What the hell did she just do? A panicked quake told her to sit up, figure it out, question herself, question everything.

But that felt more like the reaction she was supposed to have than the honest truth. Off the clock, responsibility was dead. Yaya was just another woman, and so was Doc. She could fuck who she pleased.

She half-expected Yaya to clamber off the bed and out the door, but when their trips to the bathroom ended, she cuddled behind Doc. Darkness spread again between Yaya’s legs as Magenta blanketed loving arms around Doc’s middle.

The storm still brewed between them at every breath and heartbeat, but it sank in the calm of autumn rain. In that tranquil, thoughtless moment, Doc couldn’t help honey pouring through her nerves one last time. She let out another frail moan before sweet sleep drew her into dreams.

9

Yaya kicked away blankets and stretched from Doc’s bed, the baby blue sheets having been replaced by teal since their staining three days ago.

November air wafted, chillier this morning, through a bedroom window. Doc must have opened it a crack before Yaya woke up. They had been roasting last night.

She pressed the window shut and let her brain sift through memories in the early light. Déjà vu set in. Doc lying asleep, white hair ruffled on a pillow. A maroon patch dried where Yaya had slept. Not her period showing up this time, but some Magenta-related residue. They would systematically ruin Doc’s bedsheets one by one for each sexual encounter.

If they had another.

Last night had not been like Friday, her body plenty with the program and in ways she had never expected. Last night wasn’t like any other time in her life.

Full of strange sensations beyond Magenta, Yaya’s head had been clear, doubtless, the moment not a quick shower in the middle of her mad dash from one encounter to the next, but an immersive bath. She’d wanted to be here. The difference made no sense—everything between Doc and herself since Friday had gone wrong—but self-doubt had evaporated the moment Magenta crawled over Doc’s body and united their three as one.

Yaya didn’t feel that sense of surety now. Standing over the bed, she knew she should leave. She’d run on Saturday partly because she always ran, but couldn’t she blame ABP, too? Genes, monthly checkups, injection, teeth, Magenta—her life strained a short leash. Free will beneath their thumb was a joke, and she’d spent the punchline taking it on the chin like a champ.

If this Tuesday morning was Saturday’s do-over, didn’t she have the free will to choose differently? Doc had asked if Yaya believed in second chances.

For just a little longer, and against all sense, she could stay.

She reclined beside Doc, head on the other pillow. The maroon stain beneath her felt dry already. She would have to ask Magenta what it was, if Magenta even knew.