Trigger warning: this work of fiction contains themes of emotional manipulation and gaslighting. The relationship depicted here, while complex and formally 'consensual', is in fact abusive.
****
Emily's hands were shaking as she clicked through her slides. Her presentation was tomorrow morning - 9:00 sharp - her first major lab talk, with three senior lecturers attending, plus her supervisor and a handful of PhD students who were known for asking the kind of questions that made undergrads cry. Topic: Gene Drive Strategies in Insect Vector Control. She barely understood half the material, and the other half was held together with duct tape and caffeine.
She clicked through her slides again. A diagram of Anopheles gambiae reproduction blinked back at her. Her notes were a mess. She hadn't eaten since lunch.
Her phone buzzed. Grace.
grace: change of plans
grace: godfrey's in town tonight. 24 hrs early. i need to take him out
grace: you're coming with. need you there
Emily stared at the screen. Colin Godfrey. The big fish professor Grace had mentioned a dozen times - ex-SOAS, funds half the lefty journals in the country, sits on every radical board worth knowing. Grace talked about him like he was the key to everything.
emily: grace i have my lab presentation at 9am tomorrow
emily: it's the first one, everyone's going to be there
emily: i'm losing my mind over this, i can't
A pause. Then:
grace: right
grace: no i get it
grace: i just thought... i don't know
grace: we talked about showing up for each other
grace: but it's fine
grace: if you're too busy i'll just go alone
Emily's stomach twisted. She could already hear the tone Grace would use if this came up again. Not angry. Just that "I'm not mad, just disappointed" vibe.
emily: it's not like i don't want to
emily: i'm just completely wrecked. i still have to rewrite half my notes. this thing tomorrow is going to kill me
Another pause. Then:
grace: of course
grace: i know this isn't a big deal compared to a slide deck on mosquitoes
grace: i'm being unfair
grace: forget it
Emily stared at the screen. Her mouth went dry.
emily: grace. stop.
emily: you know it's not like that
grace: no, i know
grace: i just thought maybe i mattered more than an undergrad showcase
grace: but i don't want to pressure you
grace: honestly
Emily's hand hovered over the keyboard. Her gut told her to stay. Finish the slides. Sleep. Be ready.
But Grace was Grace. And saying no never felt like a real option.
emily: what time do i need to be there
grace: 7:30
grace: and wear something smart-ish
grace: he notices those things
Emily closed her laptop. The diagram on the screen disappeared. Gene drives could wait.
Grace couldn't.
****
Grace had always thought of herself as someone who gave more than she took.
She listened when people spiraled, always invited everyone to reading groups, ran the shit jobs for campaigns no one else wanted to touch. She organized, followed through, pulled people into things they didn't even know they needed until afterwards. She didn't ask for much back - just seriousness. Loyalty. A bit of emotional competence.
So when Emily hesitated - when she said she was "busy" with some lab slideshow on mutant mosquitoes - Grace felt something inside.
Maybe not even anger. Just a small, quiet offense.
After everything she'd done for Emily. Pulled her out of whatever small-town meltdown she was living through in first year. Got her into real spaces. Helped her understand that there is so much more than academic success and a well-trotten career path. And then forgave her--actually let her back in - after that whole spiral at the pub. She didn't do that for most people.
And now, when there was this one thing - this minor ask, this moment of actual use - Emily couldn't make space?
That wasn't real closeness. That was convenience. And Grace had no time for that.
Of course, she hadn't really 'needed' Emily there tonight. Godfrey was easy - sharp, charming, open, the kind of man who enjoyed hearing young lefties disagree with him. Grace knew how to handle men like that. She could do without a sidekick.
But she wanted Emily there. For optics, sure. But mostly for proof.
Emily had said it - "Whatever you need, I'm in." Well, this was one of those moments. Grace just wanted to see if the words meant anything.
So yes, she might've pushed a little. Played the disappointment angle. Brought up the old promises. She didn't enjoy manipulation, not really - but Emily had to understand that love, or whatever version of it they were doing, came with standards. Grace couldn't carry both of them forever.
And it worked. Of course it worked.
Emily showed up - tired, underdressed, clearly anxious. Didn't say much during dinner. Godfrey didn't seem to mind. He asked Grace questions about their campaign strategy, said she had "political maturity" - a phrase that would've sounded condescending from anyone else, but didn't from him.
Afterward, when he left, Grace turned to Emily and said, "Quick beer to talk strategy?" Even though it was past ten, and Emily looked like she was about to pass out. But she didn't say no.
They sat in a lame, touristy pub by High Street. Emily barely touched her drink, kept checking her phone like she was calculating how few hours she had left to sleep. Grace didn't comment. She just talked - about the meeting, about how well it went, about future opportunities Godfrey might open up. And Emily stayed.
That's what mattered. The staying.
Grace didn't need declarations. She needed evidence. Compliance. Follow-through.
Emily had said she'd do anything. Tonight, she proved it.
And maybe - just quietly - Grace liked that feeling. Knowing someone would rearrange their night, wreck their prep, fuck up their sleep, just because she asked.
Not out of fear. Not obligation. But because Grace asked.
And in the end, wasn't that what trust looked like?
****
Emily didn't sleep. She got back from the pub after midnight, rewrote two slides in a fog, then lay awake watching the ceiling until her alarm went off at six. Her mouth felt dry. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
The presentation was a blur - half adrenaline, half white noise. Her slides were fine. Not polished, but not embarrassing either. She stumbled over a few transitions, forgot to credit one study. One of the PhDs asked her a question about off-target mutation risk she hadn't anticipated, and she flailed a bit - but not enough to drown. People nodded. No one ripped her apart. It was done.
As she left the room, she thought: "Could've been worse."
And that was true. It also wasn't the point.
****
They'd been drinking wine, sitting cross-legged on Grace's bed, half-naked, half-talking, half-touching. The kind of lazy closeness. Grace kissed her like she always did, deliberate and confident.
At one point, Grace's hand slid between Emily's legs like it belonged there.
Touch, friction, breath. Emily came with her head buried in Grace's neck, fingers digging into her shoulder, hips jerking up like she couldn't help it. Grace held her there, kissed her temple.
"You're good," she whispered.
Emily flushed. Smiled. Everything felt so cozy.
But, after a few minutes, Grace moved - slipped out of bed, poured some wine, sat on her armchair, legs still bare, wineglass in hand. She looked at Emily, lounging naked across the sheets.
"You ever kissed someone's feet?"
Emily blinked. "What?"
Grace raised an eyebrow. "Feet. Toes. Ankles. Any of it."
Emily laughed, caught off guard. "No? I mean... not on purpose. That's a weird question."
Grace smiled faintly, almost too casual. "Shame. I like it."
Emily pulled the blanket up a little. "Seriously?"
"Mmhm." Grace took a sip of wine. "But hey, thanks for shaming me. I forgot that my kinks need to pass the Midlands Normality Test first."
Emily sat up. "Oh come on. That's not what I meant."
Grace shrugged, still smiling. "It's fine. I knew it'd be too much for you."
There it was. The tone Emily recognized-- abit of disappointment, a bit of guilt-tripping. She hesitated. Then moved.
She moved to the edge of the bed, settling onto her knees--not on the floor, but close enough to feel the change in posture. Grace didn't say anything at first. She just extended one leg, resting her foot lightly against Emily's thigh.
Grace looked back down at her. There was something in her posture, the ease of it, that made her look almost regal. Like she belonged to another century. Like this was her court and Emily was kneeling at it. Not very Marxist, true, but, as Grace always said, dogmatism will wreck you faster than compromise ever will.
