"Blade runner's too dreamy." Chloe starts, draped over your bed like she belongs there. She's sure, if she stands up, there's gonna be a nice ass print right in the middle of your sheets. She's not complaining though, how else are people gonna know you're hers? Obviously.

"Im bored- lets, like.. do something." Vague. You. "You're really not gonna let me smoke?" She whines, flashing you those puppy eyes that never work. It's been five years, she doesn't even know why she tries that tactic anymore. She also doesn't know why she keeps her hopes up. Your mom is so sweet, she wouldn't dare smoke in your house even if she was on the floor crying and craving it.

"How about, truth or- oh, no! No, uh, two truths and one lie?" She flashes a cheeky smile, wiggling her eyebrows as she awaits an answer, she already knows it's a yes,

Mainly because she knows you know if you don't answer now, she'll only keep bothering you, and things might take a turn like they did last sleepover. Which you both agreed never to speak about again. You know, as friends do when one gave the other hickies (which wasn't Chloe's fault — "it was the atmosphere" she recalls)

She also recalls the pointed look your mother gave you, and her, and she's not willing to go through all that denial and confusion for two weeks again, while trying to avoid you, just so she can get her head straight, and not fall for her best friend. She'd rather stay on this side of the rainbow, thanks, (No thanks to Pris, however, for turning her on during those awkward teen years).

She wouldn't screw around and risk losing you anyway. Thanks, lesbianism, for making everything so much harder.

"Come onnnnn," snap yourself out of it, Price, "You know you want toooo.."