Page 101 of Obedience

Dylan woke the following morning with no Greta pushed against her. Feeling ridiculously bereft by her absence, she pulled on her boxers and a white vest and made her way into the hall.

‘G?’ she called out, her voice still groggy from sleep.

Silence.

Yawning and rubbing her sleep crusted eyes with the heel of her hand, she wandered into the living room to find Greta asleep on the huge sofa in her dressing gown, her round tortoise shell glasses still on. Dylan’s copy of In at the Deep End lay cover-up and still open on her chest. Dylan watched her for a moment. She watched as the only woman she had ever wanted to be with took soft breath after soft breath, her chest rising and falling gently. Greta looked small and unguarded, fragile almost. A deep ache swelled behind Dylan’s ribs, almost breaking her wide open with the realisation that the jagged edges and blurred lines of the world only ever smoothed and pulled into focus when she was with Greta. She craved her even now, standing close enough to hear her every breath.

Her thoughts turned to her meeting and the fear that the reprisal, however that may look, for them being together may force them apart. That the bravery Greta had shown only the day before may shrivel up and she would finally run. That her career would be more important than what they had because what did they have? Greta liked her. She had used the word partner and taken Dylan to meet her parents, but was she ready for the rest of the real world? Would that be the undoing of them? Greta’s nerves had all but consumed her as they travelled to Eddie and Elaine’s. How many times would she be able to withstand that level of anxiety? Was Dylan, and the little she had to offer, enough? She forced it down, burying the mere idea that what they had could, or would, end.

Silently, Dylan moved over to the sofa, delicately plucking the book from Greta’s chest with her fingers. The moment Greta stirred and her gaze landed on Dylan, a smile pushed into her tired eyes. She pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes with her fingers. The dark crescents under her eyes made a heavy pang of guilt stab in Dylan’s chest.

‘Hey girlfner,’ Dylan said softly with a smile as she pushed a stray lock of hair off Greta’s forehead, securing it behind her ear.

The sight of Dylan seemed to ease some of Greta's tension as she blew out a long, quiet sigh. With heavy eyes, she looked intently at the woman perched next to her, who was now fiddling with her lapels.

‘Morning, Dyl,’ she said softly, pushing her head back into a cushion with a soft groan.

Greta held up her arm, wordlessly pulling Dylan down to her. Draping a leg over Greta’s thighs Dylan nuzzled into her neck, holding them close with a hand hooked over her pelvis.

‘What you doing out here?’ Dylan asked, trying to keep the concern out of her voice.

Greta yawned. ‘I woke up at three-ish and couldn’t get back to sleep.’

Wanting to purge Greta of all she was carrying, Dylan squeezed her even harder. Greta pulled back Dylan’s curls, allowing them to fall forward again and pressed her lips into her hair.

‘She just broke his penis,’ Greta said to an immediate burst of laughter from Dylan.

‘Whaaat?’

‘Julia. In the book. The guy she hooked up with just accused her of breaking his penis.’

‘Ohhh,’ Dylan realised. ‘Imagine blaming limp dick on someone you’re fucking? Wild. I thank sweet baby Jesus Christ every day for making me gay.’

‘Amen to that,’ Greta chuckled, making Dylan’s head bob up and down on her chest.

‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ Dylan asked softly.

‘I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so comfy.’

Another kiss was pressed to Dylan’s hair. Rolling out a little, Dylan placed a hand on Greta’s chest to rest her chin on. Greta smiled while tousling a curl, wrapping it around her fingers before pulling the soft strand through the grip of her finger and thumb.

‘What’s the worst that could happen, G?’ Dylan asked earnestly.

‘With what?’

‘With us and the university.’

Greta took a steadying breath. ‘Well, I could, and most likely will, lose my honorary contract…and if they deem me to have coerced you in any way, or used my power and influence over you, I could face a professional misconduct hearing. The PCI would be informed, of course…and if it’s deemed serious enough, the GMC.’ She huffed out some air. ‘It’s their perception of us that matters, not ours.’

With her face pushed into Greta’s chest, Dylan inhaled until her chest was full, as if breathing in Greta’s words would make them less serious, less profound. She so wanted to say she would step aside, that she wouldn’t allow Greta to face it all, that her career was more important than them. But those words were impossible to say. After almost smothering herself and drowning in the smell and warmth of Greta, Dylan turned her head to the side.

‘G—’ The emotional weight of the words made them lodge in Dylan’s throat. She sucked in a breath. ‘I need you to know something.’ Greta’s chest was calm, steady breaths entering and leaving her nose, pushing into Dylan’s curls. ‘I know that this is all insane. I know that what we have is so left field and blindsiding…the speed of it all I mean, and that it’s left us both feeling a bit, well, you know…like what the actual fuck.’ She gently squeezed Greta with her whole body. ‘I know what you are risking for us, and I know the stakes are insanely high for you but I—’

‘I won’t panic,’ Greta interrupted softly. Dylan screwed her eyes shut, holding onto the words, sighing as Greta pressed her face into the top of her head and breathed her all the way in. ‘I promise, Dyl,’ she kissed her curls and turned her face to the side, her cheek resting on them and whispered, ‘I promise, I won’t panic.’

***

With narrowed eyes, Dylan watched with an ever-growing annoyance as Phil Hegarty, the university’s safeguarding representative, clicked his pen and breathed irritatingly loudly through his nose. The room felt suffocatingly small, the walls almost too close. The air thick and stifling with insinuation and defensiveness from their so far heated conversation. His propensity to spit when he spoke—and the fact that he looked a little like a Jack Russell in a wool-knit tank top—were making the whole encounter all the more irritating. With his gaze fixed on Dylan’s, he stroked his beard and gave his pen a rapid bout of clicks.