Order isn’t something that she needs, she’s not frightened of randomness or chaos, she doesn’t believe that the world will end if the boys’ socks don’t match (after all it’s not her fault that her washing machine is some kind of vortex that is capable of making socks exit the known space time continuum), the chances of her developing OCD border in the realm of the impossible. As a rule she doesn’t care what people think of her, if they chose to judge her, that’s not something that she can control. She knows she’s opinionated and speaks her mind and this is not something that she sees as a fault. She can even justify leaving her house untidy – it is her small step in helping the universe towards its inevitable state of entropy and in that regard she considers herself to be at the forefront of cutting edge science. Change is hardly something that she views as an enemy. Yet there are certain things that should not change, that should remain immutable facts - the sun rises each day, bread always falls butter-side down and Karen McCluskey is an evil harpy who should be vanquished.
She hasn’t really recovered from the fact that she came to the octogenarian’s aid – it’s not as though she would have left her to die, she’s pretty sure that that kind of thing is illegal and the collapse did occur in broad day light on Wisteria Lane, other people may not have been visible but someone was bound to be watching – still riding in the ambulance with one’s sworn enemy isn’t her preferred way of spending a day. What’s even more unsettling is the fact that she now finds herself worrying about the woman. She hasn’t gone completely insane, she still wanted to scrub herself in a decontamination shower after Karen hugged her and it’s possible that the house may need an exorcism or a least a good smudging now that she’s been in it. She’s glad that she got out of having to give the shrew a lift to the pharmacy as she simply can’t afford to get the car reupholstered. There was some serious deliberation before she felt able to use the avocadoes but she can’t deny that they are the kind of family that eats guacamole. Against her better judgment she keeps going to the window and the fact that the package remains untouched plays on her mind , she has a horrible feeling that if it’s not retrieved in the next few days she may actually voluntarily go over there to check up on Satan’s minion.
She is brooding on the situation when the doorbell rings and terrified that her thoughts may have actually conjured the McCluskey woman up she sends Tom to answer, after all he has done nothing to help her with her dilemma and deserves a little punishment. He returns much quicker than she expected and for a moment she is impressed with the speed with which he has apparently dispatched the witch but he gives her an odd look and informs her that the visitor is for her. She gives him her best death glare and then sets off to show him how he should have dealt with the situation in the first place but the woman loitering in her doorway is not the one she expected. Bree stands before her pale and tear stained and undeniably the most beautiful creature that Lynette has ever seen.
“No run mascara?” Bree gives an almost imperceptible nod in response. “Expensive?” This nod seems even smaller if that is possible. “Yeah, they lied. You might want to ask for you money back,” with that she reaches up and attempts to wipe away the dark tracks from Bree’s face with her thumbs.
“How do make something so bad feel so good?”
“It’s just mascara, I know this may come as a shock to you but ruined makeup can’t actually kill you, besides I am a mother of four you should just be grateful that I didn’t spit on a tissue and rub that on your face.”
Bree moves to cover Lynette’s hands with her own, stopping their movement but holding them against her face, “That’s not what I am talking about, this thing between us is the most perverted thing in my life and believe me it has serious competition, so why is it the only thing that feels right?”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”
“I need you to say it.” She really isn’t sure how she should answer, she desperately wants to make Bree feel better and although Bree seems to know what she wants her to say, it’s not clear to Lynette. “The thing I told you never to tell me, I need to hear it.” She thought she didn’t know what to say before but now Bree has raised her uncertainty to a whole new level – a few small words are apparently all that Bree wants from her but if she answers it would mean acknowledging that she recalls that alcohol fueled conversation and she thinks it would be better for everyone involved if she spent the rest of her life pretending that she has no memory of the event – she invited her best friend into her bed and was rejected, she doesn’t know that their friendship will survive as it is but she’s sure that if she admits to what she did that there is no way to put the genie back in the bottle and that knowledge will destroy them both. She’s saved from her inner debate when Bree takes matters into her own hands, “It’s okay, it’s probably better that you don’t.”
She’s so busy being relieved that it takes her a second to realize that Bree’s words have been accompanied by actions but there are definitely soft lips pressing on hers and Bree’s hands have moved to nestle in her hair. Her body seems to have developed a mind of its own because she doesn’t remember giving it permission to move and yet somehow her tongue is now dancing with Bree’s and hands are on Bree’s hips. The importance of everything else in her life has decreased exponentially, she exists only for this moment, maybe it’s all she’s ever existed for. She certainly isn’t thinking clearly, the door is still open and anyone passing by could see them and worse than that Tom is in the kitchen and it would only take a few steps and they would be in his line of sight, yet she can’t stop. She doesn’t even bother to stifle the moan that rips itself for her throat as Bree lifts her top and hands begin to wander across the small of her back. The noise has an impact on Bree though, she breaks from their embrace as though burnt but then reaches up to caress Lynette’s cheek, “I’m sorry, I never meant to damn you too.” She leaves then and is gone so quickly that it’s hard to believe that she was ever there, she has crossed the road and disappeared from view before Lynette’s heart rate has returned to normal.
Lynette is still staring through the open door way when Tom finds her, “She’s gone then?”
“Yeah I guess she has.”
“Is she alright?”
“I have no idea.” Surprisingly this seems to satisfy Tom and he returns to the kitchen, she follows shortly after and somehow manages to clean up and get her family settled for the evening. She doesn’t rebuff Tom’s advances that night even though she probably should – she really needs to separate things in her mind but it’s easier just to give in and not think about who she is betraying more right now – he’s her husband and this is safe and familiar, it’s not unpleasant and it’s not entirely unwelcome but she can’t stop thinking about that fact that his hands seem too big and his shoulders are too broad. It’s then that she realizes with crystal clarity that Bree is wrong, she is not damned but she is most definitely doomed.
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