“Vinyl!”

Vinyl glanced at the door briefly, her trembling fingers trying to click the metal wheel of the lighter. “Neon, go to hell!” she yelled at the closed door. Finally, the spark blew the fuse alive and she lit up the cigarette, inhaling the smoke blissfully, for the first time in years.That’s not Neon’s voice, she realised belatedly, as the knocking at the door grew louder, evolving into banging of fists.

“Vinyl, let me in!” Octavia’s voice pleaded from the outside. “We need to talk.”

With a sigh, Vinyl got up and made her way to the door, taking a few drags on her way. With a soft creak, the door slid open, and Octavia stormed inside, her hair wildly dishevelled, her shirt not pristine in the slightest, her nipples, Vinyl noted with embarrassing pleasure, fully erect beneath the cotton of her shirt. The cellist opened her mouth, but closed it the moment her gaze fell on the cigarette in Vinyl’s hand. “Vinyl, are you smoking a cigarette?”

Trying to conceal her pain and dismay beneath bravado, the spinner managed a dry, artificial chuckle. “I don’t have a pipe or a cigar, so yes, that’s a cigarette.”

Frowning, Octavia took the cigarette away from Vinyl. “You don’t smoke.” The cellist paused, eyeing the spinner cautiously. “Do you?”

“I did,” Vinyl admitted, dropping the pretence. “I was in school, and…” The woman closed her eyes, gulping down approaching tears. “Dad made me smoke a whole pack when he found out. I vomited pretty badly, and my head ached for hours…”

Gently, Octavia pushed her spinner towards the sofa, leading her all the way up till Vinyl sat down comfortably. With that, the cellist took a look at the cigarette and, pecking away the ash with her thumb, took a drag.

Vinyl’s eyes widened. “I thought you didn’t smoke!” she exclaimed, grabbing the cigarette back.

“I don’t.” Octavia blew out a tiny, imperfect ring of smoke. “I smoke only when I am utterly dismayed.” Without another word, she took the cigarette back and dragged in the smoke. “Like now.”

With a sigh, Vinyl took up the cigarette and puffed on it, her eyes directed to the outside, where the sun was already setting, vanishing behind the skyscraper-littered horizon. “No wonder. I mean… What you told Neon…” Vinyl took a deep drag that made her cough. “It’s terrible. What your father-”

“I don’t care about my father.” Octavia took the cigarette abruptly, noticing it was all but done, and used it to light up another, taken, conveniently, from the pack that, if Octavia understood it correctly, Neon had left on the table. Sometimes the irony is just too bitter. “I haven’t talked to him in years, and he’s dead to me. It’s you I worry about.” Octavia extended her arm, passing the cigarette to her girlfriend.

“What about me?” Vinyl took up the cigarette gratefully.

“Vinyl, I know you’ve heard everything Neon said to me.” Octavia sighed, closing her eyes. “About your father-”

“I haven’t talked to my father in years,” Vinyl reiterated her cellist, flicking the cigarette out of the window. “The difference is, he is actually dead. What’s in the past is… in the past,” she finished lamely. That was a terrible attempt, and you know it, Devil Vinyl whispered to her from her shoulder. An attempt to soothe Octavia, Angel Vinyl argued reasonably.

Octavia leant in, her hand brushing Vinyl’s cheek. “Vinyl… I know that it is hard to you. I know that it pains. I can’t say I understand you here, despite the similarity… I don’t care about my father or what he did to me.” Octavia pressed her lips against the spinner’s forehead. “But I do care about you. And I understand if you need some time to-”

“I don’t get it,” Vinyl admitted, finally, her thumb and index finger massaging her closed eyelids. “How? How can you live with that? Your own father did… that to you…” Vinyl gulped, trying to prevent the tears from returning to her eyes.

“I’ve learnt to shut down my emotions,” Octavia interrupted. “I’ve learnt to withdraw any negative feelings that I might have.” The cellist took Vinyl’s hand in hers, looking the spinner in the eye, her fingers clutching the DJ’s hand, her thumbs rubbing her palm in circular, soothing motions.

Vinyl tried to free her hand meekly. “I can’t believe it. You do have emotions. You’re the woman I fell in love with. You are not a robot. You are a human being,” she tried to appeal, her voice trembling, rightful confidence supporting her every word.

“You’re right.” Octavia nodded without averting her eyes, the pools of lavender that seemed to contain Vinyl’s image, minimise it, make it her own, her deed to the property. “I am not a robot. I have emotions, both positive and negative. But I shut down negative emotions. I hold them back, then release them.” She smiled. “Through music. Thus, I do not hold any negative emotion. I deal with it. And, when I’m done, all the positive things? They’re there. The negative things? I force myself to not care once I’ve let go.” Octavia leant closer to Vinyl, the tip of her nose touching Vinyl’s. “Does that make me a robot?”

Flushed and confused, visibly at unease with such a moral (emotional?) code, Vinyl shifted away a tad. “I guess not.” Slyly, she glanced at her cellist. “But it’s still rather strange. Kinda makes you… a what? An android?” The spinner chuckled at her joke.

With a tiny laugh, Octavia lay on the sofa slowly, her head now resting in Vinyl’s lap - a gesture which, for the first time, did not make the spinner blush. Instead, Vinyl started running her fingers through the gorgeous hair, jet-black, soft, straight and long, her fingers massaging Octavia’s scalp. “Even if I am an android…”

Octavia let out a long, content sigh, closing her eyes and purring into Vinyl’s massage. “I sure do dream of electric sheep.”

The door creaked painfully as Neon entered the office. It was all as he remembered it: if he closed his eyes, he could still see the papers flying about, Vinyl rolling, wailing, weeping on the floor…

The man walked slowly towards the table, his fingers grasping at the armchair as he stopped, eyeing the photograph. “It’s all your fault,” he said simply, feeling no anger, no irritation, no fury. “Even dead, you still bring a crack between me and Vincenza. You are still trying to clash me with my sister, you bigotous, ignorant, cruel bastard.” With satisfaction, Neon spat at the photograph, his spit ending up on the frame. He took it in his hands, his eyes locked with his father’s. “I was so happy when you died,” he hissed. “It was the best goddamn day of my life. Vincenza cried, you know? She really, she-!” Neon slammed the photograph against the wall, the shards of broken glass cutting his palm. “She thought we weren’t good kids. She thought we deserved what you did to us.” Neon pressed his hand against the wall with effort, bloody rivulets staining the wallpaper. “But no, we were good kids. You were a crappy father. You didn’t deserve to be a father.” Neon let go of the broken frame. “You didn’t deserve to live!” he roared, slamming his blood-stained fist against the wall, shattering his knuckles.

In pain, he leant against the wall, closing his eyes. Silently, he slid down to the floor, shaking, sobbing with pain and irritation. “Wasn’t I good enough for you?” His hand stung with pain, tiny shards of glass making it look like a bizarre porcupine. “I had my straight ‘A’s, I was top of my class, I played all the sports, I perfected every instrument you gave me.” Neon’s voice trailed off, his reddened eyes observing the now un-framed photograph. “Was that not good enough? Was I not good enough for you to- just once!- just once!” The injured hand fell limply on the photo, now spoilt by specks of warm blood.

“I loved you,” Neon whispered, his head dizzy, his vision blurry. “I loved you so fucking much.”

Vinyl woke up to the feeling of soft, slightly wet lips tracing her neck, pecking her cheek ever so slightly, tender, loving fingers caressing her shoulder. “Vinyl, wake up.”

Mumbling, the spinner arched her neck, kissing the tender hand, brushing her nose against Octavia’s knuckles. “Did I fall asleep? I thought, um, that I was the one giving the massage…” Somehow, this simple thought made the DJ blush. I was giving her a massage! Angel Vinyl approved greatly: You’re making progress! Devil Vinyl shook her head: A head massage. What you need to be massaging is her hot, dripping-

Octavia locked their lips in a kiss as Angel Vinyl fainted over her shoulder. “You have a cute snore,” she whispered into Vinyl’s ear, giggling breathlessly.

“I don’t snore,” Vinyl protested defiantly, a tint of pink in her face claiming otherwise. “Why would you wake me up?” she complained. “It’s night.”

“Late evening, actually,” Octavia corrected, getting up and turning on the light, making Vinyl shut her eyes against the stinging brightness. “And I’m waking you up so we don’t miss our flight.” The cellist tiptoed about the room, throwing a few clothes on top of an already huge pile that rested inside a large travelling bag. “I’ve already taken all I needed, so you just have to pack up, and we’re going to go.”

“Flight?” Vinyl blinked dumbly, looking over to her shoulders, only to notice Angel Vinyl was still faint and Devil Vinyl had mysteriously vanished. “Where?”

“Montenegro,” Octavia called out, placing two sheets of paper on the table. Vinyl sat up, rubbing her eyes. “It’s an overnight flight. We’ll be there early morning.”

“These are e-tickets to Montenegro.” Vinyl stared at the papers. “For tonight.”

“Yes, they are.” Octavia took a rucksack, stuffing a hat-wearing, coat-enclosed Mister Tummers inside. The plush bear did not seem to disapprove. “I used your computer to book them. Hope you don’t mind.”

“I…” Vinyl looked up. “How did you guess my password?” she wondered sleepily.

Octavia chuckled. “Vinyl, you don’t have a password.”

“Oh.” The blue-haired woman rubbed her forehead.

“I also checked your browsing history~” Octavia cooed from the kitchen.

Vinyl gasped. “You didn’t!”

“I sure did~” Octavia emerged from the kitchen, holding a glass of water in her hands. “Lesbian BDSM? Sexy lesbians go bad? Suck My Cunt - 6?” The cellist smirked. “Really?”

Vinyl began to hyperventilate, her cheeks turning red. Quickly, Octavia supplied the glass, watching Vinyl gulp down water eagerly, the spinner’s mind pondering on the possibility that the water had not been for the cellist in the first place.

“I guess I’ll need to pack my leather belt after all…” Octavia poked the spinner on the nose with a sly smile. “Since, apparently, you like it rough and all…”

“W-why are we flying to Montenegro tonight?” Vinyl asked, eager to change the subject.

“Vinyl, you know that we need a time-out.” Octavia’s face fell serious. “We need some time away from the city. From the people. From everything. We need some time just for the two of us.” The cellist smiled, walking closer. “For our love.”

Vinyl could not withhold a gasp. “Our…” My God… Did she really?..

“I love you, Vinyl,” Octavia said simply, sitting on the edge of the sofa next to her spinner. “I really do.”

“Tavi, I…”

“Shh.” Octavia pressed her finger against Vinyl’s lips. “You don’t have to say it. I just want you to know. Just… Just want you to know that I love you.”

The words fell on Vinyl’s ears like rivers of warm, dripping honey. The woman shivered from pleasure, but the concern took over her. “Tavi, we’re leaving tonight, and- God, this is all so sudden.” She fell silent for a few moments. “Where are we going to stay? I thought you had to book a hotel-”

“Who said anything about a hotel?” Octavia interrupted with a confident smile. “It just so happens that I know someone who has a villa by the seaside… Just like the one you dreamt of…” The woman traced her finger to Vinyl’s cheek. “Someone who is more than eager to let us stay there for a few weeks… Alone… Just like you dreamt of.”

Unable to hold her feelings at bay, Vinyl reached out and grabbed Octavia’s head, pressing her into a kiss that, frankly, surprised her just as much as it seemed to have surprised Octavia herself.

“So…” Octavia panted slightly. “I take it as a…?”

Vinyl smiled, feeling unusual confidence within her, fuelled by the rush of early morning air rushing from the outside, swishing through the studio flat. “Let’s go, Octavia.”

Octavia smiled back. “Let me get my passport.”

“That’s it.”

Neon winced in sheer pain as Madeline, the stunning nineteen-year-old brunette, finished wrapping up his hand in thick bandages. The man rolled his wrist experimentally. It hurt like hell. “Thanks, Maddie.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” the young woman ached with concern all over him. Neon took her hands in hers, pressing his lips against her tiny wrist, closing his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he lied, not letting go of the woman’s hand. “I don’t need stitches.”

Madeline lingered before sitting on the edge of the armchair next to her man. “How’s Vinyl?” she asked soberly. “I can see you are not fine, but… how is she?”

“She’ll manage,” Neon dropped, leaning back. “She’s with Octavia. I’m confident in her.”

The woman frowned. “Neon, darling…” She kissed the man’s sweating forehead. “I know it’s not my place to give advice, but… I thought you didn’t like Octavia?”

Neon shook his head. “I didn’t. Now I do. People change. So do opinions.” He grabbed the petite barista by the waist, dragging her onto his knees. “And how many times must I remind you that it is your place to give advice?” He brushed his dry lips against the woman’s cheek, dropping below to her slender neck. “When I said I wanted you in my life, I didn’t just mean sex and dinner.” For a moment, Neon’s lips stopped at Madeline’s shoulder. “Though, to think about it, I mostly meant sex and dinner.” He smirked as he received a light slap on the back of his head.

Suddenly, he grew tense and serious. “Madeline.” With effort, he stood up, his aching head pulsating, heating, driving him mad with pain. “Jokes aside, I want you. I need you. I need you to be part of my life. To give me advice.” He sharked his socks towards the cupboard, much to the girl’s silent amusement. “To share my worries and laughs.” He opened the cupboard with his good hand. “To stop me from making brash and rushed decisions.” He sharked his socks back to the armchair. “To just be by my side, always. And I, in return, will always be yours.”

And I need this, he pleaded mentally, gazing at his woman lovingly. I need this island of stability. I need someone to cling to. Haven’t I earned this? I have. I have earned this. This is mine. This is mine to keep. You can’t take this from me - just go ahead and try.

The man dropped to his knee heavily, gazing into Madeline’s sparking eyes, and opened the tiny velvet box. “Madeline. Will you marry me?”

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Vinyl looked around, excited, a little nervous, agitated, amazed, curious as to why they were the only passengers in the curtain-segregated, two-seat-rowed business-class section. Probably because 4 am. And Montenegro. “We’re really flying to the seaside!” the spinner chirped happily. “We just up and went!” She giggled to herself. What about Neon? Vinyl shook her head. No. Not now. No sombre thoughts. Just a happy week with my… love. “That’s so bold, Tavi.” Vinyl turned her head towards the cellist, who sat frozen in her seat, sweat covering her forehead, her fingers gripping the fabric of her trousers, threatening to rip it apart, her breathing quick and laboured, her eyes shut tight. Or not so bold. “Tavi, what’s wrong?”

With effort, Octavia managed a weak smile, eyeing Vinyl with an anxious, exhausted gaze. “I’m scared of flying,” she admitted weakly. “Every time I’m on a plane, it’s like the end of the world.”

Vinyl placed her hand on top of Octavia’s knee. “It’s not. It’s not the end of the world. It’s all right,” she tried to assure the cellist.  “It’s just a plane.” The spinner smiled calmly. “It’s not like it’s going to crash or-”

“Vinyl,” Octavia hissed lowly. “Not. Helping.”

The DJ blushed, averting her eyes. Suddenly, an idea hit her. With a joyful grin, she grabbed Octavia’s rucksack from the floor, unzipping it determinedly.

Octavia was surprised enough to stop shaking. “What are you doing, love?” she wondered gently, her eyes pinned to the spinner’s breasts that shook slightly as she rummaged through the rucksack.

“Here!” Vinyl beamed as she took out a very unamused Mister Tummers. “Mister Tummers is here to help,” she cooed gently, watching with delight as Octavia grabbed the bear and held tight, closing her eyes. “I’m here to help too…” Vinyl whispered, placing her head on Octavia’s shoulder, nuzzling into the cellist’s neck.

Gradually, Octavia relaxed enough to breathe properly. “Thank you, Vinyl.” With pleasure, she laid her head on the spinner’s.

“It’s gonna be all right,” Vinyl whispered dreamily. “Trust me, Tavi.”

Octavia did not reply, content with the delicious solitude she was sharing with her girlfriend. Listen, Life, Octavia challenged mentally. I know you’ve had your shit with me, but let’s agree on this. She opened her eyes briefly to marvel at the almost-snoozing form of her DJ. This, I’ve worked for. This, I’ve earned. This- don’t take this from me.

Silently, Octavia kissed the top of Vinyl’s head. This is mine to keep.

Next Chapter: Part Three Marker Estimated time remaining: 3 Hours, 44 Minutes