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Hope nestled into the warmth of the blankets seeking a solace that wasn't there. Shawna had rolled out of bed almost as soon as they'd finished, heading for the shower, leaving Marcus in the bed with her to snuggle.
That memory brought a smile to her face, at least — most of the warmth in the pillow was his, she told herself — but that feeling stood out in contrast to the disquiet that had kept her in bed long after he'd left. And the confusion she felt when she couldn't decide what was the cause of that disquiet.
They had stayed in bed for an hour, her draped across his chest as he ran his fingers lightly up and down her hip, a reminder of all the feather-light touches he'd put on her that morning. Shawna had been frantic, again, lips and fingers flying back and forth, grabbing, groping, and fighting them all towards a climax.
Marcus had been more restrained, slower and gentler, showing his love more than his lust, though at the end he'd let that lust come through with Shawna.
And that had been the end of it, she realised, which was where the problem lay. She'd always thought she'd wanted someone gentle who'd show how much he loved her, and now that she had it something was missing.
Finally, giving up on finding solace in the silly belief that any of the warmth still in the pillow came from Marcus' broad back, she rolled out of bed and wrapped herself in a towel, heading for the shower herself.
A note on the table written in Shawna's big, bold pen strokes told her that she'd gone to a lecture. Below that Marcus' tight, almost-indecipherable scrawl noted that he'd headed for the shops to restock and would be back in a few hours.
Apparently he'd looked in on her and she'd been asleep — which she didn't remember — and he'd thought she looked 'too cute to awaken'.
Cute. Not beautiful, not sexy, but cute. Not, in fact, anything good enough that he would have felt it necessary to wake her and show her how beautiful or sexy. Or even cute. She shuffled through to the shower, turning the radio on louder than was normal, trying to drown out the thoughts bouncing around in her head as she cleaned herself. The activity reminded her how little there was to clean — Marcus hadn't actually done anything more than touch her lightly here and there, after all, though Shawna's tongue had left some traces. All the tunes seemed slow and depressing.
Finding no solace in the cascade of water, she finished the basic requirements and shut off the shower. She hurriedly dried, trying to ignore the slight stubble on her legs. Marcus hadn't noticed after all. Why should she care?
Tears pricked at her eyes and she sat down on the side of the bath to control her emotions before they got away with her. She wondered what it was that had her so worried. It was only one morning ... except that it wasn't. All through the holiday they'd spent time together, day and night. He'd held her, kissed her, rubbed away tension from her calves after long walks and caressed her lovingly as they drifted off to sleep.
But he'd not shown her that he wanted her. Shawna had, but that wasn't enough when Marcus was so willing to grab the redhead and pound into her until she screamed a release. Flushing with guilt — at the jealousy and at the realisation that she wanted to be pounded until she screamed as well — she forced herself up off the bath and went to get dressed.
Jealousy wasn't going to help, and it wasn't Shawna's fault anyway. She was beautiful. Even she wanted to be with Shawna, so she couldn't blame Marcus or Shawna for that attraction. It was just that, it seemed, Marcus didn't want her.
Maybe she'd sent the wrong signals to him. Maybe the conversation about wanting something demure and respectful had been too much. But then ... maybe she just wasn't as attractive as Shawna. For sure Shawna would do things in bed that she wouldn't. Shawna even threatened to do things Hope wasn't even sure people really did, but Marcus didn't seem to go for that sort of thing.
Of course, if Marcus really didn't do kinky things, he wouldn't be taking two women to bed every night, she rationalised. She slipped her shoes on and realised she was dressed. She took a moment to stare at herself in the mirror, partly to ensure that the outfit she had unconsciously selected wasn't a horrible mismatch, but also to see what it was that had turned Marcus away.
Nothing seemed obvious, even if the pale tan of the shirt wasn't the best colour against her skin. The rational part at the back of her mind told her she was being stupid, that it was just one morning and tomorrow things would be different, but her emotions rode over that thought quickly, and her instincts and emotions followed a single path.
What she needed to do was talk to someone. Not Shawna, who would simply tell Marcus to be more attentive next time, and he would, and then things would go back to the same way. If that's how they really were...
Not Elspeth or Briana, who wouldn't really appreciate what it was she was looking for. Nor Lorraine who didn't seem to really like the physical parts of a relationship anyway. She needed someone who knew what it was like to want to be wanted, and when she put it like that her thoughts turned to Yvonne.
She mulled that idea over for a while, sipping at a cup of tea and staring at the door as she tried to decide if it were a good idea. By the time the pot was empty she'd still not entirely decided. She did want to check up with Yvonne, though, to see how things were going.
If the conversation went well, she decided, she'd bring the issue up, and if it didn't at least she'd done something with the morning.
The fresh air actually felt good, although Hope wasn't entirely convinced that wasn't just because it was a sign that she'd actually gotten up and done something rather than stewing. Walking along beside the river, seeing the flowers start to emerge on the trees along the banks, she wondered how her mother would have reacted, what advice she'd have given. Lost in thought, and enjoying the day, she settled on the swings below the Kelvin Hall for a while and stared along the river towards the park.
It disturbed her slightly when she realised she'd not prayed for any sort of guidance. That got her off the seat and walking, and she was still wondering about that shift of faith when she trotted up the steps into the halls of residence, and into the lift. The corridor was busy with people moving luggage around after the holidays, catching up with friends they'd not seen in a few weeks, and her attention was filled with navigating the cramped corridor until she reached Yvonne's door.
She knocked twice, and the door swung open, apparently not on the latch. The room stank of sweat, sex and alcohol, a palpable force that pushed into her as the door swung wide. Inside the curtains were drawn closed. The only light in the depths of the room was the reflection of the hall lights on the posters on the wall. Yvonne lay on the bed, pale and almost naked, a long line of bruises running up the line of her arm, her face swollen and pale. At the sudden intrusion of light she turned towards Hope, her eyes glazed and unfocussed, obviously unable to recognise who it was.
"Yvonne?" Hope whispered, trying to get some sort of response.
Yvonne obviously recognised the voice, if nothing else, and the look of confusion turned to an expression of fear before a strong, muscular hand reached from behind the door and grasped the front of Hope's coat. She was dragged into the room, swung off her feet, and slung physically across the room to land on the bed beside Yvonne, drawing a whimper from the taller girl as she landed on her legs.
"Well, well, well," a familiar voice sneered from the darkness as the door closed.
Connor MacNamara.
Marcus dropped the shopping onto the table, flexing his hands to restore the blood-flow. He had packed the bags so that he could cycle once around the room and put everything away. He had started the kettle, and by the time he'd finished the circuit the water was hot and he was stood ready with a cup.
"Are you making tea?" Shawna called, poking her head into the kitchen.
"Can do," he confirmed, taking another down cup from the shelf. "How was class?"
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