sarah shrieked, “She treated him like shit the entire time they were together! Why would he want her in his fucking harem?!”

“Come on, Sarah, it wasn’t that bad,” Matt said in a soothing voice.

“No, she’s right. It was pretty bad,” Emma said weakly, “I’d appreciate it if someone could let me know what’s happening though. She keeps saying ‘harem’ and it’s starting to worry me.”

“Well, that’s my cue,” the small redhead said brightly, suddenly next to Emma and jabbing her in the arm with a pointed feather.

The understanding, the compulsion, and the questions flashed into Emma like a bolt of lightning, and she walked calmly over to take her seat next to the goth girl. She turned directly towards the Audience of the show, and then she began to introduce herself.

“Hi, I’m Emma Murphy. I’m thirty years old and I work as a fitness instructor. I’m pansexual, and the last time I had sex was this morning when I got eaten out in the shower before going to work. I know the Master because he was my boyfriend when we were in secondary school.”

“You’re pansexual?” Sarah asked in a low hiss, somehow sounding even angrier than she had when she was screaming, “All that time, everything you and your friends called me and did to me after I came out as bi, and you’re fucking pansexual?”

“I...” Emma withered under the entirely justified fury, unable to form her thoughts into words, “...sorry?”

“Hah! Fucking hypocrite,” the punk laughed out loud, finding the whole situation hilarious.

“Wait, what did they do to you?” Matt asked his wife, sounding surprised.

Emma wasn’t surprised though. She knew exactly why Sarah was so angry at her. The formative experiences of how a locker room full of girls treated someone they thought was queer, the reason Emma was so careful not to let anyone at work know she was attracted to women, hadn’t been experiences where she was on the receiving end of the scorn and ridicule.

“As thrilling as this revelation is, we do have a schedule to keep,” Scarlet interrupted, “Onto the next Contestant! Someone who can empathise with the pains of coming out...”