I WAS PRETTY SURE I HAD JUST had hate-sex with Monroe. Did that qualify? Passionately slamming her against the wall? Aaron's shattered baby picture in the foyer was proof. I'd come to talk to her and instead . . . 

     Instead we'd ended up fucking on the stairs. And the shower. And, later, the bed. Also on the floor. It was nighttime now (Aaron was staying overnight in the hospital, and so was Mr. Andersen), and Monroe was currently sizzling tomato sauce on a pan. 

     "Do you need helping making the pasta?" I asked. 

     She turned around, snaking her arms around my waist, and murmured, "No," against my lips. I was sitting on the white island counter, legs dangling over the edge. 

     Talk. That's what you came here for. 

     That seemed like so far away, when I'd gathered up my jacket and my keys, driving over with what felt like an an invincible ferocity. Who would have thought we'd end up having sex instead? 

      "Monroe?" I tangled my fingers in her soft black hair. "I . . ."

      "Don't talk, Talia." Don't ruin this. 

      What was more important, fucking Monroe or getting the truth out of her? I was so turned on by her warm, sweet breath I very nearly gave in. Instead, I said, "We really need to talk."

      She trailed kisses down my chest, unbuttoning the silky shirt she'd given me. Her fingers gently spread my legs wider, giving her access to the wetness already there. 

      "The tomato sauce," I gasped, as she pressed her mouth to the inside of my thigh, as softly as I imagined butterfly wings would feel like. "It'll burn."

      "The tomato sauce is fine, Talia."

      I gripped the edge of the marble countertop with white fingers. Panting already. How could one girl have this much power over me? 

      "We . . . really need to talk," I said, but now I was hardly listening to myself. I slid my fingers into Monroe's silky hair, still holding onto the counter for dear life. Her tongue swirled over, into me, and my eyes rolled back. The intensity of warmth was enough to make my bare legs shake around her. "Oh, God, yes."

      Monroe's green eyes flicked up towards me, shadowed by the frame of her long lashes. "Come for me, Talia," she whispered, and the pressure was too much. My back arched, and stars flickered in and out, dancing on the kitchen ceiling. 

      "Is this your plan?" I said, still out of breath as I slid off the countertop and into her arms. "Fuck me senseless? So we don't have to deal with any of our issues?"

      She pretended to think about it, a luscious smile sharpening her raw, pinkened lips. "As if you haven't been doing the same? I'm not the only one to blame."

      She . . . was right. I had initiated half as many of our rounds, if not more. It was so unfortunate having a girlfriend who was ridiculously beautiful. I just couldn't help wanting her, all the damn time.

      Girlfriend. She wasn't my girlfriend anymore. The thought was a cold shock, dousing me from head to toe. I pulled back slightly from Monroe, examining her face―her stupid, beautiful face.

      "You have a service for . . . hurting people," I said.

      And . . . I'd done it. I'd cracked the façade, the glue holding us together. These fragile, hopeless pieces, tethering us. Gone. It couldn't have lasted forever, I thought, but it didn't console me like it should have. Every bit of happiness I'd felt with Monroe was forever. She had always been forever.

      Her smile faded. "I do."

      "How . . . why . . . I don't get it. I'm trying to, but I don't."

      "You know my parents died," Monroe said. "And that was two years ago. But you don't know where I went. You said, once, that the reason I came back was because I washed out, or I don't know, found out I wasn't tough enough for the real world."

       "Monroe, I was wrong . . . I didn't know you." I wondered if I ever really had, and then shook it away. At the memory of her in the back of the cab home from the skiing trip. At the memory of us sitting on the rocks, talking about sex for the first time. At the memory of her carrying me home, just last night. 

       "In a way, you were right. Aaron's dad, he wasn't the first guardian in line to take care of me. He was the second. My grandmother, on my dad's side, she was the first." 

      Monroe took my hand, traced my knuckles with her fingertip.

     "For two years . . ." She searched my eyes, pausing now. "I went South. To Texas. Where the last relative alive on my dad's side lived. Dear old Grandma Angel."

      And then Monroe told me where she'd been for the last two years.

     WHEN SHE WAS done, I closed my eyes. Resting my cheek on her shoulder, stroking the ends of her hair, I whispered against her collarbone, "Thank you."

     Monroe kissed the top of my head. Her face, bright with the shine of tears, flushed and so, so vulnerable, was perfect to me in this moment. I felt so honored that she'd chosen to share her past with me. I kissed her now, as if I could take it away, as if I could absorb all of her pain. I'd trade it, any suffering she'd ever felt, if I could. This had to be love. This, above everything.  

      I didn't think I'd loved her before, not really. Because she had still been a mystery, with the smile of a sphinx, and while that was beautiful―it wasn't love. Love had to be knowing her. Knowing every flaw, every weakness, and loving her anyway.

     "Monroe, I'm sorry I ever . . ."

     "Talia." She pulled back slightly, so I could see the glimmer of her stare, the tears that clung to her lashes. "I know."

      The suspense, the frustration―it was all gone now. I knew her secrets―or, at least, the most important ones. But I didn't think any less of her. Not when all I wanted to do was take her face in both my hands and kiss her, as if the fate of the world depended on it, as if the stars might blink out in a moment and the sky would crack like broken glass.

     So I did. I kissed her, and for a while, it felt like everything would be better.

     "Talia," she whispered into my mouth. "There's something else you should know."

     I smiled against her lips. "Yes?"

     "I think I burned the pasta." She paused, and then cupped my jaw. "Also, I'm the missing guitarist from your band."

      "So when Olivia told me the guitarist had unresolved issues . . . it was really just our breakup?"

      "I didn't think you'd want to be in a band with me after that."

      I leaned away from her, trying to process this information. "What about that day at the Hamilton? When you didn't show up? Why?"

      For the past couple of months, I'd been silently cursing the absentee guitarist's name, grave and firstborn child. It had been Monroe this whole time? 

      And then it dawned on me. Why Monroe hadn't been there. With the gaps filled in from her story, I knew better. "Oh," I whispered. It didn't erase the embarrassment, or the hurt, but I understood. And maybe I'd have made the same decision, too.

     "If it helps," said Monroe, "the Battle of the Bands concert is still next week."

     "Next week?"  I said, as if I hadn't been miserably counting down the days. "But you . . . you won't . . . you want to play with me and Olivia?" That had been Olivia's only reservation: we didn't have a guitarist. If Monroe agreed . . . 

     "I'll play, Talia." She pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "And this time, I'll make sure to, you know, be there."

     "Good. Because I might have to hurt you if you don't."

     "Hurt me?" Monroe teased. "What, you think you could take me in a fight?"

     "Absolutely," I said with false bravado. "100%. I could definitely take you down―um, hold that thought. I think the kitchen is on fire." Smoke wafted from behind Monroe. She spun around, wide-eyed, and grabbed a cloth. 

     "Shit!" she cursed. "Oh, shit, I'm going to be in so much―why are you laughing?"

     The fire hissed out, leaving nothing but a blackened cloth in Monroe's hand. I had been of no help at all, but I couldn't help clutching my stomach, almost falling off the counter with the force of my giggles.

     "Talia, why are you laughing?"  

     "Do you want to be my girlfriend? Again?" It was the perfect occasion to ask her. We had just set the kitchen on fire. Nothing like lesbians and arson.

     Monroe's fell open, just slightly. And then she narrowed her eyes, grinning. "Only if you win a fight against me."

     Oh, shit. 

     "Come on," she teased. "I want to see your skills. Didn't you say you'd absolutely win?"

     "Alright, fine, let's do this."

     "Now?" It was her turn to seem surprised.

     "What, not ready to lose to me?" I was . . . digging myself a deeper hole. Oh, well. "I know you're afraid, don't worry."

     "Afraid?" A spark lit Monroe's eyes. 

     "That's right. And you should be terrified. When I get my hands on you, I'm going to―um, take you down." Oh, God, she'd destroy me. She could take on multiple men at once. She'd probably slam me to the ground and . . . 

     That should not be turning me on. 

     I slid off the counter, Monroe's hands on my waist, and led her to the living room once she'd turned off the heat and tossed away the burnt cloth. Planting myself right in the middle of the plush carpet.

    "Alright." I stepped back from her and held up my fists, like I'd seen boxers in movies. Then I started to move around her in a circle, aware I looked stupid but smiling anyway. All I had to do was fight her, and then I'd―

     In one quick movement, Monroe swept my leg off the ground, put her hand behind my neck, and shoved me to the ground. A breath tore from my chest.

     Monroe, leaning right above me, black strands of her hair falling around her face, smiled. "Afraid, am I?"

     "Okay, I guess I was wrong." 

     I tilted my face upwards to kiss her, sealing her mouth onto mine. A messy kiss, wet and sexy and warm. Then I punched her.

    Now, I  was on top. Sitting on her hips, pinning her down to the ground. My lips felt raw, red. I licked them, and Monroe's eyes flickered there as if she was thinking of kissing me.

    "Nice one," she said, seemingly unfazed. Like the punch hadn't been hard enough to hurt her.

    Then, with strength I didn't even think it was possible to have, Monroe threw herself forward. Standing up with fluid, graceful energy, like some kind of gymnast. Instead of sliding off her, Monroe kept me on her waist, so when she at last rose to her feet, I was wrapped around her.

    "That was really sexy," I said.

    A grin. "I figured."

   "But I still want to win this fight."

   "Oh? What are you going to do about it?"

   I bit her.

   Was it cheating? Yes. Did I also surprise her? Yes. I launched us both backwards, so we'd fall, and now the length of my entire body was pressed against her. I shifted so that one of my legs fell between hers, and I rested my elbows on either side of her face.

   "I won," I said cheerfully.

   "You bit me."

   "I still won. Admit it. We're dating now."

   "I made that deal before I found out my girlfriend was a rabid dog."

   "But do you see how you just referred to me as your girlfriend anyway?"

    Monroe sighed. Her strong arms tightened over my back, and then we both rolled. From on top of me, she said, "Alright, I guess I'll have to just accept the fact that my girlfriend bit me to win a fight."

     "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

***

What you've all been waiting for. 

The next chapter will be in Monroe's POV, for the first and only time. You'll get to see her past firsthand.

From the moon and back,
Sarai