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You and Sevika weren't really close.
You wouldn't call eachother friends.
The label seems too strong to suit people who rarely talk to eachother.
Roommate was something easy, simple.
You two shared an apartment, in all its simplicity.
Sevika has her room, you have yours.
The doors stay shiftly shut, since both of you appreciate the calmness that is privacy.
Sevika is in engineering school, and has a job on the side. Those things sure keep her busy.
She isn't as much of a loser like you — seeing as how she leaves the house more often in a week than you do in a month.
You do part-time shifts, and so only work whenever you need to fill someones place.
No calls have hit you in a while, though.
Seems like a discreet 'hey, we didn't actually like you as an employee of ours and we're firing you.'
Yeah. That's probably it.
You're too proud to ask for any help.
But fortunately for you, Sevika has payed the most recent bills without any questions.
You really owe her.
Another thing efficient to both of you, Sevika likes to shower early in the morning before work, and you late at night before bed.
No fights have ever broken out over whose turn it is.
Sevika spends more time in the kitchen than you do, and sometimes leaves leftovers of her cookings in the fridge for you to feast on later. You always do. Her skill is a complete treasure; every meal mouthwatering.
Summed up: your schedules rarely meet, and so, most of the time — you might not even be home at the same time. And whenever you are, both of you stay in your rooms, busy with your own things.
Sometimes, though, if the night is right, you'll find Sevika splayed on the living room's couch, watching some old western with a beer in hand.
You rummage the kitchen cabinets, calling over your shoulder,
"Those cowboys again?"
A scoff.
"It's a different movie. And a periodic piece," Sevika counters with a chuckle.
"Sure," you scoff back with equal amusement, "A very significant piece."
You pop a popcorn package into the microwave, messing with the settings.
It beeps on, a steady hum in the background, blending with the occasional gunshot and gallop of a horse from Sevika's movie.
If it can even be called that.
You follow it, only half-focused.
It seems so ridicilously cliche that it pains you.
A clueless girl that gets saved by some charismatic bountyhunter with shiny boots and crooked teeth. A gun sits on his waist.
Sevika is so focused, it's almost endearing.
The microwave beeps.
Your thoughts fall; attention snapping back.
"You can't seriously like those things?" you question, voice coming out muffled as you stuff your mouth with the now ready popcorn, and curse at how they burn your mouth.
"You don't appreciate proper cinema."
"My gosh." Another eyeroll from you.
Rounding the couch to slop beside her, she throws a glare at you, but it lacks heat.
"-So, yes, I do like these," she ignores your slander and gulps her liquoir.
Before you can respond with a tally of your own, Sevika's hand is in your popcorn bowl, scooping an arrogantly huge amount into the palm of her hand.
"Hey-!" you gasp, watching her chew the mouthful.
"Needs butter."
A drop of spit lands on her chin.
You watch her wipe it.
"Butter is gross."
You roll your eyes playfully, but decide to move the bowl so it's no longer just on your lap — but inbetween the two of you.
The movie rolls on.
Time glides in a steady flow, and you memorize the pattern of Sevika's breaths.
Despite of your hatred toward the classic film, as Sevika claims, it serves as a surprisingly calming backdrop to your weary mind.
And so you drift off.
Just resting your eyes.
For five minutes max.
Sevika doesn't notice. She's too engrossed in her movie, occasionally scooping a handful of the popcorn and sipping her beer.
That's when her favourite scene comes on.
Guns sling, music plays, horses run — the whole deal.
Eager to mention it, she turns to you.
"Y'know, this actor actually-"
But beside her, you sit half-slumped, and dead asleep.
A popcorn hangs from the corner of your mouth, left half-chewed.
Your eyes flutter in whatever dreams you're seeing; soft breaths puffing out from your nose.
Sevika trails off.
Her hand comes up to pluck the popcorn out of your mouth.
"... well, hose me."
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
Nothing happened after that night.
Or, it's not like much happened at all. The former sentence makes it seem so.
That night wasn't special in any way.
You woke up in the morning, covered with a blanket, the TV playing on low volume.
Sevika never turned it off, had she seemingly noticed how it brought you comfort.
And then days passed.
No talking, no contact between the two of you whatsoever.
Sevika worked, you stayed home waiting for calls so you could do the same.
None came.
You might just be making things up — but it has to be the first time that Sevika has had three late nights in a row.
You haven't passed paths in a long while.
Paranoia or not, you're almost certain that she's avoiding you on some level.
That is, until you hear the front door swing open.
Carefree, slurred laughs drift from the hall.
A voice, too sweet and soft around the edges to be Sevika's pierces your ears.
"You're so- you look... so good right now."
"Mm, yeah?"
You freeze in the kitchen, a cup of tea in hand.
Shit, shit ,shit. She's not alone.
You're a mess, or atleast you look the part — standing there in your pj's, hair unbrushed and completely tangled.
You've napped all day, and it shows.
You hadn't seen Sevika for several days; you weren't expecting her now.
On a thursday night 11PM, coming home with some... bimbo.
Shoes get left behind, and neither of the women notice you in the kitchen — too busy making out on their way to Sevika's bedroom.
Your eyes follow as they stumble past.
Something twists in your chest.
Not exactly hurt, nor jealousy, but some small part in you that you've allowed to grow too hopeful.
Her door slams shut, and very soon the bed is creaking.
You cringe internally, stirring your tea at a more rushed pace.
Quickly, too quickly, moans drift through the thick wood of her door.
"Take it, c'mon... jus' like that-"
"Ohmy god-"
"'You're so good 'f'me."
Your gut twists again, but this time it's less of the earlier sorrow, and more of an unspoken arousal. It sparks low in your stomach, tingling to all your limbs.
"Fuck."
Your head feels light.
Sorrow and arousal.
The two mix into a conflicting cocktail of your own fault. What right do you have, feeling any sort of way about this?
None.
The moans get more frequent, bedframe banging against the wall. Skin slaps again skin.
Sevika must think you're not home, or she's the an arrogant piece of shit, rubbing this in your face.
Why would she do that?
You don't know.
Maybe she doesn't give nearly as much fucks as much as you give her credit for.
"Oh, Sevika..." the woman's voice rings in the air again, so breathy, so dreamy.
It kills you.
You'd kill to be her, a thought you don't fully let yourself form.
It's not like this is the first time she's bought a friend over. Not even close.
But somehow, for some godforsaken reason, you just never cared as much as you do now.
When their pleasure become an endless string of vile noises, you abandon your tea to the sink and make a beeline past Sevika's room and the sounds emerging from inside it — grabbing your jacket from its hanger, patting the pockets to make sure you've got your cigatettes and a lighter.
And then you're gone.
Out of the door, not bothering to soften the slam of it. Yet, you flinch when the loud sound bounces off the stairway's walls.
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
The cold of the outside is welcoming when it seeps through your clothes and carves itself into your bones.
Your breaths puff into clouds before you even lit up a cigarette, chest burning with frustration.
An emotion you have no one but yourself to blame for.
Snow falls: a light layer of snow covers the ground below your feet.
A cigarette dangles from your lips when you fumble with your lighter; hands too cold to roll it right.
And then it ignites. The tip glows red.
You take a long, looooong drag.
Then cough a little.
It'd actually been weeks since you last had a smoke. Since work hasn't been calling you in, you haven't been as stressed.
Seems that working isn't the only thing that grinds your gears.
Sevika goddamn Neale.
The woman who was just your roommate for years, and will now likely be the reason to your next wet dream. A change that has happened in the span of... months.
Too quickly. Way too quickly.
What the fuck, seriously.
When the hell did your brain get all fucked up, floating in these fantasies?
You sit there on the cold concrete stairs for some amount of time, chainsmoking one cigarette after another — until your pack starts to go empty.
Ten, fifteen minutes, it must've been, when the door behind you eases open.
Expecting another late-night smoker pal from the same building, you pay no mind.
Then the person speaks.
"What was that?" Sevika's voice, buzzed with alcohol but undeniably steady.
She brought the smell of sex all the way down with her.
You shake your head, denying, brushing it all aside before she can even begin.
"Shouldn't you go back inside? Your girl's waiting." You try not to let bitterness seep into your tone. It leaks in anyways.
"She's asleep," Sevika answers curtly, inching closer to the steps you're perched on.
"Seriously. Jus' answer-"
"Sorry I slammed the fucking door and ruined your guys' mood, okay? I've been... stressed," you snap, putting out your last cigarette.
The pack, half-empty earlier, is now achingly empty. So is your mind.
"Right."
You can tell that Sevika doesn't believe you one bit, but frankly, you don't care.
"Just... stressed," she echoes.
"Exactly."
"Right," she repeats.
You swallow the sudden tightness in your throat. Not tears, but the unspoken feelings that threaten to pull you under.
When, where and why did they form? — are all questions that are swirling in your head.
Sevika lingers close to you for a while.
She can't see your face, can't really stand straight, and can't figure out what has gotten into you, either.
"Y' should come back in... 's cold."
"Mind your business," you answer dryly. Your voice isn't exactly rude, just... numb and monotone.
What a combo.
It's silent for a while, save for the sound of both your breathing.
Yours hitches. Her stays somewhat steady.
Then,
"Goodnight."
And the door clicks back shut.
Silence settles down on you again.
It's weight feels heavy.
You wipe at your cheek.
"Yeah. Goodnight."
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
A month has passed.
Thirty days, twenty minutes and sixteen seconds, have passed.
You tried to dim down whatever it is that you feel. It didn't work on its own, so you started smoking more again.
Didn't work.
Alcohol? Heightens the horniness.
You had to get off with a pillow.
Never again.
Wasn't even that good.
So now, running out of options on how to drown out your stupid crush, you find yourself swaying in the living room, a record spinning in its player; a jazzy, freeing backdrop to the high you're currently in.
Yeah.
Your last resort was weed.
And so far? Seems to be working very fucking well.
You can't recall why you ever felt anything conflicting in the first place.
Your body and mind are no longer one — as one moves against your will, and as one drifts off of its rails.
You hum under your breath, nursing a glass of red wine.
Perhaps you shouldn't mix alcohol with drugs, but for your first time, it has been going surprisingly well.
Besides, you're pretty sure even the dealer had no idea what he was selling you.
It's not like you would've gotten good advice-
"Is that a blunt?"
You spin around, nearly tripping over your own feet. Sevika stands in the doorway.
You giggle, nodding mindlessly.
"Uh-uh."
Sevika's gaze sweeps over you once, from head to toe. Eyes nearly bloodshot, limbs relaxed, voice slower than usual.
"You're high as a fucking kite, aren't you?"
Another laugh bubbles from your chest, feet bringing you to Sevika without their own accord.
You haven't been this close to her... well, ever. If you weren't so out of your senses, you could smell the musk off of her skin.
"Yupppp!" you sing-song, trailing your fingers up the side of her arm.
It's freeing, how you don't get goosebumps at the act.
Sober you would've been a goner.
Sevika's eyebrows draw together.
You, high?
It was a possibility she never thought was possible but is staring her dead in the eye.
She then makes the mistake of trying to communicate with you in this state.
"Listen... we should-"
"I rented cheap porn," you grin, all smug and high.
Jesus, you look stupid.
Sevika's eyebrows shoot up; both with amusement and a slight bit of concern.
"Oh? So I'm ruining your night," she banters despite the uncertainty that claws at her chest.
The last time she spoke to you, you were snapping at her and chainsmoking.
Now you're... well, chainsmoking weed, but all smiles and happy hums.
Where is the anger and the annoyance?
It's conflicting to see it dissapear, to say the least.
The least.
"Ehhh... 's okay. I can't have you watchin' me get off though, 'kayyy?" you push her to the chest, sending her two steps back.
She lets you push her, giving you the glory; the false image of strength.
Another wave of unease goes through her, despite her trying to play all calm to match your mood.
What is the cause of all this?
Are you okay?
Before she can think of something sensible to say, you're already climbing onto the couch, inaudiably singing along the song that fills the air.
The record skips once.
"Hey-" She shoots across the room and grabs your arm mid dance move, pulling you down from the couch.
You sway like a newborn deer, flopping back down. Then standing back up.
"How many have you smoked?"
She gestures to the mess on the coffee table.
Blunts abandoned mid-roll.
You almost sober up at the sight.
Look down before your conscience carrying shame wins.
"Does it matter?"
Sevika hates how detatched you sound.
"Yes, because it could be dangerous, damnit."
Somewhere under the layers of subtances, the feelings you so badly tried to suppress start to float to the surface.
"You worryin' about me?"
Your effort to make the question sound nonchalant is half-assed at best.
Her answer comes fast.
"Yes, I am!"
She holds you still at the shoulders, eyes screwed shut.
"I care. I worry. Alright?" she pauses. "I don't want you to get sick. Or worse, die."
You stand there, baffled for a good few minutes.
Silence engulfs the space around you two when the record skips off.
"Don't lie..." you mutter, pulling away from her grasp. "'m not gonna die. 'S... s'not that many I've smoked."
Sevika watches you stumble to the coffee table, picking up your glass of wine, downing the rest of it at an almost admirable pace.
'I'm not lying,' Sevika wants to insist, but finds herself growing quiet, wanting to hear what'll slip from your loose mouth.
"Don't start... the- stop lying. You dun' care. You... jus' fuckin' other girls. 'R better than me. Soooooo much better."
Thanks to the great gift of marihuana making you all long-tongued, it all starts to make sense — though your words really don't.
Sevika's face drops.
Pieces begin to click together in her mind.
The girl she had over some time ago. That same night when you stormed outside. How you would only answer her in short, simple words.
"Are you jealous?"
Sevika quirks an eyebrow, unsure if she should be amused or confused.
"M-m."
You shake your head no despite meaning yes, slumping onto the couch into a pathetic heap.
You let the empty wineglass fall to the floor.
"Want... Wan'you to love me. Just me."
Time goes still.
Sevika freezes, standing dumbfounded with her eyes wide; shoulders tensing.
"What did you just-" she swallows thickly, throat bobbing.
"What?"
"Love you, Sevi. 'S so stupid," you sigh, melting into the plush pillows behind of the sofa. "Don't even know you, much..." you mumble quietly, not daring to look up even in your current state.
You couldn't bear to see her reaction.
The invatiable rejection.
"Fucking idiot," Sevika breathes: the words not aimed at you, but at herself.
"You weren't jealous. You were hurt."
You serve her no answer.
Neither agreement or disagreement.
You just sit there, and then grab the porntape from the coffee table. Your rented entertainment for tonight.
"I can jus' watch this, y'know? It's allll fine."
Sevika croutches beside you, grabbing the tape from you and setting it out of your reach.
"Forget about the fucking tape. Look at me." She coaxes your face up with her fingers on your chin.
Your eyes shine when they meet hers, likely a very healthy mix of both raw emotions and substances.
"You... eh, you love me?"
The words take effort to get out.
"Yeah."
You stare at her from under your lashes.
She looks devourable.
"Christ on a christmas cake..."
That sentence alone almost sobers you up for a handful of seconds.
You giggle.
"The what on what?"
Sevika ignores you.
"For how long??" she demands, endearingly panicked.
"I, uh... I dunno..."
"You don't know?"
"I- I... five months?" you squek, still grinning like a fool.
God, Sevika is double the beautiful she usually is with weed in your system.
Shock paints Sevika's face.
"Five-" she cuts herself off, sounding out of breath.
She stands up. Stars pacing. Then stops.
"Five months. Oh fuck- God."
"'M sorry... didn't know whatto... I'm sorry."
You glance down, shame overcoming you.
A few stray tears escape your eyes, which you don't notice until Sevika is wiping at your cheeks.
"Jesus christ, don't apologize. I'm sorry."
She fusses over you, stressing like crazy.
A heart aneurysm isn't far off fron her field of vision.
"I should've- fuck."
"You wanna fuck?" you slur, still staring at her like a fool.
The tears dry, but you hiccup intermittently.
"That's not what I-" she shakes her head with a heavy sigh.
A smile tugs at her lips.
You persist, too out of it.
"So I can return the tape? We can have sex?"
A tired sigh.
"Yeah, sure," she laughs, completely giving in. "We can make a tape of our own."
She quirks an eyebrow.
What was supposed to be a bad joke flies right over your weed-filled head.
Great, Sevika.
"Really?!" you grin eagerly, all pearly whites and blurry eyes.
Sevika chews her cheek to contain an outrageous laugh.
Then,
"Really. Just- not now. God. We need to-"
"When? Now, c'mon, please-" you climb onto her lap, shamelessly all over her.
"I like you, Vika. A lot. -been wanting this so long..." you whine, pleading like there's no tomorrow.
As tempting and romantic as it would be to have you right after you've just confessed, Sevika pushes you off, gently manouvering you onto the couch cushions.
"No. Once you're sober. 'Kay?"
You sway when you sit up, leaning so close that your mouths brush and your breaths mingle.
You chew on your bottom lip a little.
"Mmmkay..." you then grin against her lips, just close enough to grace, not enough to kiss.
"I like you a lot, Sevi."
Your whisper, so sweet, has Sevika panting.
She swallows harshly.
Your hand, earlier on her arm, sneaks up to thread the hairs at the back of her head.
You're so blatant when you're high; something she would've never expected of you.
Her eyes jump between yours, unsure if she's dreaming — or if she's really here, being confessed to by the roommate she has fancied for years and thought hated her and her stupid taste in movies.
"Are we together now?" you whisper, adorably out of it.
You couldn't tell the difference between sugar and salt if they were poured down your throat.
No doubt you'll forget about this the next day.
Sevika swallows, her eyes lid.
"We can- we can be whatever you want us to be," she breathes against your cheek. You shiver, a smile still plastered on your face.
"Girlfrien- hic- wan'you to be m' girlfriend."
Sevika's grin matches yours, face hidden face by your neck.
"Girlfriend it is."
⚬──────────✧──────────⚬
"Can I pay back the last few bills?"
You mutter one morning, sleepy in the crook of Sevika's arm.
"I feel bad... y've paid it all."
A gruff, yet soft laugh rumbles in Sevika's chest.
"Last few? Baby, I covered the bills for two years."
"What?!"
You spring up, hair toussled and expression endearingly shocked.
"Yeah. How'd you think the water was still runnin'?"
"I- I dunno! I thought-"
Sevika chuckles again.
"Cute."
"What, me freaking out?"
Sevika rolls her eyes.
"Relax..."
She pulls you against her chest, warm arms wrapped around your middle.
"Ya' think I would've paid the bills if I didn't have a thing for you?"
"Then why didn't you say anything?"
You grumble, sleepy and pissy.
"Thought you were straight."
A gasp from you.
"Okay, seriously, ouch."
You throw her a feign wounded look, clutching at your chest melodramatically, eyes still bleary.
"Should've known, though," she snickers.
"There was nothin' straight about the way you stared at my sweaty-ass last summer when the AC broke."
"I- I was concerned. Heat stoke is serious."
Sevika titters. "Does it only attack the backside of ones body?"
You shove her off, rolling onto your side with your back to her.
"That's not what I-"
Quick to scuffle you onto your stomach, Sevika guides you into an arch and cuts you off.
She hums at the sight.
"I see the appeal. Asses are great."
You whine softly when her hands massage the supple skin of your rear.
Pouting, you galnce over your shoulder and bat your lashes back at her.
"Vika..."
Sevika's grin is wolfish. "Oh, baby, pleading already? S'so early in the mornin', too."
You whine again. Press your ass against her just to hear another praise from behind.
"That's my sweet girl."
My sweet girl.
It's a good thing you got high and confessed with an eighties cover playing in the back.
Even if only throughout the first half of it.
Stupid record breaking too soon.
Otherwise that label still wouldn't be yours.
My sweet girl.
Now it is.