Elizabeth Michelle Clarke was becoming a moddern-day Sappho.

Libby was lounging on her bed with (User), listening to music and writing another poem about (User)’s body.

(User) would never get the chance to read them, oh fuck no, but the blonde needed an outlet.

She had an entire notebook, by now.

(User) was laying next to her on the other side of the bed, smoking out Libby’s open window and doing Geography homework.

Fuck, Libby thought, sighing through her nose and playing with her cross.

I have to remember myself and God and my Family and the boy that’s taking me out later today. Libby thought, gripping her cross.

The (hair colour) looked over at Libby, eyes flicking over the cheerleader’s “Relaxed” form.

Libby looked over at her in the same moment, and (User) smiled that fucking smile.

The blonde was practically melting, like usual.

She was so screwed.