Chapter 4: The Desperate Call
The six months had passed with the quiet, predictable rhythm of a metronome. Robert’s business trips. Jess’s sporadic texts from college. The quiet hum of the empty house. Lottie had folded the memory of that summer morning into a tiny, hard square and buried it in the dark soil of her routine. She gardened. She volunteered at the library. She made meticulous love to her husband when he was home, a careful performance where she closed her eyes and willed her body to respond, thinking of nothing at all.
She told herself it was working. The greyness that had settled over everything was just maturity, the calm of a life properly lived. Then she saw her.
It was in the canned vegetable aisle, of all places. Green beans and corn. Lottie was comparing sodium content, a habit Robert appreciated. A flicker of movement at the end of the row, a profile she knew in her bones. Ava.
But it was a faded photocopy of the girl she remembered. Ava wore faded jeans and a plain grey sweatshirt, her glorious hair pulled into a messy, practical bun. No makeup. Her head was down, her shoulders slightly hunched as she studied a can of tomatoes. The vibrant, crackling energy that had once seemed to warp the air around her was gone. Snuffed out. She looked like any other tired young woman doing a dull chore.
Lottie’s breath caught. Her hand tightened on the shopping cart handle. A violent, unexpected surge of possessiveness rose in her chest, hot and bitter. Look at what you’ve done to her, a voice hissed. But beneath that was another, more primal tremor: She did this to me first.
She fled. She abandoned her half-full cart near the dairy section and walked to her car on unsteady legs. She sat in the driver’s seat for twenty minutes, watching the supermarket doors, but Ava never emerged.
That night, Robert was away in Frankfurt. The house was a tomb of silence. Lottie poured a glass of wine, then another. The image of Ava, dimmed and ordinary, wouldn’t leave her. It felt like a personal insult. That magnificent, terrifying creature reduced to… that. By her. By Lottie’s rejection, her tears, her guilt.
The wine burned in her veins, whispering a dangerous clarity. It wasn’t guilt she felt anymore. It was hunger. A specific, focused hunger for the taste of strawberries and salt, for the feeling of coming apart against a firm, young body, for the obscene, thrilling words breathed into her skin.
She acted without thinking. The phone was in her hand, Jess’s contact open. Her thumbs moved.
To Jess: Hey sweetie. I’m doing some cleaning and found a sweater I think is Ava’s. A blue cashmere one? Could you send me her number so I can return it?
The lie was effortless. The blue cashmere sweater existed; Ava had left it over a year ago. Jess’s reply came a minute later, along with a ten-digit number.
Lottie stared at it. Her heart was a jackhammer against her ribs. The cursor blinked in the text field. She didn’t plan the words. They just came, typed out with a strange, calm finality.
To Ava: It’s Lottie. I saw you today. It reminded me, you left a blue cashmere sweater here, I can return it to you.
She sent it. Put the phone face down on the counter. Drank her wine. Five minutes later, it buzzed.
“thanks but it’s okay keep it” was the reply.
“It’s a very pretty very expensive jumper Ava” Lottie tried to communicate “ I can drop it off one day if you like”
“Please don’t ..I can’t see you, I’m so sorry for what I did Mrs Smith” Ava responded sounding broken.
Lottie shed a rear and drank more wine before replying “it’s past, forgotten” she lied in her reply.
“Not by me, I really didn’t mean to hurt you, I thought I saw you, knew you but I was deluded by love, I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this, please just give the jumper to Jess or charity”
Lottie drank lots more wine that night and cried. She ruined off her phone to avoid doing something dumb.
in the cold light of morning and nursing a hangover, Lottie turned on her phone expectantly, but nothing from Ava. Nothing from her again over the next few weeks. Lottie was drinking more and one night she sent Ava a message “I don’t want to see you hurt like this I just wish we could go back to like before” and pressed send before she could change her mind.
The phone felt like a live wire in her hand. Minutes ticked past in the dark living room, the only light from the streetlamp slicing through the blinds. The silence from the device was absolute. Lottie finished her wine, the sharp taste now just a chemical burn in her throat. She’d revealed a card, a weak, pathetic one, and the table remained empty. Shame, hot and sour, rose up. She stumbled to bed, the room tilting.
The following morning Ava replied. “I’ve wished that the moment I realised I was deluded, you were right and I acted appalingly but wishing doesn’t work. Please leave me to my regret and guilt, I’m trying to be a better person”
The text was a door slammed in her face. Lottie read it seven times, each word a needle stitching her shut. A better person. The phrase was a verdict. Ava was moving on, polishing her conscience, leaving Lottie alone in the dusty museum of what she’d broken. The greyness of the last six months curdled into something darker, a thick tar of longing.
She drank. Not the polite evening glass, but deep, frantic pulls from a bottle of Pinot Noir until the world softened at the edges. The silence of the house became a taunt. It was a Thursday. Robert was in Singapore. Jess was a four-hour drive away. And Ava was trying to be good somewhere, probably in that ugly grey sweatshirt, erasing them both.
The blue cashmere sweater was in the guest room closet, folded in a drawer with cedar sachets. Lottie pulled it out. It was impossibly soft, holding the faintest ghost of Ava’s perfume—something clean and citrusy, not the floral scents Lottie wore. She buried her face in it. Her body remembered everything: the press against the counter, the bite of the butcher block edge on her hips, the slick, filthy sound of Ava’s fingers inside her.
An idea, crystalline and desperate, formed through the wine fog. She wouldn’t text again. She would go. She would return the sweater and look at this “better person” and see if she could still find the monster she’d created. She found the address through an old volunteer roster Jess had left in a kitchen drawer. 224B Cortland Avenue. The student apartments.
She drove through the mild night, the windows down, the sweater on the passenger seat like a co-conspirator. The complex was a series of plain, two-story buildings with rusting balconies. Unit B was around the back. A single light glowed behind closed blinds. Lottie parked, her courage a thin, evaporating film. She clutched the sweater, got out, and walked to the door.
She knocked. The sound was too loud in the quiet courtyard. For a long moment, nothing. Then movement inside. The door opened a few inches, held by a chain. Ava’s face appeared in the gap, pale and startled. She was wearing glasses, thick-framed and scholarly, and her hair was in that same dull bun. “Lottie?” The name was pure shock.
“You wouldn’t let me drop it off,” Lottie said, her voice strangely steady. She held up the blue sweater. “I was in the neighborhood.” The lie was transparent, pathetic.
Ava’s eyes, enormous behind the glasses, flickered from the sweater to Lottie’s face. She saw the wine-flush on her cheeks, the determined set of her jaw. A war played out in her expression: caution, guilt, and then a slow-dawning, hardened understanding. “You’re not in the neighborhood.” Her voice was flat. “You drove twenty miles.”
“Let me in, Ava.” It wasn’t a request.
“And you’ve been drinking!” The shock in her voice “ you could have crashed, been hurt” she fumbled with the chain and let her in. “ you can leave the sweater there”
The chain rattled free. The door swung inward, revealing a small, sterile space—a cheap loveseat, a textbook-laden desk, the bland beige walls of a temporary life. The scent was all wrong: microwave noodles and lemon cleaner, no trace of summer garden or citrus zest. Ava stepped back, her body tense in loose sweatpants and that same grey sweatshirt. She looked smaller here. Contained.
Lottie moved past her, the sweater still clutched in her hand. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in the quiet. She dropped the cashmere onto the loveseat. It pooled there like a spilled secret.
"You shouldn't be here," Ava said, but her voice lacked conviction. Her eyes were fixed on Lottie, scanning her—the slight unsteadiness, the determined glare. "You're drunk. You need to drink coffee or something you can’t drive but you can’t be doing this either, it’s not fair." She crossed her arms, a shield over her chest.
"I saw what you look like now." Lottie’s words were soft, lethal. She took a step closer. "All this... goodness. It's a costume. It's ugly on you." She reached out, her fingers brushing the coarse fabric at Ava’s shoulder. Ava flinched. "You dimmed your light because of me."
"Don't," Ava whispered, her eyes closing.
"Why?" Lottie pressed, her hand sliding up to cup Ava’s jaw. Her thumb stroked the high cheekbone. "I’m the one who should be faded. I’m the married one. The guilty one. But I can't stop thinking about you , us , in the kitchen." The words hung in the clean air, a stain. Ava’s eyes flew open, hurt and horrified. "I can't stop feeling you there. I fuck my husband and I’m thinking about how you made me come against the counter."
Ava made a raw, torn sound. Her resolve crumbled. Her hands came up, not to push Lottie away, but to fist in the silk of Lottie’s blouse. "You told me to go. You cried. You made me hate myself." She was shaking.
"I was lying." Lottie leaned in, her lips a breath from Ava’s. "I’ve been lying for six months. I don’t want the before. I want the during."
“I don’t believe you, I can’t believe you, you’re drunk and god you drove you could have killed yourself” Ava blurted out. Lottie tried to kiss her, Ava fended her off told her to sit on the bed while she made her coffee, or maybe get an Uber home , collect the car tomorrow. Lottie was curdled in a ball on the bed sobbing and very soon asleep.
Ava sat at her desk watching Lottie sleep for hours Lottie woke eventually a little worse for wear and Ava looked after her giving her toothpaste and brush, showing her the shower and lending her fresh clothes and fresh coffee when she emerge fresher and a little chastened.
silence for an age.
Silence for an age. It was filled with the bitter steam from their mugs, the distant groan of a garbage truck, the unbearable weight of everything unsaid. Lottie sat on the edge of the stiff loveseat, wearing Ava’s borrowed sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, feeling like a ghost in this sterile box. Ava leaned against the kitchenette counter, miles away across twelve feet of beige carpet.
“I should call you a cab,” Ava finally said, her voice hollow. She wouldn’t look up from her coffee.
“Don’t.” Lottie’s own voice was raspy from sleep and tears. She placed her mug on the floor, the click too loud. “What you said in your text. About being deluded.” She drew a shuddering breath, the air cold in her lungs. “You weren’t deluded.”
Ava’s head snapped up. Her eyes, even weary and behind glasses, were devastating.
“I just wasn’t ready,” Lottie whispered, the confession splitting her open. It was the truest thing she’d ever said. It hung between them, delicate and lethal. “You saw me. The real me, hiding under all that… wife-ness. You saw her and you wanted her and it terrified me because I wanted you, too.”
Ava pushed off the counter. She took two steps forward, then stopped, a tremor in her hands. “You have a truly fucked up way of showing it.” The words were sharp, but her voice broke. “You broke me, Lottie. I thought I’d imagined the whole thing. I thought I’d assaulted you.”
“You didn’t.” Lottie stood. The distance felt impossible. “You woke me up. And then I sent you away and I’ve been sleepwalking ever since. Until I saw you looking like a stranger buying tomatoes.” She closed the space, stopping just before her. She could see the pulse hammering in Ava’s throat. “I want the light back. Your light. Even if it burns me.”
Ava’s control shattered. A raw, guttural sound escaped her as her hands fisted in the fabric of the borrowed t-shirt. She yanked Lottie forward, their bodies colliding. “You don’t get to say that,” she snarled against Lottie’s mouth. “You don’t get to show up here drunk and sad and say the one thing…” She didn’t finish.
Lottie kissed Ava tenderly, Ava begged her not to, “I can’t go through this again”
Lottie silenced her by kissing her again “Sipo please I can’t control myself around you” Ava sobbed as Lottie continued kissing her, tenderly, passionately, now her neck, her ears, her collar bone.
"Shh," Lottie murmured against the frantic pulse in Ava's throat, her lips moving over the salt-tanged skin. "You don't have to control anything." Her hands slid under the hated grey sweatshirt, finding the warm, silken plane of Ava's stomach. Ava trembled, a full-body shudder that was half-resistance, half-surrender. "I am so sorry I hurt you," Lottie breathed, peeling the fabric up and over Ava's head, tossing it to the floor where it belonged.
Ava stood exposed in just her plain bra, her breath coming in ragged hitches. The glasses were askew. Lottie gently removed them, placing them on the desk. "Look at me," she commanded, her voice soft but absolute.
Tears tracked through Ava's lashes. "This will destroy me, Lottie. You will leave again."
"Then let's be destroyed together." Lottie’s fingers found the clasp of the bra, releasing it. Ava’s breasts spilled into her hands, full and heavy, her nipples already taut peaks. Lottie bent her head, taking one deep into her mouth, sucking with a firm, wet pressure she knew would erase thought.
Ava’s cry was a fractured thing. Her hands flew into Lottie’s hair, not pushing her away but holding her there, anchoring herself. "Fuck," she gasped, her hips jerking forward. "Oh god, just like that." The scholarly pretense, the six months of penance, evaporated. Her body remembered its true language.
Lottie worshipped her with her mouth, laving and biting, moving to the other breast while her hands pushed the sweatpants down over Ava’s hips. She knelt on the cheap carpet, following the descent of the fabric, kissing the sharp jut of Ava’s hip bone, the softness of her inner thigh. Ava stepped out of the pants, naked now, swaying above her.
"Lottie, wait—"
"No more waiting." Lottie’s voice was a husk of desire. She pulled Ava down to the floor with her, onto the rough nylon pile, their knees knocking. The sterile apartment air vanished, replaced by the hot, musky scent of Ava’s arousal. Lottie looked up at her, at the beautiful, agonized face of the girl she had broken and now needed to reassemble with her touch. "I am going to love you now. The way I should have then."
She pushed Ava onto her back and settled between her thighs. She didn’t dive in. She traced the outer lips with a feather-light touch, watching Ava’s stomach clench. "Please," Ava begged, arching her back, her fists clutching at nothing. "Don't make me wait, I need—"
Lottie silenced her by lowering her mouth. She licked a long, slow stripe through Ava’s soaked folds, savoring the taste—sharp, clean, uniquely her. Ava screamed, a raw, unfiltered sound that bounced off the bare walls. Lottie did it again, then closed her lips over Ava’s clit, sucking rhythmically while her tongue flicked the hardened nub.
"Your toes are curling," Lottie moaned against her, feeling the spasms in Ava’s legs. She slid two fingers inside, curling them up to that perfect spot, fucking her in deep, sure strokes. "You're so fucking tight. You feel like heaven." She added a third finger, stretching her, owning her. Ava’s heels dug into Lottie’s back, her cries becoming a broken litany. "Yes, there, right there, don't stop, I'm gonna—"
Lottie felt the orgasm seize Ava, a violent contraction around her fingers. Ava’s scream climbed to a desperate pitch as she came, her body bowing off the floor, a tremor wracking her from head to toe. Lottie gentled her mouth, drinking every pulse, until Ava collapsed, sobbing and spent.
But Lottie wasn't done. She crawled up Ava’s body, kissing the tears, the sweat, the parted lips. "My turn," she whispered, her own need a frantic ache. She guided Ava’s hand between her own legs, over the borrowed sweatpants. "Feel what you do to me. I’m soaked for you."
Ava’s eyes, glazed and sated, sharpened with a dark, possessive fire. The broken girl was gone, incinerated by her climax. The true Ava surged back, ravenous and in charge. She flipped Lottie onto her hands and knees on the carpet with a predatory growl. "You don't get to just love me and leave," she snarled, yanking the sweatpants down to Lottie’s knees. "You came here for this. For me."
She didn’t use her fingers. She pressed her mouth against Lottie from behind, licking and fucking her with her tongue in a brutal, filthy rhythm. Lottie cried out, her arms buckling. "Ava! Oh Christ, yes!"
Ava pulled back, her chin glistening. She slapped Lottie’s ass, a sharp, stinging crack. "You think about this when he’s fucking you?" She delivered another slap, then soothed the reddening skin with her tongue. "You think about my mouth on your cunt?"
"Only you," Lottie babbled, pushing back against her. "I only think of you."
Ava rose up on her knees. Lottie heard the tear of a foil packet, the snap of latex. Then Ava was pressing against her, not her fingers, but the hard, smooth curve of a strap-on. The impersonal apartment vanished. There was only this: the desperate pressure, the promise of being filled.
"Beg for it," Ava demanded, rubbing the silicone head through Lottie’s slickness.
"Please, Ava, fuck me," Lottie gasped, burying her face in the carpet. "Please, I need it."
Ava pushed in, a slow, inexorable invasion that stole Lottie’s breath. It was deeper than fingers, more claiming. She stilled, fully sheathed, her body draped over Lottie’s back, her teeth on Lottie’s shoulder. "Mine," she whispered, a raw tremor in her voice. "You are mine tonight." Then she began to move.
She fucked her with a relentless, driving pace, each thrust jolting Lottie forward. The pace mounted, a savage rhythm that chased away every ghost of guilt, every memory of a lonely kitchen. Ava’s hands gripped her hips, surely leaving bruises, as she pistoned into her. The crude, wet sounds of their joining filled the room. "Take it," Ava grunted. "Take all of me. Your pussy is fucking perfect, so tight around this cock."
Lottie was unravelling, pleasure coiling white-hot in her core. "I'm going to come," she warned, her voice a shattered thing.
"Come," Ava commanded, her thrusts becoming shorter, harder, aimed perfectly. "Scream for me. Let the whole building know who’s making you come."
The climax detonated, a supernova behind Lottie’s eyes. She did scream, a raw, endless sound as the waves battered her. Ava rode her through it, fucking her relentlessly through the convulsions, not letting the sensation fade. Just as Lottie began to sink, Ava withdrew, flipped her onto her back, and re-entered her in one deep stroke.
Lottie gasped, oversensitive, her body sparking anew. "Again," Ava panted, her face a mask of sweat and fierce devotion. She braced her arms on either side of Lottie’s head, their eyes locked. This angle was deeper, more intimate. Ava fucked her with a profound, grinding intensity, claiming her but holding her close throughout, afraid to let her go. "You feel that?" she whispered, her thrusts a slow, devastating roll. "That's forever. I want to pleasure you forever."
She kissed her, a deep, consuming kiss as her hips never stopped. The passion mounted more and more, a feedback loop of touch and sensation. Lottie came again, a silent, shuddering release that left her limp. Ava followed her, a guttural cry tearing from her throat as she pressed as deep as she could, her body shuddering in a mimicry of ecstasy against Lottie's.
She didn't pull out. She collapsed, carefully, onto her side, holding Lottie tightly against her, the harness an awkward barrier between them she ignored. She kissed Lottie’s hair, her temple, her closed eyelids. She ravished her over and over with whispered words. "I've got you. I'm not letting go."
Exhaustion and impossible satiation pulled at Lottie. In the safety of Ava's arms, the world dissolved into a velvet dark. She felt one more soft kiss on her brow, then nothing, passing out in ecstasy.