It took Helena a minute or two to notice that she was awake.

It was hard to tell. It really was. She felt utterly exhausted, worse than she had the time she’d helped some friends move. Her muscles ached. Everything felt stiff. Her eyelids felt like they were taped shut, and when she finally got them open, it made no difference, because all around her was pitch black. She could barely breathe beneath the sweltering blankets. It felt like being cocooned. She was pretty sure her dream had been something similar, but the latest dream was already dissolving into the background of her waking thoughts. She was remembering where she was.

Her jaw set. It had to be morning, or even noon. There was no way it was still night. She felt like she’d been sleeping for twelve hours.

And yet Helena felt awful. The hangover should have faded, and at least the headache was gone, but her muscles felt practically unresponsive. Maybe she still needed more…

No. No more excuses. Her cheeks burned as she recalled the scene she'd made of herself over the last night—her getting drunk, her coming on to Diane, her... masturbating in the guest bed.

It was humiliating. It made her want to curl up under the blankets and never move again. But if Diane was lying to her about the time… wasn’t that much, much worse?

Helena's eyes drifted towards where she vaguely remembered seeing the curtained window.

She steeled herself. It would be so easy to stay under the covers, to wait obediently until Diane came back. And Diane had to come back sooner or later, didn't she?

But Helena didn't have her phone. And wouldn't Diane be at work by now? Helena couldn't afford to miss a whole day waiting for Diane to get back and take care of her.

She felt her cheeks redden beneath the covers. 'Take care of her'. This was all Diane's... damn fault! Professor Wood had given her the alcohol, hadn't she? She'd known Helena was... but ugh, Helena had said she could handle it.

Helena's fists clenched, nails digging into the thick blankets. Her palms felt slick with sweat. She knew some of this had to be Diane's fault. It had to be. But she couldn't remember any details of how exactly it… could be. Whenever Diane was around, she just talked over everything Helena tried to say, and Helena just wound up feeling stupid and paranoid, deflecting the responsibility for her own actions.

But Diane was lying to her about the time. That much Helena felt able to seize onto—it was definitely past morning by now, and Diane should have woken her up, and she hadn’t. Helena felt groggy and sore in the way she usually did when she’d slept in way too late. Maybe a little worse than normal, but that was what happened when all you had was liqueur and warm milk for dinner and breakfast and maybe lunch.

Diane was lying to her about the time. Helena nodded to herself. That made sense. This whole situation wasn't Helena’s fault. Diane was trying to trick her. To stall her.

But in order to prove it to herself... Helena had to get to the window.

She swallowed. Diane would be at work, if it was noon, as she suspected. That meant Diane couldn't stop her from leaving. Helena could walk right out the front door and walk straight to the Dean's office. Or... well, find her phone first. She must have left it in the dining room. Maybe she could call a ride, if she knew someone in town who could pick her up. Her roommate, maybe, although… no, Samantha definitely had classes right now. Could she afford a taxi?

She didn't know why it mattered that Diane wouldn't be home. It wasn't as if Diane could... stop her, could she? But Helena didn't want to face her. Helena couldn't behave herself around Diane.

Pathetic. She squeezed her eyes shut. She could almost feel the tears in her eyes. Fuck, she'd cried in front of her professor. No, worse than that. She'd burst into tears while in the arms of the fraud she’d come here to expose.

A snippet of the conversation with Diane echoed unbidden in Helena's mind.

“But you didn't go to campus security. You came to me. Helena, why would you ever come to me?”

Her world felt heavy. The blankets were warm. Everything felt so… soft…

Her eyes shot open.

Fuck this.

She took a deep breath of hot, stagnant air and flung the impossibly heavy blankets off herself.

She actually yelped. It was freezing. Actually freezing. At least, it felt that way to her hangover-addled mind. Was she feverish? It would explain the aching.

Wouldn't that be something, she thought irritably to herself. All excited to catch her out, and you catch the flu on the big day.

Helena’s body convulsed and shuddered as she sat up and pushed the rest of the weighted blankets off of herself. She hadn't totally lost her strength, at least. She clutched her chest—she was hardly dressed for the cold, especially in sweat-drenched clothes—and rose from the bed.

Her head swam. She clutched for the bedpost, and just in time, grasped hold. The vertigo was unbelievable. Fuck. Fuck. Maybe she was feverish.

She swallowed. If she was sick, she needed to lie down, didn't she?

No. Her rational brain grabbed the idea and shoved it in the trunk of a car and drove the car off a cliff. Absolutely the fuck not.

Diane was trying to stall her. Waste her time. What time was it by now? Eleven in the morning? Two in the afternoon? Fuck, it could even be four. Her whole internal clock felt ruined by too much sleep. And too much alcohol.

The vertigo subsided a little, though not completely. Helena took a deep breath, then testingly released the bedpost.

She didn't collapse.

She couldn't see a thing. Not a thing. Her eyes were supposed to adjust, but either her vision was blurred, or the curtains were completely blocking out the daylight. Blackout curtains. Had to be. She couldn't see where they were, but she knew where she was, and she remembered the location of the window pretty well.

Helena took one step, then, once certain she was not going to collapse, another. It was freezing. She could hear the fan running over her shoulder. It might as well have been air conditioning. Why was the fucking fan running in this cold? Was Diane a fucking polar bear? Or was it only this cold to Helena because of her condition? She’d never had chills this bad.

Helena stumbled forward, her footsteps cautious, her hands stretched out in front of her. The last thing she needed was to run into something, fall and hit her head, and give Diane another excuse to stall.

She reached forward, and her hands finally met the wall. Thank God. She felt along its bumpy surface, her heart racing, her teeth actually chattering. She didn't know what she'd even do once the window was open. It just felt important to prove it to herself that it was daytime. Even though she knew it had to be, a part of her just... no, it was, there was no way it was still the same night—

Her fingers brushed over thick, rough fabric. A curtain. She could feel the bumps of pushpins, too, keeping it firmly pinned against the wall.

That made it harder. She could barely move for shivering, but her fingernails fumbled beneath the pins and started pulling them out, one by one. She wasn't sure what to do with them, so she held them in the palm of one hand and kept pulling more out with the other.

She'd been sort of hoping for an explosion of light when the first pin came out, but the effect was mostly unnoticeable at first. She only began to notice a little bit of light when her fingers tugged out the twelfth pin, allowing her to fully pull a corner of the curtain away from the window to reveal...

Her heart plummeted.

Diane's house was at the northwestern corner of town. The back window faced away from town, into the trees.

Into darkness.

No. Helena couldn't breathe. She leaned down for a better view and wrenched more of the curtain away, heedless of the pins falling right onto the floor. No, no, no—

It wasn't pitch black. Even with the trees, it was a mostly cloudless night. She could see stars. She could even make out a faint glow on the horizon that could be the dawn's approach, though it still looked to be at least an hour away.

But as the whole heavy curtain fell in a clatter on the floor, Helena could tell for a fact that it was absolutely nighttime. Diane… hadn't lied to her.

Helena had been wrong.

Helena slumped against the windowsill, staring out in disbelief. This had been the one thing she'd been so sure of. She truly had lost all sense of time.

There had to be something. Something she could seize on that Diane had done wrong, something she could point out to Diane, bark at Diane and see Diane flinch, see those beautiful eyes widen in sudden alarm as Diane realized her brightest pupil had caught her, something Helena could snarl to show Diane what it felt like to feel stupid and helpless while she moved in close and—

Helena felt her cheeks burning. She buried her head in her hands. She was pathetic. This wasn't about safety, this was about ego, about recovering some sort of respect in Diane's eyes. Nothing had changed from last night.

She wanted to go limp, fall to her knees and cry, but she'd scattered pushpins all across the floor. She instead had to bend over and carefully, by the limited starlight, brush the pins away from her path, then make her way back to the bed.

She sat down, and since she was still freezing, she took one of the blankets and wrapped it around herself. She really did feel like hell. Maybe she really was sick. She almost hoped she was. Maybe that was at least some excuse. Diane would understand that.

She could still get up, she told herself. It was at least an hour to sunrise, and that meant it was... what, five in the morning? That wasn't too early to get up. She could go and find her phone. Maybe fix up something to eat; god, she felt like she hadn’t eaten in days.

But she felt like a corpse. She needed more sleep, better sleep, sleep that didn't keep getting interrupted. She shivered, then, as a thought struck her, reached over and took the mug from the nightstand.

She hadn't finished her milk from earlier. It was quite cold now, but at least it was something to put in her stomach. She downed the whole thing in three deep gulps, then fuzzily returned the mug to the headdesk.

Her eyes drifted to the door—now barely visible in the dim starlight, just a faint outline. Diane was probably home, but she had to be asleep by now. After all, she had work in the morning.

Unease curdled in Helena's gut. Diane wouldn't have work. Helena was going to report her, today. No matter how tenderly Diane had taken care of her last night. This night. There was at least one thing Helena knew Diane was guilty about, and Helena wasn’t letting it go. It was all she had left.

Helena shakily rose to her feet and made her way to the door. Her limbs felt numb. Had they been numb a second ago? Was it from the cold? The hangover? A fever?

She grasped the doorknob. Briefly, she wondered if it really was locked. That would certainly be something she could point to when accusing Diane. It would be absurd, though. Like something out of a true crime podcast.

At that exact moment, she heard a set of metallic clicks, and the door swung open.

Helena had no time to react. With a strangled cry of alarm, she fell flat onto her back. The door bumped against her feet, so she pulled her legs up towards her. She stared up at her professor, eyes wide in shock. Professor Wood’s beautiful face wore a rueful smile.

"I thought I heard you up and about," Diane said coolly. Her gaze traveled from her student, whose lips were still struggling to form words, over to the window and mess of curtain and pushpins on the floor. "Jesus, Helena, what are you doing in here?"

Helena's head was swimming. All her fatigue seemed to be coming back in a crashing wave, as if she’d spent her whole supply of energy in one burst of fruitless exertion.

"I'm..." Helena didn't know what to say. What was she doing? Leaving? In the middle of the night, without a car? "… I w-wanted to go… go find my phone." She tried not to stumble over her words, but something in her brain kept... bending when she tried to sit up, and it made her words draw out funny. Her voice sounded weird to her right now.

"Really?" Diane cocked her head to the side, looking almost amused. "Didn't I leave it on the bedside table?"

"W-What?"

Helena felt a moment’s panic. Had she? Had it been there the whole time? Was Helena that stupid, that irrational? No, but it hadn’t been there, she’d looked, she’d—or she’d felt around, anyways, but still, she—

Diane walked into the room and sat down on the bed. She looked down at Helena, then over towards the table. Her gaze seemed, to Helena, to linger on the empty mug. "Oh, you're right! I must have left it downstairs. I can go look for it, if you like."

Relief coursed through Helena’s shivering form. "No need," she managed. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, though it wasn't easy. "I... I can g-go myself!"

Diane raised an eyebrow. Her legs crossed as she leaned over her prone student, who tried not to feel flustered and failed. "Are you sure? Should you even be looking at a phone screen right now, with your hangover?"

"I... I can call a ride!"

Diane regarded Helena for a moment, then rose up off the bed with a sigh. She extended a hand. "Helena, you're not local, are you? Do you know anyone in town who’d be awake right now? Do you even know what time it is?"

"It's... going to be morning soon." Helena took Diane's hand, hating how her heart fluttered at the heat of Diane's touch, such a relief from the cold. “It’s, w-what, four AM? I… I just w-want to g-get out of bed, Di—Professor W-Wood.”

Something unreadable passed behind Diane’s eyes. "… Morning soon. Of course.” She seemed to hesitate a moment, but then that rueful smile returned, and she gave Helena’s hand a squeeze. "Okay, then. Stand up, Helena."

Helena tried to rise, but her legs didn’t respond. She tried again, grabbing hold of Diane’s hand with both of hers and struggling to pull herself up, but it was like her muscles had gone to sleep. She whimpered with effort, tightening her grip, desperately willing her body to obey her. Everything felt tingly and numb.

After fifteen seconds of fruitless struggle, Helena went limp. Her cheeks were burning. She could barely meet Helena’s gaze. "Maybe just... bring me my phone."

"Okay, Helena." Diane laid a comforting hand on Helena’s cheek. "Are you going to get back into bed, or...?"

Her bed. Helena knew she could do that much. She tried again, gripping Helena's hand tightly. This time, she managed to get to her feet—she just needed to make it two steps—

—and then she collapsed in a heap, her head flashing and fizzing like someone had dropped in a lit firework. She let out a groan. She couldn’t even see through the blurry, fuzzy, fizzy noise. Fuck, she really was still… still…

Soft, supple arms gently wrapped around her frame. Helena shut her mouth tight to hold in a squeak as Diane helped her to her feet.

"Helena?" Diane whispered in her ear. "Are you still awake?"

"I... I..." Helena blinked dimly at Diane. She felt practically cradled in Diane’s arms. Her legs knees beneath her.

Diane's fingers ran through her hair. "You swooned. It's okay, Helena, sweetie. You must still need more rest. It’s so early, Helena.”

“B-But…”

“You'd better lie down."

"M-My phone…”

"Hush. I'll get you your phone when you're back in bed." Diane's lips brushed her cheek. That had to be an accident. "Come on. Don't make me carry you."

"I-I'm trying!" Helena was trying so hard, too. She clung to Diane for dear life, legs trembling. "I—I don't know why I'm—"

"It's late," Diane cooed in her ear. "You're tired."

"I'm... tired," Helena echoed fuzzily, leaning in towards Diane, towards the nice hot breath tickling her ear. "It's... cold..."

"That's right, Helena." Diane chuckled. She guided Helena back into bed. Helena sighed and wriggled happily as she felt the soft sheets back underneath her. She felt Diane lowering blanket after blanket back on top of her, and the smothering weight felt almost like home after the struggles she’d just put herself through. Diane was so close to her right now. It felt… nice. "But it's nice and warm here, isn't it?"

"Nice and warm." Helena felt like she was drunk again. That was okay, right? She was just... tired. She’d managed to get Diane’s attention, ask for her phone. She’d done enough for now.

The world was fading in and out. Sleep and waking.

"That's right. The blankets are nice and warm, and you should stay under them until you're feeling better." Diane's lips brushed her neck, and something about it felt so familiar, Helena couldn't hold in a moan. Had that kiss been by accident? Had she imagined it? Had it been a dream?

"D-Diane," Helena whimpered.

"Hush. Let me take care of you." Diane's fingers brushed through her hair, her every touch so gentle that Helena felt some part of herself melting away beneath it. "I forgive you."

I forgive you.

Helena felt her mind go limp. She cuddled in closer, clinging to Diane's hand, nuzzling against it. "Diane..."

It might have been a dream by now. She didn't want it to be a dream. She wanted Diane. She wanted Diane more than anything.

And for once, Diane was being so... gentle with her. Lips brushed Helena's forehead, and Helena keened and whimpered, desperate for more affection, more attention, more… touch.

"Are you still awake?" she heard Diane whisper in her ear.

"Nmm," Helena moaned in answer, and kissed Diane's hand.

Everything felt cloudy and soft. Diane's lips, Diane's whispers, Diane's breast as Helena pressed in and latched onto a nipple. So soft. So warm.

"I love you, Helena," Diane moaned in her ear, and Helena moaned, too, as she felt wetness between her legs. “I forgive you, Helena.”

Diane smelled so good, and she was naked, and she was moaning, and so was Helena. Helena was gasping for breath, struggling to breathe in more of Diane, more, more, more. Her lips parted in a cry, forming words she’d so longed to let slip.

“I love you, Dia—!”

“... iane…”

Hearing her voice echo back at her, Helena’s eyes shot open.

She was alone. The bedroom door was closed, but there was light pouring in from the window—the soft, warm light of the dawn.

Groans rumbled from her throat and joints alike as she sat up and pushed the blankets away. She was even more sore now, and it was still cold, but at least it wasn’t freezing.

She looked around. The curtain and pushpins still littered the floor around the window. Embarrassment fluttered inside her as she remembered the events of the last night.

She looked at the entwined-rose wallpaper, then at the old-fashioned wooden dresser. There was a funny little radio atop the dresser. It was eggshell-white with a thick antenna, its color and bulkiness reminding her of vintage computer parts. The radio reminded her of something, but she couldn’t place it.

Helena was jolted out of her reverie by a gentle knock at the door. “Helena? I brought you breakfast. Are you awake?”

Helena’s lips were dry. She felt her heart pounding so hard it hurt. In spite of the chill, her cheeks suddenly felt very hot.

“Helena?” Diane’s voice prompted.

Helena licked her lips.

“Yes, Professor Wood!”