The Safekeep

by Yael van der Wouden

Don’t let—, Isabel thought, and turned, and Eva was there, right there: a hot shape in the dark. Isabel either pulled or was pulled—a rushed and clumsy embrace. The kiss happened without her knowledge, without her understanding the steps it took: how they swayed in the middle of the hallway the one moment and found wall the next; how Isabel came to hold the curve of Eva’s jaw, thumb to the bony joint when Eva opened her mouth for her, did so with a stutter of a sound for her; when Eva came to fist a hand under the heat of Isabel’s hair, when she came to move against her, puff against her. Isabel pushed in closer. She wanted to push Eva through the wall, wanted to push herself into Eva, too. The slide of Eva’s tongue made a pendulum swing low in her belly, made something pitch like a whistle. Eva would not be quiet, would not be still, would grab at her and say, “Mm, ah—” Sounds from the back of her throat and restless hands pulling, hot mouth wide, putting her teeth to Isabel’s lip. The jolt of the bite made Isabel reach, pinch Eva hard at the waist and Eva gasped and—