Sawyer unfolds her arms and sinks into the other armchair, "So, can you tell me what's going on then?"
Natasha wants to tell her to fuck off. She leans forward with her teeth bared and clenched, "Why would I tell you that now, knowing what your choice would have been?"
Sawyer bites her lip, "We're here now, it's different. Tell me what's going on, please,"
The last thing she needs is trying to teach yoga to someone who knows about the most difficult parts of her past, as well as what her pussy tastes like. Natasha shares a series of short, dispassionate facts. Hopefully Sawyer will keep it to herself and then fuck off back to Chicago when her job is done. She doesn't give Sawyer the satisfaction of the lurid details, the things that everyone wants to hear. She's a dignified addict.
Sawyer tries to listen. She asks questions in a slow, ponderous way like she's winching them up from the bottom of a well. Natasha hates it, the speed of her voice is so slow that between each word Natasha has time to finish her sentences ten times in increasingly more unpleasant ways. She can't stop wiggling her toes, rubbing her palms over her knees, trying to fill the space before Sawyer's next word. She's so close to just clicking her fingers at Sawyer, telling her to speed up.
When Natasha feels that Sawyer has asked enough questions to be satisfied, Natasha says what she has been waiting to say, "I really feel that leaving the bag out was cruel, as was not talking to me straight away when you got back from the theatre,"
Sawyer flushes red, "I'm sorry. All evening I was trying to work, talking to people, trying to hold it together. I sat there in the dark, trying to tell myself I was going crazy and that it was just left over from a wild girls’ weekend or a weird Russian cure-all. My colleagues were there, I couldn't say why I felt off. I kept on wondering, what else are you hiding from me? What else don't I know that Lucia Vanski, fucking 25, fucking knows? I knew there was something you were hiding from me. I know you don't drink but you've never, never mentioned drugs. I should have worked it out,"
Natasha hasn't got the energy to respond to any of that. She wants to argue with Sawyer about how brilliant Lucia has been. She will say it as soon as she feels able to. Natasha does feel for Sawyer, it must have been hard to worry all evening. But if Natasha let herself dwell on all the discomfort her addiction had inflicted on others, she’d just hang herself. In her head she uses Lucia's voice to tell herself not to shoulder all the responsibility for everything that everyone else feels.
"I'm sorry that my actions led to you feeling that I didn't respect your work. I do. And I'm sorry that I frightened you," Natasha takes a deep breath, "But I'm not sorry for being an addict. It's an illness, not a moral failing. And the actions I took, every single one of them, led to me surviving. Even when sometimes my brain wanted to kill me," she's winded, out of breath.
Fat tears squeeze themselves out of Sawyer's eyes and down her red cheeks. Natasha wants to hold her, but isn't sure if she is allowed. She looks at Sawyer's hands and Sawyer's eyes follow hers. She gives a little smile and swings her hand towards Natasha. Natasha catches it in an instant.
"Maybe I just thought you wouldn't even notice because your people have got substance abuse all sewn up," Natasha says slyly. She's not sure how a joke will go down, but it's worth a go.
Sawyer digs her nails into the back of Natasha's hand, tries to stifle a bunged-up, snotty laugh and then coughs instead, "Shut the fuck up, you pig,"
Natasha can hardly bring herself to ask, she feels so nauseous. "It's late now, but I can check into another room tomorrow, or ask Gillian to try and sort something out. Whatever you think is best." She tries to make herself sound cool and business-like, but she can't disguise the slight wobble in her voice.
"That's not necessary, Natasha. Stay with me," Sawyer gives Natasha's hand a little squeeze, "But when we get back to Boston, we should talk about what you need. I mean, I could loan you money if you need to go somewhere or talk to someone."
"If you want to solve something I'll buy you a Rubik's cube," Natasha jumps in fast, but then makes herself slow down, "I just want to go back to this morning," Natasha feels wrung out, like she's done her hardest day of teaching followed by walking home in a snowstorm.
That seems to start Sawyer's tears off again, "I wish we could just go back to this morning too. I wanted everything to be perfect, but now -" Natasha cuts her off, she can't bear it, "Can we just go out and get some fresh air?"
Sawyer nods, seemingly bolstered by having something to focus on, "Let me just get washed up and changed and we'll go out for a bit."
Natasha gathers up her pile of tissues and throws them into the small bathroom bin,
"In college I would have saved them and made them into some sort of art piece."
"Yes, well, white people
