Bitter Necessity

Twenty minutes after the first time we slept together, Kiara introduced me to her boyfriend. 

It was different times back then, we were both kids surrounded by the noose of our families. I swallowed the bitter necessity of it with a smile and said hello to the boyfriend. Made polite small talk. I fancied myself a woman of the world, understanding the need for hiding what we were, even if I chafed under the secrecy. 

The next time we saw each other I was cold and she confused. I pretended not to notice every time she shot me a sad little look. It was my mothers party and there was plenty of people to talk to. I convinced myself it didn't matter, we were young and she meant nothing. 

I left town soon after, it was a few years before I saw her again. 

In every sense of the word, I was out and she was not. I had gotten away from our tiny little town and their tiny little prejudices. Everyone knew I was a lesbian and the only time I returned to that tiny little town was when I was visiting my mother. It was on one such occasion that I saw Kiara again. I was visiting my mother for the holidays, bored out of my mind in that small place and taking hour long drives just to feel like I wasn't suffocating. 

I saw her waiting for the bus and I remembered the taste of her in my mouth. I stopped before I could think better of it. 

We talked for hours, the whole time I kept looking at her mouth wondering if she still kissed the way she used to. I didn’t find out that day. I dropped her off at home and was sure that would be the end of it. 

She still lived at home, she was in the closet out of a need for survival. I didn’t blame her for that, but I wouldn’t put myself through it again. I was out and I’d had lovers who were out. People who would hold my hand in public and kiss me without caring who saw. I wouldn't go back to secrecy, not for anyone, not for her. 

Kiara came over the next day. I let her in. We were both alone in the living room. I can’t remember now who kissed who, but I remember that she bit my lip so gently, it made me melt. She tasted exactly how I remembered. 

We didn't talk about it. We made no promises, we left everything we were and felt unsaid. I left town a week later. 

I was hoping I would forget her. 

When the first letter arrived, my happiness made me angry. I answered anyway. We went on like that for months. Both of us dancing around what we felt. Neither of us giving it a name. 

I went out with other women. Trying to make myself forget the taste of her skin. It didn’t work. I wanted to tell her everything. I’d find myself looking for interesting stories to tell her, jokes that I knew she’d like, places she would have loved to see. 

It was too much. I wanted everything or nothing at all. My next letter was going to ask her to come see me. Come see what we could be out in the open, no hiding. 

In her next letter she told me she was engaged. 

All this time and neither of us had learned anything. I took it with that same bitter grace I met her boyfriend with all those years ago. 

I didn’t reply. What would've been the point? More letters came but I never opened them. Eventually they stopped. 

I was humiliated and furious, mostly at myself. What a sucker for pain I was! What an idiot fool! Plenty of gay women. Plenty of gay women who were out and proud. Yet there I was pining for some girl who couldn’t even admit to herself that she loved me. Or had she even loved me at all? Had it all been some silly experimentation that she was eager to throw away and put behind her. Preferring to settle into that safe, married life everyone else had in our small hometown.  

There I was, eager for the secret, hidden scraps she gave me. No more, I swore to myself I wouldn’t ever do this to myself again.

I made excuses the next time my Mama asked me to visit. It was two years before I could face that little town again. Before I could tolerate even the slightest chance of encountering Kiara. 

But I had to go see my Mama. So I went back, back to that little town and its bitter necessity. 

I resisted the urge to ask my Mama whether Kiara was married yet. I wanted to pick at the wound just to see if it’d bleed. There had been other women, of course. It had been two years and I wasn’t a saint. But none of them lasted long and my mind always circled back to Kiara. 

I saw her almost as soon  as I’d arrived. Her mom was visiting my Mama and there she was sitting on the living room couch we had once made out on. I made polite small talk with her mom, I didn't look at Kiara once. 

As they were leaving Kiara said “We should catch up.”

I looked in the eye and I was gone. 

“Yeah. Alright. You free tomorrow?” I said like the fool I was. 

The next day I picked her up and we went for a drive. Just like we used to. It was silent for a bit before I asked, always quick to rip off the band-aid. “So, you married yet?”

“No.”

I didn’t look at her. I’d tasted this hope before and its bitter aftertaste wasn’t worth the effort. 

“What?” 

“I broke it off a while ago.”

I didn’t know what to say. 

“You never answered my letters.” Kiara said. 

Suddenly I was furious again. Damn her and the way she yanked me around. Damn me and the way I let her do it. 

“Hell, Kiara, you told me you were going to get married. What was I supposed to do? Offer to be one of your bridesmaids? What exactly did you think was going to happen.” 

She winced at that. 

“Damn.” I parked. We were far away from everything and everyone. “Damn it. I’m not doing this again. You're in the closet fine. Fine. I get it. But I want someone who’ll admit that they love me back. I’m not going to waste my time loving you won’t even admit that you’re as queer as I am.”

“That's easy to say when you don’t have to live here. Your Mamas fine with you being gay, but mine would throw me out that moment she knew. You're not trapped the way I am. I’m stuck here and you're not that's the difference. That's why you can say you’re gay and I-” 

She turned her head sharply to look out the window. Anger drained out of me and pity took its place.  

It wasn't like she was wrong. I was lucky. That was the difference between us two. I had gotten out, I had a Mama who loved me more than she loved her prejudice, and a job that gave me enough money to buy my freedom. 

“Come with me.” 

Kiara looks at me and my impulsivity solidifies into certainty. “What?” 

“Come with me.” The words are pouring out quickly now. “Come with me. You can stay with me for as long as you need. I’ll help you find a job.” 

Kiara doesn’t say anything for a while. 

“I-I know you don’t love me. I wouldn’t- it's an offer with no strings. You deserve better than this. You deserve a way out.” 

She’s wide-eyed. As the moments tick by I feel my hope crumble. She’s going to be a coward about this. 

Then between one moment in the next, she's kissing me. 

“I have loved you since the first time we kissed.” She said, and that was enough for me. 

When I left town she came with me.

I won’t lie it wasn’t easy. Sometimes we fought, sometimes past bitterness surged up in between us, but we stayed together. It’s been twenty years since she came with me, since she told me she loved me, and we’ve never regretted it.