T W E N T Y - O N E

Life Was Never Worse But Never Better

2024 February 4
Sunday

Christ, the girl was beautiful when she moved. Each swing rippled up her body from her feet through her torso and into her arms, the fading sunlight glinting off the lake playing over the sweat-shined, flexing muscles exposed by the shorts and tank top she was wearing despite the chill. It was impossible to look at her respectfully, and Summer was glad she didn’t have to try.

Persephone was standing before a tree stump by the edge of the woods, splitting logs with an axe to feed their fireplace. It was a task that neither of them had ever done before this week—“Finally,” Persephone had said, “something that Summer ‘Hold My Taser’ Nesbitt doesn’t know how to do!”—but after watching a few videos on YouTube, Persephone figured that she could get the job done. And indeed, her natural athleticism had quickly translated into swift, efficient swings that easily reduced trees to firewood.

Summer was, in theory, guarding her, taser at the ready in case anyone came out of the woods. In practice, she was ogling her, but Persephone certainly didn’t mind her new lover’s eyes on her. Whenever she noticed Summer’s gaze, she would both blush and smile, and there’d be a bit more energy in her next few swings, showing off.

Alas, all too soon she ran out of logs, so they carried the firewood into the cottage and stacked it by the hearth. Then Persephone went into the bathroom to shower off the sweat while Summer began preparing pork chops, potatoes, and peas.

Before too long, Persephone returned clad in plain pink pajamas and asked what she should do.

“How about baking a dessert?” Summer asked.

“Sure.”

“Let me text you the recipe,” she said, and with a few taps, she copied a page out of Dorleybase and pasted it to her.

“‘Chocolate puffs’?” Persephone asked, scrolling through the message.

“They’re like little meringues,” Summer said. “Pretty quick to make, then you bake for a long time at a low temperature until they dry out.”

Persephone scrolled through it. “I think my dad had a similar recipe,” she said. “Baked them for mum’s support groups sometimes.” She grabbed a handful of eggs from the refrigerator.

When you’re not sure how to keep your girl busy, Tabby had told Summer once, years ago, start baking. And it had proven to be especially good advice for Persephone. Although she’d helped her father cook as a kid, Albert Chase hadn’t let her anywhere near a kitchen in her teens, and at uni her cooking had been limited to basic carbs and proteins for fencing tournaments. By a Dorley girl’s standards, Persephone was woefully inexperienced in the kitchen, and that just would not do.

“Are we doing my jabs tonight?” Persephone asked as she hunted through cabinets.

“That’s the plan,” Summer said. “And then I need you to do one for me, too.”

“Really?” Persephone asked. “I thought you took pills.”

“I’ve run out,” Summer said. “I only kept a couple weeks’ supply in my go bag; figured wherever I went, I’d be able to get more. And with Grace abroad and Trev doing whatever the fuck they’re doing…well, either we split your supply, or I stop taking estrogen. And low E is hell for me.” Summer was capable of being a man or a woman, but anything in between generated massive amounts of dysphoria. That was part of why she’d been such an accomplished graduate—once she was no longer a boy, she’d had a very strong incentive to become a girl as quickly as possible.

“How much E do we have left?” Persephone asked.

“Most of a vial. About a month’s worth if we’re sharing.” They’d had plenty at Littleport, but it had been left behind in the fire.

“And there wasn’t any in the trailer?”

“No,” Summer said. “Grace said they didn’t want the medications to expire while the trailer was sitting in a warehouse somewhere, so Trev was supposed to deliver them sometime this weekend.”

Persephone sighed. “I can’t believe they just took off like that. What were they thinking?”

“I don’t know,” Summer said, although she did know more than Persephone did. In confidence, Elle had told her what she knew: a Dorley girl’s mother had shown up at the Hall, having apparently received a tip that her child was in Almsworth—a tip given to her by Trev. Almost as soon as their name had been mentioned, the enby had been tipped off. They parted ways with the girls and went to ground; even Elle’s considerable resources had not located them yet.

Elle, once again, had asked Summer to take Persephone to Dorley Hall. She thought this meant that Trev had set up all of the tragic events of the weekend, including the raid on Littleport House, and that the cottage was probably a setup too. But Summer had been there during the crisis, had seen Trev’s reactions and decisions, and she didn’t buy it. They had every opportunity to allow the enemy PMCs to capture the three of them, and instead they had come up with an escape plan and helped the girls execute it at great personal risk. If Trev had wanted to betray them, the girls would already be in Albert’s hands.

So whatever Trev may have leaked about Dorley Hall had nothing to do with Summer and Persephone’s safety. Their best bet, Summer argued, was to stay put where nearly nobody knew to find them.

And so they were in a stalemate. Elle couldn’t make Summer leave, but Summer couldn’t make Elle arrange re-supply. It was just a matter of who gave in first.

And Summer was not about to give Elle Lambert what she wanted.

2024 February 10
Saturday

Summer, Persephone had quickly learned, took post-coital cuddles as seriously as taser charging. “Aftercare isn’t just for kink,” she’d explained after their first night together. “Any sex that’s good enough to bother having is going to be intense and vulnerable, so it’s best followed by some time to connect and ground each other.”

Which is why she found herself tonight lying atop her lover, their nude bodies awash in moonlight reflected from the lake and firelight from across the room, with one hand running gently down her spine and the other in her hair, reveling in the soft kisses pressed to her brow.

It was a far cry from a quick cuddle in a narrow dormitory single before someone got up to make some sausage rolls. Suffice it to say, Persephone was a convert.

Then Summer’s hand slid from her hair to her cheek, and the sensation of fingers on stubble was like sandpaper on the afterglow. She was back to shaving it—the electro equipment in Littleport House had burned before they ever got to use it, and there was no room for a similar setup here—but the whiskers grew back much too quickly.

Summer, to her credit, noticed the shift in Persephone’s mood; she pressed a soft kiss to her nose and moved her hand back up to her hair. But the feeling lingered enough that Persephone found herself pulling back from her body a little, withdrawing her consciousness from the lingering sensation.

It was late anyway, and she’d gotten quite a workout tonight—more than enough to make her sleepy.

2024 February 19
Monday

Summer Nesbitt hated having anything in common with Elle Lambert. But she had learned long ago that she needed to be honest with herself about her feelings, that pretending otherwise would spiral out of control, would ruin lives.

And so Summer had to admit that there was something really fucking satisfying about bedding a girl you’d had a hand in making. Something difficult to control; something that could get a bit out of hand at times. Which might explain the line of vivid, colorful love bites on Persephone’s neck and shoulder today.

Summer actually rather enjoyed seeing the marks on her lover’s body, but Persephone was much more embarrassed by them after the fact than during the act, so she took her by the hand and brought her to the vanity where they had assembled their makeup. “Bruises are usually either mainly blue or mainly red,” Summer explained. “So if you think about their opposites on the color wheel, that makes yellow and green concealers a kinky girl’s best friends.”

Persephone blushed and giggled while Summer searched through the drawers. Unfortunately, their supplies were limited. They hadn’t finished assembling makeup kits while they were at Littleport, so what Trev had arranged to deliver here was pretty limited.

She grabbed a different bottle instead. “Unfortunately,” she told Persephone, “I don’t think we have those here. But a thick enough layer of foundation on its own can at least make a dent…”

2024 February 23
Friday

“Go clean up,” Summer had told her after a great deal of time spent spooning, “and I’ll get breakfast started.” Then she’d smacked Persephone on the bum. It wasn’t very hard, but after the activities that had proceeded the spooning, it didn’t need to be. The sting—and the blush it put in her cheeks—followed Persephone into the bathroom.

Not that Persephone minded; if she had, she’d have used their safeword. You can always stop me, Summer had promised her when they agreed on it, but Persephone didn’t think she’d ever want to—Summer had an almost preternatural knack for pulling back when she was approaching Persephone’s limits.

And the blush actually looked rather nice on her, Persephone noticed as she saw herself in the mirror there. Six months in, she was starting to see the changes in her face. The pink in her cheeks now sat upon cheekbones that were noticeably rounded, and the familiar angles of her face all seemed a little softer. Still clocky, certainly, and the white scar Uncle Albert had given her didn’t seem to be fading, but when she’d started, she’d needed a contour kit and Summer’s help to look as good as she now did just by rolling out of bed.

Maybe she’d work on makeup today. It’d been a while since she’d gone all-out; how much better could she look now?

Still, she had other things to do first. Things like shaving. But as she was working on a tricky little area near her nose, her hand accidentally slipped sideways. A bit of pain, and then blood started dripping from the slice.

“Ugh.” She grabbed a tissue to clean it up, but as usual, the bleeding took its sweet time slowing down. By the time it was under control, her good mood had soured considerably.

There were, of course, some things about her face that were still far from okay.

2024 March 1
Friday

It was an unexpectedly beautiful day today—clear, sunny, and even slightly above room temperature—and Summer was glad for it. Persephone had seemed a little down lately, but a morning walk and perhaps even a picnic in the relatively lovely weather might help. She could just imagine the redhead in a cute little sundress or a colorful skirt, dozing on a blanket with her head in Summer’s lap.

But when she opened their wardrobe, Summer realized that at least one part of that scene would have to remain in her imagination. When you set aside the cold-weather clothes, Persephone had a few things that were very femme and a few things that were suitable for a warm day outside…but nothing that really fit both. Her selection really was rather limited.

Well, Summer could still lay out a suitable outfit. Maybe shorts, a crop top, and tennis shoes. But she’d really hoped for something cuter to cheer her girl up.

2024 March 10
Sunday

Persephone had started worrying the moment she saw the syringe, because it wasn’t as full as usual.

“We’re using the last of the estradiol tonight,” Summer said gently. “And I’m afraid there isn’t enough for a full dose.”

“What are we going to do?” Persephone asked.

“I’m not sure,” Summer said. “If Elle doesn’t come through, I’ll have to make arrangements with a friend. Drive out and meet them somewhere, or something.” She smiled gently. “Try not to worry. We’ll figure it out.”

Persephone was concerned, but Summer must have anticipated that, because she soon set in motion a plan to take her mind off it. Once Persephone’s jab was finished and she got up off the couch, she expected Summer to lay down and take her place, like she had for her previous injections. Instead, the older woman smoothed the skirt of her red dress as she sat upright.

“I thought we’d try something different this time,” Summer said. “A thigh injection.” She tugged up the skirt on one side, though she didn’t have to go far—it was already pretty short to begin with. Persephone had been sneaking glances at her legs all evening. “Is that alright with you?”

“Sure,” Persephone said. “Same needle as I’d use for the belly?”

“Yup,” Summer said, and Persephone attached it while Summer rubbed a spot on her thigh with an alcohol wipe.

“What do I do?”

“Come over here,” Summer said, “and kneel.” She parted her legs a little, and soon Persephone was settling on the floor. Then she looked up, and…

Well, her position gave her quite a view, especially because it turned out the dress was the only thing Summer was wearing. Her gaze shot up further, finding an absolutely wicked grin on the woman’s face. This was clearly no accident.

Persephone bit her lip; she felt her pulse quicken. “W-what next?”

Then Summer calmly and clearly talked her through the injection, speaking for all the world as though Persephone couldn’t see her—smell her, even. Persephone tried to follow her lead, acting like everything was totally normal, though she couldn’t keep her fingers from trembling a little.

Once she had finished everything else and was simply holding the gauze against Summer’s leg, Persephone looked up at Summer for another instruction, but before she could ask, she felt fingers in her hair, nails on her scalp, and she shivered, eyes going half-closed.

“Good girl,” Summer said, and guided Persephone’s lips to her inner thigh. Persephone didn’t need to be told what to do; she started kissing her way up—and then her cheek brushed Summer’s skin.

Persephone jerked back involuntarily when she felt the stubble scraping. It was the emotional equivalent of abruptly hitting a brick wall.

“Persephone?” Summer said, concerned. “Sweetheart?”

But she didn’t answer. Persephone stood, bolted for the bathroom, and dug out her razor.

2024 March 14
Thursday

“God fucking damn it!”

If the swearing hadn’t been enough to get Summer’s attention, the crash of breaking glass would have. Summer barely paused to pull the pan of bacon off the stove before she rushed to the bathroom.

Inside she found Persephone huddled on the floor, naked, crying, pinpricks of blood on her arms. The counter was covered with shattered glass from the mirror; a few pieces were scattered on the floor.

Summer carefully picked her way around the shards and dropped down next to Persephone. The instant she was in range, the girl latched onto her, and she pulled her into her lap, stroking her hair, holding her close, murmuring reassurances. When finally she seemed to calm a little, Summer asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Persephone sniffed. Summer didn’t have to ask what she meant; she was feeling the low estrogen too. “How…how can it hurt worse now than it did before we started?”

“It probably doesn’t,” Summer suggested, gently scratching the back of Persephone’s neck. “But you were so used to the pain that you didn’t recognize it. Now you do.”

“I can’t stand it,” Persephone said. “Summer, I can’t live like this!”

The sentence sent a shock through Summer. She’d said the same thing to Tabby once, long ago in her basement bedroom, at her very lowest. She had hoped to spare Persephone that kind of pain.

She’d failed.

She’d made her spat with Elle more important; she’d dithered about who to ask for help; she’d ignored the signs that Persephone had stalled.

She wouldn’t make those mistakes again.

“Tell you what,” Summer said gently. “We’re going to get your dressing gown. Then we’ll go to the kitchen and I’ll make you some hot chocolate. And then I’m going to fix this. Okay?”

“Okay,” Persephone sniffed.

A few minutes later, Summer stepped outside the front door of the cottage. It was still crisp even this late in the morning; most of the frost on the grass had melted, but not all.

Summer expelled a puff of vapor, then took a deep breath, pulled out her phone, and dialed a number from memory. It picked up on the second ring; the voice that answered in a guarded tone was so familiar it came with a jolt of homesickness.

“Beatrice Quinn. To whom am I speaking?”

“Hi, Aunt Bea. It’s Summer.”

“Oh, Summer!” Aunt Bea’s tone was much friendlier now. “What a lovely surprise! How are things?”

“Not great,” Summer admitted, “especially for my girl. We—“

She hesitated, but only for a couple seconds. No more petty games of chicken with Elle; no more shying away from the necessity. Not when Persephone was the one who would pay the price.

“Aunt Bea, we need your help.”

* * *