True Emotion

Rose Wild stared at herself as she walked down the street. From billboards perched on buildings, from the glossy sides of bus shelters, her eyes were always watching. She pulled her hat a little more snugly over her head, shading her face behind sunglasses. Rose hated being recognized as the model on the billboards overlooking the city. She'd never gotten used to seeing herself reflected in so many places either.
Even in the city's art district she wasn't safe from the images, but as she ducked into the dim club she finally allowed herself to exhale. There were no pictures of her in here. It was the middle of the day, but there was already a band playing on stage and the balconies bustled with people. The lighting was very different from the bright sun outside, so Rose removed the dark glasses covering her eyes. She had a unique look, and she supposed that's what made her popular in the industry. Hair so blonde it could be white, if not for the smallest hint of yellow, and eyes a deep maroon like red wine. It certainly was striking. They often paired the look with bright red lipstick, but Rose had always preferred something more subtle when she wasn't working.
She chose a table along the railing that outlined the dance pit and ventured to take off her wide-brimmed hat too. Generally, in a place like this, people were more interested in the band than who was watching it.
Setting the hat by her feet, she turned to see who was playing. It looked like some sort of lesbian-punk band — this club never had any shortage of those — and they didn't sound too bad either. People often looked at Rose and thought she'd like some sort of delicate music, classical or maybe jazz, but in truth she preferred the indie punk and electronica scene. She allowed herself to get lost in the thoughts the music poured into her head, closing her eyes and just listening. Usually, there was so much going on around her, even at home, between the booking phone calls and the paparazzi outside her door, there wasn't any time for relaxation — for respite — but in the music clubs things were different. There was only the sound.
Except now it had stopped. She opened her eyes and looked at the stage in irritation. The lesbian band, whatever their name was, were packing up their instruments while members of the next band stood by impatiently, waiting to perform. She hoped their music would be as good.
She turned her attention to the small menu on the table as she waited for the music to start again, even though she wasn't really interested in the assortment of drinks they offered. Alcohol did nothing for her.
"Hey, you're that model from the Claret's ads, aren't you?"
She didn't start at the voice, even though it had surprised her. She turned her face from the menu to see who'd asked the question and saw a girl standing beside her table — the lead singer from the lesbian band. Her hair was asymmetrical, black with neon green streaks, and she had tanned skin the colour of a country road.
Rose fixed her eyes on the other girl's with a very pointed look. "You're that girl from the band, what's its name again…" She let herself trail off and shifted her attention back to the menu, but to her annoyance, the other girl just took the seat across from her instead of leaving.
"The band is called The Atomic Lollipops, but I guess I deserved that." She crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward across the table.
Rose didn't stop her irritation from playing out across her face, but she didn't ask the girl to leave either.
"What's your name anyway?"
"Shouldn't you really be offering something first?" Rose said in a mild voice. Normally this is what she liked to avoid. Everyone saw her, The Model, and wanted something from her. And she usually knew what that thing was. Once they learned her name, it was an endless stream of vapid comments about how she "was certainly as beautiful as one". The really unbearable ones would start calling her Rosie and it always ended up with talk of petals.
"Sorry, Imogen Silver," the girl held out a hand adorned with rings across the table. It was almost certainly a fake name, but then again, with musicians there isn't much of a line between real and fake to begin with.
Rose allowed herself to really look at the woman before she considered taking her hand. Imogen's eyes were a much more subdued green than the stripes in her hair, and she wore a rosary with an enormous amount of beads wrapped around her neck. Rose reached out and gripped the hand lightly, as if she didn't want to leave any indent of herself behind. "Rose Wild," she answered. The tiniest of movements and then she had taken her hand back.
A small look of surprise registered on Imogen's face, but she folded her hands neatly before her without comment. Her mouth opened slightly, but before she could speak, a short waitress had appeared beside them.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" she broke into the tense air.
"Yes, I'll have an iced tea please." Rose set the menu down flat on the table with a sharp laminate smack.
"Ah…I'll just have a water," Imogen answered, and the waitress was gone just as soon as she'd appeared.
Rose raised her eyebrows, "A musician who doesn't drink? That's a new one."
Imogen fingered the cross hanging around her neck and kept her eyes averted. She looked almost sheepish, which wasn't something Rose was used to seeing on the faces of people who hit on her.
"Been sober for four years now," Imogen said quietly, though it was still audible over the music from the new band. Their drinks were delivered and the waitress disappeared again leaving only the silence between them. "You see this?" She held out the oversized cross to Rose, who, despite herself, seemed to have started leaning forward. "Each bead represents a week." Her fingers ran over the smooth black surfaces, and Rose couldn't help but watch. Then Imogen came across a rounder bead; its glossy surface was silver, with maybe the faintest swirls of black. It looked like glass. "The silver beads are for each month," she said, her voice still somehow different, reverent.
Rose had thought the rosary was maybe some sort of punk trend going around, thought that the mass of beads constricting the girl's neck had just been a poor fashion choice, but sometimes people surprised her and had a lot more substance to them than they seemed. Rose took a sip of her iced tea. "So all those years and you're still just drinking water?" she said with a smile starting to play on her lips.
"Well it's best for the vocal chords, you know?" Imogen leaned back in her chair, grinning again, her normal relaxed air settling around her once more. "So tell me something," she said. "How were we? I mean, compared to this guy?" She nodded her head at the band on stage — they weren't half bad, but still they left something wanting.

Rose let her eyes drift into a dreamy state as she recalled the girl's singing. "You were…fantastic," she said, but knew that wasn't really enough of a comment so she kept going. "Fantastic is a cop-out, isn't it? But I could really feel you putting your all into the vocals. You almost didn't seem…human. Like you were only an instrument among them all. Sorry, I don't have anything more useful to say…I was mostly lost in the music."
The look on Imogen's face suggested she was surprised the woman could talk at all. Rose supposed she had been being fairly cold up until now. But it was rare for her to meet people who showed true vulnerability, and somehow she couldn't control herself from responding in kind. After a moment, Imogen's face became a little more thoughtful, and she stared at the blonde girl with eyes that suggested more intelligence than her relaxed attitude usually conveyed.
"Thank you for saying that, Rose," she said matter-of-factly, then glanced around the room slowly. "I've got some solo tapes in my dressing room, if you wanted to come and listen?"
At that, Rose had to laugh out loud. "Does that usually work on girls?" She held the straw of her tea against her lip trying to keep from laughing more, but it was so obvious that the attempt was unnecessary.
"More often than you'd think," Imogen grinned at her. "But I seriously do want you to come listen to them. I think you'd like them." She sat forward in her chair.
"Maybe I would." Rose's smile was calmer now, and she sipped the rest of her tea straight from the glass instead of bothering with the straw. "Show me the way, then." She picked up her purse and hat and got to her feet. Imogen was up pretty quickly herself, and was already motioning for Rose to follow her
"Right this way," she said.
The band on stage were using echo in their vocals, so Rose felt as though she were travelling through a tunnel to another world — even though she'd been back stage at many shows. It certainly wasn't a new experience, but normally she wasn't there at the personal invitation of one of the musicians. She started losing herself to the music again until she felt Imogen's warm hand on her own.
Then she snapped back to her senses.
"Over here," Imogen was saying as she tugged Rose toward a room she had just been about to walk past. Rose almost pulled her hand away, but rethought the action and let herself keep it there — at least for now.
Imogen let her hand go once they were in the room anyway. It was a dressing room, yes — she could tell from the clothes and luggage spread around — but it also seemed to be some kind of mixing studio. When she shut the door behind her, all the noise from the band on stage was suddenly drowned out. Rose didn't know if it was jarring or peaceful. While Imogen began to rummage through a black bag that was half-buried in instrument cases, Rose leaned gingerly against the mixing board and waited.
"Aha, here it is!" Imogen pulled a thin CD case out of the bag, which quickly became engulfed into its pile again, and walked over to the player that was attached to the mixing board. "It's a little different than my band stuff," she said as she fit it into the tray, though it seemed like she was speaking more to herself. Moments later, sound started flowing out of the speakers on either side of Rose.
It was different, she was right about that. Less punk, her strong voice rang out from a cleaner musical backing. It was some sort of synth music she'd probably done herself.
Imogen had stood in front of her, watching her listen. Rose could tell that, even through half-closed eyes.
"Here, just let me adjust this," Imogen said, placing one hand on the mixing table beside Rose, then leaning forward to move one of the sliders with her other hand. Imogen was absurdly warm, Rose realized, and she might have moved away from her except that the music did sound better after the adjustment. As Imogen straightened up, her face came to rest beside Rose's. Rose felt the heat from it long before she allowed herself to look Imogen in the eye.
It happened without any more warning than that; although, maybe these sorts of things didn't happen with warnings most of the time in the first place. Imogen's lips against her own felt rough and warm, just like the rest of her, and Rose found herself leaning into the kiss. This time, she felt a stirring in her heart — not that there had been many other times. Usually kisses, like alcohol, didn't do anything for her. But this time was different, and she found that strange. Although not as strange as kissing a girl while her voice sang in your ears.
But when she felt the woman's warm hand slide up under the hem of her shirt, the fog in her mind was broken and her eyes shifted into sharp focus. She pushed Imogen away, breaking their embrace.
"Oh come on, did you really think that's what I wanted?" her voice came out higher than she thought it would, and she wiped her lips to get rid of the traces of the kiss.
Imogen's hands were frozen in the air in front of her as she adjusted to their sudden distance, then they found an awkward pose hooked into the front pockets of her jeans. She looked at Rose with confusion in her green eyes. "You're the first girl who hasn't wanted to sleep with me."
"Oh, I'm sure," Rose's voice was venom as she tugged down the hem of her shirt.
"You know what it's like — a girl finds out you're famous and you become a trophy." Imogen took a step towards Rose as if they'd suddenly be reunited.
But Rose pushed her back, "You're not that famous," she shouted.
Imogen stumbled to balance on her heels and gritted her teeth. "Oh and you would know?" she yelled back, storming past Rose and slamming the door behind her.
Rose was left alone in a room filled with Imogen's voice, and after a moment she allowed herself to empty her lungs.
Everyone was the same, and it was just as Imogen had said. Because she was a model, everyone wanted the chance to say they'd been with her. She'd had no trouble turning them away, because they all wanted one thing and it was a thing she couldn't give. Even on the occasion that there were kisses, they'd never made her feel attachment toward whoever was giving them to her. She knew all those kisses would end up in the same place.
But then why had she felt differently when Imogen kissed her? Why had her senses been so completely wrong about that girl? Maybe it was because she'd wanted to believe something — to delude herself — but she shouldn't feel betrayed like this, shouldn't have insulted Imogen like that, not when she knew what would happen all along.
Normally, she would brush herself off and carry on with her life. But because the kiss had meant something, not like all the other ones before, she felt she owed Imogen an apology. It didn't help that she still wanted to see Imogen again.
When she left the room, guitars were wailing. Her purse was tucked under her arm, but she seemed to have forgotten she'd even brought a hat with her. A bouncer stood along the wall, eyes trained on the stage, but he looked gruffly at Rose when she tugged on his sleeve.
"Excuse me, ah…Imogen Silver, from Atomic Lollipops? Did you see where she went?"
The man towered over her, but she still saw his eyes glancing between her and the room she had come out of, probably wondering if she was like the other girls who'd come out of that room before, looking for Imogen Silver. But maybe today he just didn't care, because without a sound he pointed down the hall, toward the back exit of the club.
Rose didn't bother thanking him as she started down the hall. Maybe Imogen hadn't gone too far. The only thing before her was a steel door with an exit sign glowing above it, and when she pushed it open, she was taken over by the glaring of the sun. Now it seemed brighter than when she had first come in. When her eyes adjusted, she saw she was in an alley enclosed on one side by the wall of the club and a wooden fence on the other side. She heard the commotion first, and then she saw it.
Imogen was muttering to herself, kicking the wall with one black combat boot, and tugging at the beads around her neck. Each kick tore tracts into the black leather, and each tug strained the string tighter.
Rose felt her hands clench at her sides. "Don't do that, it'll break."
Imogen stopped kicking but left one hand resting on the wall. Her other hand drifted slowly down from the rosary. "What does it matter?" her voice sounded hoarse.
"Don't destroy that much work, so easily." She found herself out of breath.
Imogen turned to her, took a step like maybe she had something to say, but Rose made herself speak before she lost her nerve. "I'm sorry for what I said to you. It wasn't true. And, and look. Don't feel bad that I didn't…I'm just not interested in that sort of thing. It's really not something I'm looking for at all." She crossed her arms over her chest like suddenly she was cold.
Imogen let her hand drop from the wall and walked over to Rose with legs that seemed so much weaker than those kicks had implied. She cleared her throat, though it didn't help with the hoarseness. "You know, in the Queer community, we've got a name for that…"
What was she talking about?
"It's called, being asexual — not having an interest in sex." Her green eyes darted away; were they rimmed in red?
Rose looked away as well. "Then maybe, maybe that's what I am. So sorry I wouldn't sleep with you. I'm asexual." It sounded weird coming so matter-of-factly from her mouth, but the word itself felt right. All along she'd spent time explaining to people that she didn't want them, which only made them think that she did. How could it be that there was a word for it from the start?
"Oh God, you make it sound so easy. Like you can say that and people will just understand." Imogen's hands were back at the rosary now.
Rose looked back at Imogen. "Well, why shouldn't they?" Rose answered.
But Imogen wasn't answering her. "I thought maybe if I drank I'd forget the feeling. Like maybe all I needed was to loosen up and I could like it after all, but that could never be the answer for very long." She dropped the rosary as if it had burned her. "But there's always been expectations, and there's always been girls waiting by my door. If you're weird, if you're different, people talk…" she let herself trail off, although with how choked her voice sounded, Rose wondered if she'd had any control over that. Her eyes were wet and she tried to wipe them, but that didn't hide the tears from Rose.
"What, so you…" it took Rose some time for her mind to understand it. "You're asexual? But you've been sleeping with girls all this time to hide it…and you came on to me because you thought I wouldn't like you otherwise?" The idea was so incredulous that Rose had to laugh, and it came out harsher than she had wanted. "You're in a lesbian band, but you're still trying to hide your identity?"
"Hey, even lesbians have sex." She was still wiping her eyes but there was an edge of anger in her voice.
"Well, I don't," Rose said, softer this time, and stepped until she was close in front of the other woman. "But I…felt something for you. And I never have before." She looked into Imogen's red-rimmed green eyes. "So let's try this again, and this time, just be yourself." She had to lean onto her toes because Imogen was a little taller, but she stepped forward and gently pressed their lips together.
Imogen was tense at first, but slowly she relaxed into the kiss. It wasn't forceful, and when Imogen's hands came to her waist they stayed above the clothing. Rose felt it again now — the fluttering inside her heart, the thing she'd never felt before this day. A kiss could just be a kiss, and it could be something as beautiful as just that.
Slowly, she opened her maroon eyes to see Imogen's lashes fluttering, eyes almost closed but not quite. She smiled until the kiss broke and remained in Imogen's embrace. "Now that was better," Rose said softly.
Imogen couldn't do anything but smile, that regular sheepish look back on her face.
Rose gave a mischievous smirk, "What do you say we go back to my place for some more being yourself?"
Imogen laughed, finally. "You sure know how to woo a girl, don't you?"

Even though she'd fished her sunglasses out of her purse, Rose still worried she was entirely too recognizable without the hat as well. She glanced about her as they walked down the street, but still she kept a grip on Imogen's hand. It didn't seem so unbearably warm anymore.
"You really think they're going to be out following you around all day?" Imogen asked.
Rose was going to say something about Imogen not knowing what it was like to be famous, but she remembered her earlier insult and froze up. "Yeah, maybe not…" she said blandly, glad Imogen couldn't see her eyes behind the dark glasses.
As they turned down Rose's street, though, there they were. The usual crowd in front of the door to her building. She'd seen them before they saw her, and Imogen moved to take her hand away but Rose only held it tighter. She surged forward, almost pulling Imogen behind her. The paparazzi were pushy, but they knew better than to bar her from her own building. The flashbulbs around them were dizzying, even in the afternoon sun, and they seemed to be going off even more this time. She'd been asked their questions a thousand times, so she just drowned them out, but she heard Imogen stuttering half-replies at them. As she reached the glass doors, she tugged on Imogen's arm, and the girl crashed into her back. Steadying herself, Rose turned to the doorman.
"Please bar the door after us, Bernard," she said simply, and soon they were through the doors, Imogen half-limping behind her through the lobby. As the door closed, the noise from outside was almost entirely shut out. Only an insistent buzz was left behind. Rose let out a sigh and dropped Imogen's hand with an apologetic smile.
"Are they…normally there?" Imogen asked.
"Oh, it's just something you get used to," Rose answered while pressing the call button for the elevator. "Bernard makes sure they stay outside, though."
"Yeah…I'm sure you get used to it," Imogen said, though she was spending her time looking around the polished marble lobby. Even though Imogen was a very good musician, Rose doubted she made anything close to what it cost to live in a place like this.
When the elevator arrived in front of them they both stepped inside and watched the doors close soundlessly.
"Elevator rides are sort of supposed to be awkward, aren't they?" Imogen had her hands in her pockets and was staring at the ceiling.
"Oh, I don't know," Rose said, leaning against her. "You're awkward as it is, so maybe that'll make up for the elevator ride."
"Oh am I?" Imogen giggled, crushing Rose in a hug.
They were both laughing when the elevator doors opened. Rose's apartment was only a short walk from the lift. She opened the door and gestured for Imogen to go ahead.
The living room was sparsely furnished but stylish. Imogen didn't bother taking off her boots as she walked across the plush throw rug to press her face against the full-length window that ran along the entire outside wall.
"I can't believe you live so high. You can see so much stuff." Her breath fogged up the glass while she spoke, which must have obscured her vision.
Rose came home to this every day, so she calmly set down her purse and unzipped her boots while she replied. "You know, it opens up onto a balcony."
"This is a door?" Imogen asked.
"Yes it's a door," Rose smirked and walked across the room to slide open one of the panels of glass. Imogen shot forward with all the force of an astronaut flying from an airlock. At least she didn't fall over the railing.
Imogen was making soft sounds of awe, so Rose stepped out and leaned beside her, surveying the city below. She'd lived up this high for quite a while, but she didn't come out here often. "It's almost high enough that I can't see myself on the billboards. Almost, but not quite," she said quietly. There was even a gaudy video screen that would sometimes play her television ads.
"I don't know…" Imogen was breathing the fresh air in, looking up at the cloudless sky now. "I think if it were me…you know, with my band, on all of those signs…I don't think I'd mind so much."
"I'll trade you then." Rose smiled at her and was still a little surprised when Imogen leaned over and kissed her. She let her hand rest on Imogen's cheek for the duration of the kiss.
"Come on, I'll show you my room." Rose led her along the balcony, opening up the sliding glass panel that led into her room. There was really no point in keeping it locked at this height.
"There are two doors?" Imogen asked, incredulous.
All Rose could reply with was a laugh. She climbed through the door first and as Imogen entered, waved her arm across the room. "What do you think?" she asked. The room was all white, and had the same plush carpeting as the living room. With the light coming in from outside, the room looked clean and fresh. Across from the bed was a flat panel TV – in black.
"Ever hear of colour?" Imogen asked.
"I think it suits me." Rose gave a little bit of a pout, but she wasn't really offended.
Imogen took a step toward her. "No, I think you're a bit deeper than that." She leaned in for a kiss, but Rose threw herself onto the bed with a giggle before their lips could meet. The comforter was cold and smooth against her skin, and soon Imogen had jumped on as well, landing half on her. Rose tried not to think of the combat boots on her bed, and instead stared up into Imogen's green eyes. Sure, they weren't as vibrant as the streaks in her hair, but they weren't as pale as she'd previously thought.
The weight of Imogen's crucifix fell on her chest, and she picked up the cross with her fingers. "I'm glad it didn't break," she said, still staring into those green eyes.
Imogen smiled. "No, it only would have broken if I'd broken." She kissed Rose gently; the rough skin of her thumb brushing over Rose's fluttering eyelashes. The kiss felt as soft as the bedding around her, and knowing nothing else was going to follow it — except for maybe the hand remaining on her cheek — gave Rose a sense of peace.
"Hey, do you want to watch something?" she asked. "I've never watched TV in bed with someone before."
Imogen must have seen that Rose was smiling in anticipation like a little kid, because she answered, "Sure, what's on?"
Rose fumbled through the sheets for the remote and flicked the TV on when she found it. It was on the channel it was usually on — celebrity gossip — but Rose looked from the face beside her to the television screen and saw the same thing. Yeah, that was Imogen on the entertainment news. And so was she.
Rose sat forward with such force that Imogen was nearly knocked off the bed. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," she said breathlessly, first staring at the screen and then burying her face in her hands. Colour was coming to her cheeks for sure.
"How did they even get those pictures? I didn't see anyone following us down the street."
Rose peeked between her fingers to see said pictures and sure enough, there was a montage of shots of them leaving the club together. Then, of course, the dreaded pictures of Rose leading Imogen into the building by the hand. Even a blurry shot of what might have been them getting into the elevator.
"Popular model Rose Wild was seen entering her apartment with the lead singer from the indie band Atomic Lollipops, Imogen Silver — a known lesbian in the underground band scene. Could this be a sign of a fling between the two women? Rose Wild could not be reached for comment," the woman on the screen was saying as the pictures flashed over and over.
"They're waiting outside aren't they?" Rose plastered her face into her hands once more and sunk down so low she was almost buried in the blankets.
"It's The Atomic Lollipops. I can't believe they got it wrong," was all Imogen had to say.
Rose lifted her face to look at Imogen. "This doesn't bother you?"
"Ah, well…I guess it's something you get used to," she said with a smirk that wasn't entirely appreciated. "And here I was saying I wanted my face all over billboards…"
"Oh, no…" Rose wailed and got out of bed. Sure enough, down below her window that same screen was playing the story as well.
"Talk about a coincidence," Imogen said. "It doesn't bother me. Does it bother you?"
Rose thought for a moment. It's not like she'd wanted to drag Imogen into the media storm that was her life, where every movement between two people could be seen as a confession. Faced with the prospect of hiding her relationship with Imogen and coming forward, she couldn't think of letting this go so soon just because of the media. All those TV screens and billboards with her face on them, they were all just an act, all just a made up vision of who she might be. Maybe it was something she couldn't escape, but at the very least she could make sure that for once, they'd be telling the truth.
"I need to make a statement," she said simply.

The ride down in the elevator was an anxious one. Even gripping Imogen's hand, Rose felt jittery. Normally, you weren't supposed to feed the paparazzi, but she felt like she needed to let this out now while she still had the nerve.
They stepped into the lobby and even through the front windows, the camera flashes from outside blinded them. The crowd was so much bigger than before. As they got closer, Bernard held the door open for them and the paparazzi — mercifully — stayed outside on the threshold. Soon the two girls were in the midst of them, pictures being taken and microphones being shoved in their faces.
The holder of the newest microphone held it out to Rose and asked, "Miss Wild, does this mean you're in a lesbian relationship with Miss Silver here?"
Rose took a deep breath. "I am not a lesbian," she said. "I'm asexual." The crowd buzzed with fervor at this new revelation, and after only a moment, Imogen reached over and turned the microphone toward her own mouth,
"And so am I," she said, still gripping Rose's hand tightly.
Rose glanced over with a look of pleasant surprise, and happily kissed Imogen with her eyes closed. There it was, out for everyone to know it. Maybe things wouldn't be easy from now on — for either of them — but Rose had found the truth for herself, and Imogen had learned to be true, so maybe it was worth it. All they knew, as the flash bulbs popped around them and their hands gripped each other tightly, was that they'd be facing this together.