Maybe Kate really can mark this down as a success, because Johanna--perhaps defying expectations, and certainly defying the assumption that all that handholding was, in fact, a dream--does come back, later. 'Much later' is still later. She's calmer, cleaner--and she's back to forceful, in the way that she kisses Kate, in the way that she peels off her clothes and pushes her hands against her. All control and no uncertainty. This is different than holding hands--it's a little too rough to be interpreted with any loving sweetness--but she's careful, too, in her way.
And hours later from that 'later', she's laying, mostly quiet but not still, fingernails tracing an idle pattern against the bare flesh of Kate's stomach. Sometimes that touch is a little too rough, too, little pink impressions left behind by the pricking of her fingernails--but they're quick to fade, and they don't actually hurt. Conversation seems pretty unnecessary now, in this dozy after part. Johanna drags her fingers back down again, and then removes her hand entirely, sets it down on the bed so she can heave herself up. She stretches her arms over her head, her legs dangling over the side of the bed. And then she bends, to find her socks, pull them on to her feet. This is a familiar routine, getting prepared to leave.]
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Maybe Kate really can mark this down as a success, because Johanna--perhaps defying expectations, and certainly defying the assumption that all that handholding was, in fact, a dream--does come back, later. 'Much later' is still later. She's calmer, cleaner--and she's back to forceful, in the way that she kisses Kate, in the way that she peels off her clothes and pushes her hands against her. All control and no uncertainty. This is different than holding hands--it's a little too rough to be interpreted with any loving sweetness--but she's careful, too, in her way.
And hours later from that 'later', she's laying, mostly quiet but not still, fingernails tracing an idle pattern against the bare flesh of Kate's stomach. Sometimes that touch is a little too rough, too, little pink impressions left behind by the pricking of her fingernails--but they're quick to fade, and they don't actually hurt. Conversation seems pretty unnecessary now, in this dozy after part. Johanna drags her fingers back down again, and then removes her hand entirely, sets it down on the bed so she can heave herself up. She stretches her arms over her head, her legs dangling over the side of the bed. And then she bends, to find her socks, pull them on to her feet. This is a familiar routine, getting prepared to leave.]