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Nicole hates Jecka. Well, not actually.
This shit right here is the reason she avoids anything more intimate than talking shit and taking Adderall together. Men want her for her body and leave when they find out about the emotional problems, and women try to find the “good person” buried underneath years of repressed emotion and trauma. They’re all more trouble than they’re worth.
The issue is that she happens to be lying next to one of the problems in question on her bed, inhaling enough second-hand smoke to suffocate a guinea pig.
“Next time you want to smoke in my house, you’re doing it in the basement,” Nicole sputters through shallow coughs.
“I thought you liked the smell of cigarettes. Plus, and have your brother ‘accidentally’ walk in on us? No thanks,” Jecka retorts, tapping her cigarette on Nicole’s bed frame.
“Don’t worry. There won’t be a ‘next time’ for this,” Nicole replies, wrinkling her nose in disgust as the ashes fall onto her sheets. “I sleep here, you know.”
“That was a lot more than sleeping,” Jecka quips.
“You’re pushing it.”
“C’mon, Nicole,” Jecka says. She rolls over, holding her head in her hands, and looks up at Nicole through her mascara-crusted eyelashes. ”We need to talk about it sooner or later.”
“I pick later,” Nicole dismissively replies. She pulls up the sleeve of her tank top, as if trying to erase the evidence that anything had happened.
“Whatever,” Jecka huffs, once again rolling over. This time, she’s looking at the ceiling. The shadows of years of cigarettes stare back, staining the off-white walls. She’s almost fucked up enough to start seeing patterns in it.
“Ugh, what did you give me?” she asks, haphazardly slinging her free hand over her eyes.
“Was ‘mystery pill’ not clear enough? I don’t even know what you had, if I’m being honest.”
“Fuck, Nicole,” Jecka groans.
“Jesus, fine—I’m pretty sure it was Vicodin,” she concedes.
“Figures,” Jecka remarks, “it’s like Percocet, except worse in every way.”
“Hey, don’t put that cigarette out on my bed,” Nicole chides. “There’s an ashtray on my dresser.”
“Ugh, do I look like some kind of animal? I was reaching for your bed frame.”
“Whatever you say.”
“You’re the worst.”
And this is why Nicole hates Jecka. If it were anyone else, she’d have a bandolier of sharp-witted quips wrapped around her chest, ready to fire. If it were anyone else, she’d be able to push back. And maybe if Jecka weren’t so insufferably perfect, maybe if her messy blonde hair didn’t fall in a wispy curtain around her soft face, if her eyelashes weren’t so perfect, if her lips weren’t that airbrushed shade of pink, she’d be able to say something.
But, for the first time, Nicole is lost for words. And she kind of realizes that she sounds, like, super gay for that. But she’s not. A girl is allowed to want another girl to put out a cigarette on her neck and lick the burn without it being gay.
Jecka turns on her side to face Nicole. “You’re not ODing, are you? You’ve been, like, staring for a while.”
“You really have a knack for sensitive topics,” Nicole replies drily.
“Fine, whatever,” Jecka retorts, rolling her eyes. “But if we’re going to be sexed-up abusive lesbians, I have to, like, care about you or something.”
“Nobody said anything about lesbians,” Nicole replies defensively. And the blood doesn’t rush to her face. It’s the lighting that makes it look like that.
“You’re bright red.”
“Trick of the lighting.”
“No, like, bright red.”
Nicole curls in on her pillow, looking down to hide her face from Jecka. She’s been ostracized, she’s been beaten, she’s been called every name in the book—but she’s never felt exposed like this. It’s weird how exposed someone can feel in a room with only one other person.
Finally, she starts. “Jecka, I don’t feel anything. I’m not even sure I can love anymore. I left that in California.”
Jecka pauses in the middle of lighting her next cigarette, suspending the wavering flame in front of her thumbnail. Her face carries a warm, delicate glow in the orange light.
“What was that, then?” she asks earnestly. The flame withdraws into the lighter just as fast as it had sparked to life, allowing the shadows to overtake her face. Her facetious smile slowly fades as she looks into Nicole’s shadowed face.
“I don’t know!” Nicole quickly amends. “It’s just—I don’t do relationships. Issues with my dad, or my mom, or someone. If they’re closer than this, they’re just doomed.”
“I get it,” Jecka replies, rolling her eyes, “I’m fucked up, too.”
“No,” Nicole interjects, “I will ruin you.”
“Whatever. Take some SSRIs like the rest of us.”
“God, Jecka, you’re really not getting it.”
“Nicole, we just made out in your bed. Are you seriously telling me that you don’t feel anything?”
“I guess—I think that’s why I can’t. I think you’re cool, and I don’t want to fuck you up like I usually do.”
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“See? This is why it won’t work.”
Nothing happens physically in the room. Nicole’s not even sure that anything happens, but the energy of the room shifts. A small, slight shift. Like tectonic plates or some shit.
“Do you wanna try?”
Jecka looks into Nicole’s eyes, holding her cigarette just outside of her gently parted lips. Her inquisitive stare is an olive branch, and Nicole is torn between lighting it on fire and flying away with it.
“Maybe.”
“Okay,” Jecka sighs. “Here’s what I do with guys: we try it for a week. At the end of that week, we give each other an out if we don’t like it.”
“I didn’t know you dated.”
“Freshman year. It was a rough time for everyone.”
“Figures.”
“Shut up. Are you in, or are you out?”
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Nicole asks sardonically.
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“Fine. One week,” Nicole agrees. “I feel like I should have you sign a waiver.”
“You’re fucked up,” Jecka replies, blowing a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “That’s kinda hot, though. Do your worst.”
“You should wait until at least day three to start telling me about your weird fetishes.”
“‘Fucked up’ isn’t a fetish; it’s more of a sexual preference. Fifty-foot tall women with cat features are a fetish.”
“Ugh, don’t bring Jeffery up. He’s, like, the opposite of a fetish.”
“Right? It’s like I can sense him before I even see him. Just, immediately dry.”
“I think that’s his body odor.”
“Gross, Nicole! Don’t make me think about his body.”
“Bitch, you started it.”
“Ugh, whatever. You still haven’t given me an answer.”
“Sure, fine. We can try the dating thing for a week. If it sucks, we never talk about it again.”
“Deal,” Jecka agrees. “The week starts right now.”
Jecka looks at Nicole expectantly. Nicole returns her expectant stare with a mix of confusion and amusement.
“Are you gonna do something?” Jecka asks exasperatedly. “I’m, like, technically your girlfriend now.”
Nicole’s heart skips a beat at the word ‘girlfriend.’ It’s probably just the Vicodin. Nothing else is causing her heart to beat like that.
“Fuck, I don’t know! I’ve never had a girlfriend,” Nicole snaps, but quickly brings her voice down to a whisper-shout. “What do you want me to do, since you’re clearly the authority on lesbians?”
“Uh, make out with me?” Jecka replies, as if pointing out the most obvious fact in the world. “You did it twenty minutes ago. What’s different now?”
“I dunno. I guess you have expectations. Like, do I have to be a good girlfriend afterward?”
“It’s cute how much you care. Seriously, I don’t give a shit.”
“Don’t call me ‘cute.’ I’ll fucking kill you.”
Jecka giggles, throwing her long-dead cigarette to the side just in time for Nicole’s hands to fasten hers to the bed. In a split second, she’s underneath her temporary girlfriend, whose knee sits between her legs. She gasps lightly, her breath hitched.
Before Jecka can say anything, the snide remark on her lips is stolen by Nicole’s lips pressing against her own. Her lips taste like cigarettes and strawberry ChapStick. Jecka’s hands desperately shuffle through Nicole’s hair, as if attempting to find grounding on an icy mountain. Finally, they decide on a comfortable position entangled in the pin-straight raven peaks. She’s never made out with anyone with long hair.
Just as quickly as it had started, Nicole breaks the kiss. It’s her turn to gloat now.
“Like that?”
“Fuck off. There’s no way you’ve never done that before,” Jecka pants.
“Do I look like a bitch who makes out with girls?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” Jecka asks sympathetically.
“Fuck, no,” Nicole sighs. “Wanna watch Mythbusters?”
“Ew, what the fuck? Way to totally kill the energy.”
“Just thought I’d ask.”