Day One Hundred and Forty-Six: Denial

A/N: Uhhhhhhh….

Ummm…..

Yeah…..

C/W: In which Anna does the two-finger tango, flicks the bean, digs for treasure, exorcises some internal demons...masturbates. Don't read with your parents around. You've been warned.

...I'm doing it again.

I'm thinking about her, about us, on my bed. On her bed. One second I'm on top of her, doing everything that I know she loves. The next second she's on top me, doing things that I already know I'm going to love. Our bodies, our arms and legs, our hands and fingers, our tongues. And then I'm thinking about that one thing she does with her tongue and-

"Fuck."

Too loud. Too fucking loud, Anna.

It's 1 in the morning. Elsa should be asleep right now, but I can't bet on that, I need to be quieter goddamn it. I wish I could be asleep right now, but...thoughts. And feelings. And memories.

We were watching a movie earlier on my bed, and she accidentally touched my knee while reaching for the popcorn. That's all it fucking takes now, I guess. When she finally decided to call it a night, I couldn't. Not without getting rid of this stupid, warm, gross feeling.

And it wouldn't be so bad if it only took me like five minutes to get off, but I've been at this shit for half an hour now.

I think it's because a part of me is still denying these feelings and refusing to go completely over the edge. These feelings aren't true, I reason, it's just that we're always so close all the time and I only ever see her on a daily basis. I like girls, and Elsa's the closest girl around, ergo I like Elsa. Shit, no no no, I do not like Elsa. These aren't feelings, they can't be.

It's just...lust or something. Maybe I'm in heat like a fucking dog or whatever.

These are the thoughts in my head that are warring with the other ones.

The ones that remind me of Elsa's hand on my knee just a few hours ago, and wondering what it'd feel like to have those hands travel up me again. The ones that say that Elsa might still feel something for me. The ones that say I need to get a grip and tell her something, anything, about what I've been thinking.

Except even if I wanted to say anything, I can't without jeopardizing the money. Right, the $100,000 is why we're both here. It's why she's sleeping in a room just five feet away, and I'm not sleeping.

I want to sleep, but I can't. I'm here touching myself, clamping my teeth down onto my pillow, and thinking about Elsa like a fucking degenerate.

I try to fight it, and keep myself grounded while I struggle to find the spot that will help me get this over with, but my fight's pretty weak to begin with. I'm not sleepy, but I'm tired and my wrist is getting sore.

So I keep going, because I've already gone this far and I gotta...finish this. I imagine that it's not my hand, but hers. Elsa's soft, delicate hands working in and out of me with grace and care, knowing just what to do. Knowing where they need to go.

And damn if that doesn't push me closer than ever before.

"Ha…" I whimper, barely muffled by this damn pillow. Curse my obnoxiously vocal nature, the last thing I need is for Elsa to ask me tomorrow morning about what I was doing.

Although, knowing me, I'd probably take that sick opportunity to finally tell her what I've been feeling about her.

"Sh...gah," I moan, half out of pleasure and half out of anger. Damn these feelings, why did they have to come up now? Why did they have to come up at all?! Why couldn't I just be comfortable with how we were?

Come on, Anna.

Come on…

"Come on, Anna…"

Ah shit, that wasn't me. That was her, that was Elsa. Two years ago, one of the very last times we had sex. Gah, it was so passionate, heated, and long and near the end she's inside me and says that.

And I remember.

I remember everything.

Finally, my hands find the right spot. My hands, not hers. Of course she's not really here, why would she be?

I come undone and it's...way more intense than I think it's going to be. They're like shockwaves that never end. I'm almost screaming into my pillow, giving up on keeping any sense of dignity in this moment as I just ride out what has to be one of the top five strongest orgasms of my fucking life.

And I did it to myself, which...I mean in any other circumstance I'll absolutely be proud of that.

But not right now, not after knowing what it took to get me here.

After I finally come down, I'm of course spent. Everything in my lower body feels like jello and my wrist is so cramped that I'm afraid it's gonna be stuck at this angle forever- man, would that be a fun thing to explain.

Any and all thoughts of Elsa on top of me drift away, and now it's just me trying to control my breath, staring up at my dark ceiling.

Alone and ashamed.

Once I steady my breathing, I take my hand out of my pants and sit up to do that dreaded walk of shame. My legs still refuse to cooperate with me, and I almost trip going to the bathroom. I don't bother turning on the lights because the brightness will hurt my eyes, and I really don't want to look at myself right now.

The amount of soap I use to wash my hands with could be used for an entire load of laundry, but it still doesn't rinse away the thoughts. I even change my pants for good measure.

I walk back to my bed and, just fucking great, there's a stain. I don't even bother changing the sheets, not right now, I just bundle them up and toss them in the direction of my hamper. And I flop back down onto my bed, where I'm greeted with a spit stain on my pillow.

Whatever.

If I'm grateful for anything after this night of "heated passion", it's that I'm finally both tired and sleepy. Maybe in the morning, these feelings will magically go away, and we can go on with the next two hundred something days like nothing ever happened. I mean...that's what's best, right?

Us being together can't happen again, it would fuck everything up. We'd lose the money, and these past few months would have been a waste. But then that'd only happen if she didn't feel the same way.

But why would she feel the same way? Because of our history? After everything I did to her, how can I expect there to be any mutual romantic feelings? Yeah, she still cares about me and knows that I'm at least trying to care about her, but if I think for one second that she likes me...I'd get too caught up in that.

So, to keep my feelings at bay and to keep the money, I have to assume she doesn't have feelings for me.

Which makes this whole thing easier, because then there's nothing to confess. From her, or from me. Because if she doesn't like me, then that's cool because I...don't...either. Fuck, it doesn't even sound convincing when I think it.

Whatever, this isn't a problem that can be solved tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or...hell, I don't even know.

I shut my eyes, bury my hands underneath my pillow to keep from doing any more stupid things, and I'm out like a light in five minutes.