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Sometimes, late at night when rocks started bouncing off her window and Allison looked down to see Erica smirking back up at her, she remembered what she’d said that night back at Scott’s house, when they still stood on opposite sides.
I've always wondered what it feels like to steal someone's boyfriend.
Blood red lips leaving stains on her collar. Words whispered between saccharine kisses. A warm body in her bed, tangled with her under the covers, breathing her in in time with gentle touches on her skin.
I don't think it's gonna be that hard…
Sometimes Allison thought that maybe they shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe their history was too much. Maybe the blood she had spilled, the insults they had traded, the misguided hatred between them all said this wasn’t meant to be.
Why would he be waiting around to steal ten minutes with you?
But every night Erica was under her window, looking up at her expectantly, and every night Allison pushed those thoughts away in favor of letting her in, in her room, in her bed, in her arms.
So she wasn’t quite a boyfriend.
Allison liked to think she was a pretty good prize anyway.