“To Be Wrong Together.” Fiction. Based on a True Sapphic Love.

“The Christian in me deciphers between what is right and what is wrong, but did the Bible not also speak of foolery?”

by Charlie

“To Be Wrong Together”

Fiction. Based on a True Sapphic Love.

by Bry LeBerthon

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255.

I look at her across the table, over a bowl of ice cream. She had arrived late, and is a blushing mess, apologetic. It’s okay, I assure her, shaking my head. I cannot take my eyes off her smile. I marvel at how she is perfect. My heart flutters. I raise my camera, and she laughs, for once not hiding her face. The photo comes out perfect. The ice cream is starting to melt.
The room is smoky, music plays loud over her speakers, dim lights glow against white walls. She comes up, gasping for air. I run my finger along her spine and feel her weight against my body. We are soft and warm. When I get up, she lends me her robe. I am wrapped in white silk, falling decadently across my shoulders and back. In the mirror, I smile. Disheveled, elated. Someone new.
Through our phone screens, we watch each other fall asleep. I watch her lips, her eyes. The way her hair falls over her face, the way her lashes flutter shut. She watches my freckles, my dimples, my smile. She whispers a compliment. Smiles, saying something quiet, secret, for only me to hear. I whisper back. My heart skips a beat, two. It is silent, peaceful. We are almost in each other’s arms.
She fits into the crook between my arm and my chest perfectly. Sweaty, tired, smiling. A movie is playing, but I am distracted. I can feel her shift closer to me. She looks up at me, and we lock eyes. Laugh a little. She kisses my cheek, I kiss her head. I am powerful, in control, a little bit in love. She is the same.

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