Page 106 of Obedience

‘I also know that you miss me when we're not together,’ Greta turned to Dylan. ‘A lot.’

‘No lies there,’ Dylan placed her laptop on the bed to free her hands for the box Greta was handing to her.

‘So, I wanted to give you these.’

After fiddling clumsily with the lid, Dylan managed to pull it off. Inside was a mound of small brown envelopes, each sealed with a tiny red heart sticker. Every one had something different handwritten on the front in Greta’s handwriting.

‘Hmmm,’ Dylan hummed curiously, while poking through them with her fingers. ‘Is this kinky? Like lucky dip fucking?’

‘Precisely. Hurry up and choose so we can crack on,’ Greta deadpanned, making Dylan snort-laugh as she pulled one out at random. ‘You can only open them when we are apart, and your mood matches the description on the front. Okay?’ Greta dipped her gaze to find Dylan’s.

‘Read when you’re horny?’ Dylan read aloud from the tiny card pinched in her fingertips, before flipping it to see if there was more on the back. ‘So they are kinky?’

‘They're not. That’s just one card, Dylan. Jesus Christ, you’re like a hormonal teenager.’

Dylan laughed and pulled out another. ‘Read when you want to borrow Ingrid. Huh—’

‘It does not say that!’ Greta tried to snatch the card, but Dylan held it out of her reach, shaking it as though the car keys might be inside. Greta wrestled it away, spinning it to read for herself. ‘Read if you feel lonely,’ she read, before handing it back with a satisfied head tilt and smirk.

‘Shall we do the horny one now? As it’s out?’ Dylan asked with a mischievous eyebrow wiggle.

Greta rolled her eyes as she laughed. ‘What did I just say?!’

‘When I’m alone, okay, okay, Jesus.’ Dylan huffed through her grin, replacing the lid and placing the box on the bed. ‘This is really sweet, G. Thank you.’ She leaned in. ‘Kiss me, Doctor Vincent,’ she demanded softly, eyes screwed shut and lips already puckered. Greta held her chin and kissed her, breathing her in as she always did. ‘When are you back?’

‘A week tomorrow,’ Greta replied with a forlorn sideways glance. ‘Quite why this year’s TYA Congress is in California, I have no idea. It’s usually a three-day conference, but now it’s a bloody week.’ She turned to Dylan. ‘I’ll miss you.’

‘Not as much as I’ll miss you.’ Dylan craned for another kiss. ‘Anyway, I’m smashing this dissertation out while you’re gone. It’s getting on my tits.’

‘Smashing it out?’ Greta rolled her eyes at her flippancy. ‘What you’ve written so far is very good. Don’t get impatient with it, Dyl.’

‘You finish it for me,’ Dylan whined, leaning a pleading face toward Greta.

‘Oh, the university would love that. I think corruption and coercion is enough for one rap sheet, don’t you? Anyway, you need to do it to prepare for your PhD.’

Dylan guffawed. ‘Don’t swear at me.’

‘Why not? You’re more than capable.’

‘Have you been smoking crack in the big bathroom again?’

Leaning into Dylan’s outstretched arm, Greta laughed hard. ‘I love you, Dylan St John.’

‘I love you too, ya crazy wench,’ Dylan replied in one of the unidentifiable accents from her heavy rotation, as she kissed Greta’s temple.

***

After closing her laptop, Dylan tapped her phone screen to check the time. It was almost midnight. Rubbing her tired eyes she leaned back in the chair, drawing her knee up to rest her chin on and sighing as she looked out over the garden dimly lit by strings of twinkling solar lights.

It had been five days since Greta had left for her conference in America—the longest time they had been apart in months—and Dylan was feeling every second. Even though work, studying, caring for Margaret, and seeing Greta’s parents impacted their time, they would try to steal as much as they could to be together. She missed her. She missed the instinctive reach for her in the dark, pulling her back into the curve of her body whenever she moved too far away. She longed for the feeling of Greta’s breaths landing on her skin when she lay on her chest. She missed the floral scent of her shampoo when she would press her face into Greta’s thick waves as they lay in bed together; or when Greta would swoosh her hair from side to side, before scooping it back into a bun. She missed watching her, the heavy, sweet comfort of simply observing the woman she loved. Greta had a particular way of moving around Dylan—around their now combined world—that felt like a constant reassuring pulse. She ached for the heat of Greta’s hand on her thigh; her habitual need to be touching. No matter if they were driving, or just sitting on the sofa, a part of Greta would be touching Dylan.

Although they FaceTimed every day, sometimes twice, it wasn’t the same as hearing her voice in person, watching her mouth as her lips formed the words “I love you”. She craved the way the words felt as they landed and tingled on her skin.

‘Get a fucking grip, St John,’ she chided herself aloud, as she picked up her mobile and thumbed open Greta’s WhatsApp thread to type a message.

Dylan:

‘Going to bed soon. I know it’s only 4pm there so no worries if you’re busy. I’ll leave my phone on loud. Call me when you can. I love you, girlfner. Dx’