Sawyer prises herself out of bed and, sure enough, Natasha is upside down with her legs folded in some complicated way.
She pulls on a vest top and some old sweatpants and can’t resist sneaking up to Natasha and giving her a little pinch on the ass. Sawyer feels excited about the day and it surprises her.
Unexpectedly, Natasha finches.
“I’m sorry I startled you,” Sawyer says.
"Did you sleep well?" Natasha flips herself the right way around to talk to Sawyer, but her tone is formal.
"Yes, thanks," Sawyer tries to wrap her hand around Natasha's waist but she's stiff and unyielding. Sawyer's skin is still warm from her duvet, her eyes puffy and coated in sleep. Natasha's skin is cool and she's got a full face of make-up on.
"What shall we do today?"
"Um," says Natasha.
"When I decided to move here, Mikaela and I looked up some stuff to do. We could go and see those old swan boats, or do the Freedom Trail. We could go to Harvard and laugh at all the under graduates. Or we could catch a film, I bet you've done all the Boston stuff already."
Natasha looks frozen. Her arms are stiff to her sides as she stares off to a point beyond Sawyer's head.
"Yeah, we could. I mean, if you wanted to do something like that."
"Well, I feel like I made it perfectly clear that I wanted to do something like that when I suggested doing it," Sawyer sounds waspish to her own ears.
Her lower stomach hurts, she feels bruised inside. She cradles it where it's sore. She squirms when she remembers how easily Natasha was able to fit her fist inside her, how she begged and demanded it harder.
Natasha is still silent.
"Do you mind if I go out for a cigarette?" Natasha eventually asks. Her voice sounds inappropriately loud in Sawyer's empty apartment.
"I would have gone out for one," she continues, "But I didn't want to leave you in here with the door unlocked. I didn't know where your keys were."
"I thought I was speaking to you," says Sawyer.
"You are, but I need a cigarette now. I've been awake for three hours."
"Why didn't you wake me?" Sawyer accuses.
Natasha's eyes widen and she grabs the back of her neck, "I didn't think that's what you wanted. I didn't think it was, what – you know, people do."
Sawyer draws herself up to her full height. She has an imperious look that she knows drives people crazy. It's a half-lidded sort of look, with a furled upper lip.
"Can we pause this discussion so I can go out for a cigarette?"
"Why don't you quit? This could be the first day of the rest of your life?" Sawyer uses her Valley girl voice, and even she wants to smack herself.
"Because I don't want to quit," Natasha swallows.
"Why not? You know they're poison. It’s a bit pathetic, begging to go outside like a dog."
Sawyer watches all of the muscles in Natasha's neck and shoulders stiffen. But Natasha doesn't say anything, just gives Sawyer the impassive look of a cow in a field, staring at the sky.
Frustrated tears prickle the corner of Sawyer's eyes. She can't believe this has got so nasty. It's absurd to be borderline shouting at someone that she trusted to push their fist inside her just a few hours ago. She goes back to cradling her stomach, where she can still feel the ghost of Natasha's hand.
Sawyer points over at her purse, "You can take my keys from that." Natasha walks briskly over to her purse and roots through it. Sawyer has all sorts in there; loose make up brushes, coins, old parking tickets. She wants Natasha to feel the embarrassment of digging through it all.
"I'll be back in a minute," Natasha grabs her pack of cheap and nasty Pyramid smokes from her bag and walks out. Sawyer goes to the window and watches Natasha emerge from the apartment block. She thinks about throwing her ugly duffle bag out the window after her. She wants to hear her stupid CDs crack in their dirty cases. She wants to see Natasha's clog boots splinter on the ground.
She watches Natasha smoke. She's barefoot, bending over to touch her toes with her cigarette in her teeth. The wind is blowing the hair off her face, and the low September sun illuminates her cheekbones.
Sawyer still has tracks of lube on her thighs. It's cheap lube she bought on tour because she didn't want to order any to the hotel. The brand dries up quickly, and she can roll the residue into little balls like glue.
She sits on the couch.
She tries to pull her t-shirt over her knees. She hates that she has the type of body that she can't easily hide in. She puts her arms around herself and either a bit of tit or a bit of her gut bulges out. She twists her hands around her hair instead, binding it in a tight bun.
She wants to shout at Natasha that it's her one day off before she starts her new contract. She needs to do her laundry, re-read the script, maybe take the lights back to the
