"Were you in love with him?"
You turn, surprised by the sudden question. Pash is staring at you with an emotion you can't read - a cross between concern and sadness and maybe a hint of anger. You push off the counter and turn to face her on the other side. Her brown eyes dart between yours, eyebrows raised at the silence.
"Did you acquire spontaneous deafness? I asked you a question."
"Er-" You pause again, shaking your head and frowning at her. It had been months since they had brought him up. "Oliver?"
"No, Barack Obama. Yes, Oliver, you dunce." She shifts forward and cradles her chin on the counter, eyes still scanning you as if the answer lie somewhere in your skin. You absently cover one cheek with your hand while the other holds your elbow. "I've never asked. I'm curious."
You turn and glance out the window before heaving a sigh that vibrates your lips, your shoulders falling. Oliver. At least you could say his name without feeling like punching a small child. You still remember walking away from him and how much it hurt and how you knew you had to do it or you'd hate yourself. And you're glad you broke it off, really, but it was probably the most difficult decision of your life.
"I don't know. I think so." You turn back to her, furrowing your brow. "Why?"
She shrugs. Pash is one of those people who aren't afraid of eye contact, and she simply sits there and holds your eyes a lot longer than a normal person would have. You're used to this, but it's still kind of freaky. You stare right back at her if only to prove you're not intimidated by her gaze. "I was just wondering what it's like," she mumbles before biting her lip.
You blink. What was it like? Oliver blips in front of your eyes and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to make him go away. You can't help but feel bitter when you think of Oliver; cheeky bastard. It's hard remembering beyond the night you found out about the 'other' girl, it's hard recalling all of the good times you did have with him. You take a deep breath and open your eyes again, and now Pash's face really is concerned.
"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"
"No, it's okay." You roll your eyes to the ceiling in thought and purse your lips, nails rolling on the counter. "I guess it's like ... it's awesome. I mean, it feels like going on a roller coaster every day. You're excited, but you kind of feel like you're about to throw up." You duck your head and stare at the floor instead, frowning. You have to keep yourself from saying It hurts because it didn't hurt in the beginning. It was amazing. "It makes you understand why there are so many shitty love songs on the radio. Because they're all true."
You raise your eyes again and meet Pash's impossibly strong eyes. "Do you miss him?"
"Yes." You offer a weak smile and glance out the window again. It's like watching an old movie, and you can see yourself strolling across the parking lot of the Oink Joint and there's Oliver, telling you that he's stalking you with a lazy, sexy grin. "Every day."
"I thought you gave up drinking," you say from Pash's bed, smirking at her as she twirls into her bedroom with a bottle of cheap wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. She grins and flops on the mattress, passing you one glass as she works on popping the cork on the bottle.
"Yeah, well, I gave up on giving up drinking." She bites the cork between her teeth and yanks it off with a squeak, hastily pouring the dark red liquid almost to the brim of her glass.
"Are you that eager to get smashed?" You laugh again and hold your glass out, letting her fill it to the top as well - ever since earlier that afternoon when Pash had brought up Oliver, you had been feeling more down than usual. You deserved a good drink. Or two.
It only takes a half of your glass and you're already feeling kind of buzzy. You're just like your mom - a friggin' lightweight. Good thing Pash's parents are off on some second honeymoon or some shit, you can't even remember, because you're both talking a lot louder than is necessary. Her CD player is playing a lovely mix of The Stooges and Celine Dion and The White Stripes and it's all good, all of this.
Pash has been your best friend since you could walk. You went to the same day care and had every class together and you both like the same things because the other introduced it. You remember when you were about six or seven and you became 'blood sisters' by slicing your fingers with sewing needles and pressing them together and thinking that was the closest you could ever get to a person. You actually bring up that story as you drink and roll on the bed and you both laugh about it and press your fingers together.
"Whatever happened to you and Birdman?" You say eventually because you've always wondered. They had a thing for a while and just as quickly as it surfaced, it died away.
Pash pauses, holding her third glass of wine. Her brown eyes are glazed over and wandering and you wonder for a second if she even heard you at all. You set your empty glass on the nearby bedside table and try and keep yourself coherent. Your stomach feels warm and you glance at the wine bottle and have to use all of your self restraint not to grab another glass. You are such a terrible drinker.
"I dunno," she finally slurs out, raising her eyes to meet yours. Even drunk, there is still an impossible intensity to them. Drunk intensity, but intensity you could never hold. "I guess he was just upset about me liking you so much."
You laugh but she doesn't, and you stare at her for a moment in confusion. You point to the wine. "I think you drank too much."
"No." She shakes her head more times than necessary and takes another long drink of the wine. "No, I'm serious. I told him that I couldn't -" She hiccuped, covering her mouth with one hand and closing her eyes, her head still shaking. "That I couldn't kiss him when I was - when I was -" She laughed then, wine sloshing over the brim of the glass and soaking into her navy blue comforter. "When I was thinking about kissing Bliss!" She snorted, covering her nose with the back of her hands and she kept laughing and snorting and hiccuped and you just kind of stared at her.
"You're drunk," you say out loud because it's true, it's very true that Pash is drunk right now. "You don't know what you're saying."
"I do too!" She looks back up at you, downing her glass before letting it roll on the covers of her bed. "I know exactly what I'm saying." She rolls forward, on her hands and knees as she crawls across the bed towards you and lands in your lap. You stare at her, mouth open, eyes wide, and your stomach is twisting and your heart is picking up a pace you didn't know it was capable of. Pash smells like wine, and her breath is in your mouth it's that close yours and maybe it's the alcohol talking but, man.
You really want to kiss her all of the sudden.
"Why do you think I've never really had a boyfriend?" Her words are running together but you can make out every single syllable and it's like the suddenness of her approach has made you sober because you feel strangely alert. You've never noticed Pash's lips before, but they suddenly look really good, all plump and pink and such. "Because I don't think about them -" She hiccuped again, shifting forward and for Christ's sake her hands are trying to find your hips but they're fumbling awkwardly around your thighs instead. "Because I don't think about them when I'm laying here by myself. I'm thinking about Bliss."
She leans forward and you have just enough time to close your mouth and turn away when her lips meet your cheeks sloppily and then you're pushing her to the side and rolling over. "Go to bed, Pash."
"Go to bed."
She's silent for a while and nothing is moving and you've lost that comforting buzz that you had earlier, as if what Pash had said shocked the alcohol right out of your system.
She finally fumbles with her lamp and the room goes dark. You both lay there, not moving, hardly breathing. The room smells like wine.
The Stooges play you to a restless, confused sleep.
"Bliss, will you talk to me for just a second?"
You walk around her and all but stomp toward the kitchen. You can't even look her in the face without feeling like your heart is going to bust right out of your chest. Where did all of this even come from? She's your best friend and the sound of her voice makes you want to run away.
And not because it disgusts you. You think it would be normal for a person to be a little freaked out when they're best friend - of the same gender, mind you - tells you in a drunken stupor that they want to kiss you. You've tried blaming it on the alcohol, because Pash was incredibly drunk and so were you, but it doesn't feel like something Pash would say under the influence. And the way her eyes held yours and the way she moved toward you made it seem like the alcohol was only giving her the courage to act, not the initial thought. No, it doesn't disgust you. You're actually ... very intrigued.
You take a tray from the kitchen counter and turn back around, your head ducked as you circle around Pash without even glancing at her pink, pig apron. "Bliss, you are going to have to talk to me at some point, okay? I'm your best friend, you can't ignore me until you die."
You don't say anything, just continue walking toward the customers' table and setting down their plates of disgusting food without a smile. They don't even seem to notice and you walk away and pass Pash again, who turns and watches you with her arms crossed.
"Bliss, seriously. This is so elementary school. At least look at me."
You set the empty tray on the counter and turn, very slowly, to meet her gaze. She looks just as tired as you feel, with heavy purple bags under her eyes. Her skin is pale; even her freckles seem paled out. She frowns at you and cocks her weight upon one hip. "Are you ready to talk now?"
You glance away from her. The Oink Joint is empty but the one family you just served. Birdman is off to your right, polishing glassware.
You nod carefully, because a part of you wants to talk to her and the other wants to run crying into a corner while sucking your thumb. You've never been so confused in your life. Pash stomps towards you, grabs your elbow, and all but drags you into the kitchen and further into the employee storage closet, where they keep ten-year-old mops and an old sink that never works.
"Look, about the other night." She doesn't seem afraid. Or embarrassed. Not like you, hanging your head and staring at your feet like you did something wrong and she caught you. "I was drunk. We were both drunk. Can we get over it, please?"
You lean back against the sink and shuffle your feet back and forth. "Was it true?"
She doesn't say anything for a minute and she doesn't have to. Her silence confirms your suspicions. It's not like Pash is going to lie to you. She never has before.
Pash likes you, the way Oliver liked you in the beginning, the way all the boys you have dated have liked you. It feels weird, knowing a girl likes you like that. You glance up at her and she's gnawing on her lip and her eyes look mad as they stare hard at the ceiling above the two of you.
"I didn't know you liked girls," you say, because it's all you can think of to say. You would have never guessed.
"I don't," she says, returning her gaze back to you. You can't hold it. You look away. "Only you."
"What about ... boys? You've made out with tons of boys."
"Sometimes. Mostly just distractions."
You shift again. To think, all this time, Pash was thinking about you romantically. Sexually. You shiver and you're not sure if it's because you like it or you don't. You're torn between the two.
Pash shrugs. "I guess you were going to find out some time. I didn't want to tell you because I knew you would act like this. All ... weirded out. But hey, I'm not asking anything from you, okay?" She ducks down to meet your eyes because you're staring at the ground again. "And if you don't want to be friends anymore -"
"Hey." You shake your head as you cut her off and lift your eyes, swallowing hard. "Of course I still want to be friends. Best friends. Always."
"Regardless of what you know now?" She raises an eyebrow, obviously not believing you.
"Yeah. Yeah, regardless." You wave your hand dismissively as if her feelings for you don't mean anything. You wish you didn't know. You don't want to know. You really don't.
She studies you but nods and opens her arms. "Can I hug you? Platonic, I swear."
You hesitate and you know it hurts her. She thinks you think that she's disgusting. She isn't. She's still your best friend, the most beautiful girl you know. But she's different, now. She changed something and you don't know if you like it.
But you move forward and you wrap your arms around her and just breathe in Pash - that strange mixture of cinnamon and licorice. You try to ignore the fact that you really like that smell, and you really like the way her hands puddle in your lower back.
"Teach me to roller blade."
You lower your book and glance over the patio at Pash, sprawled in a lawn chair. Her arms are dangling off the sides and she's slumped dramatically. Her yellow, star-shaped sunglasses stare blankly at you.
"Pash, you'll kill yourself."
She grins and sits up, leaning on her knees. "Come on. I haven't roller blade ... ed..." She frowns. "I haven't gone roller blading - there we go - since I was a kid and I fell on my ass at the roller rink. Everyone laughed at me."
"I would laugh at you."
"You did laugh at me. Don't you remember that?" Her eyebrows lift over her childish sunglasses. "It scarred me. For life."
You dog-ear your page and set the book to the side. "You really want to?"
"Yeah. You're a Hurl Scout, who better to learn from?"
"I only have my old Barbie pair of skates."
You jump inside, passing your mom as she hovers over some concoction she's making on the stove. Pash is right behind you, always a careful distance away. She says it's so you know she's not trying to check you out. You know she's doing it anyway. It's been a few weeks since the news came out, and you're just now starting to notice the way she's always watching you, moving to touch you. It seemed natural before, but now there's a hidden meaning. She's trying really hard to keep herself from doing it.
You kind of miss it.
Okay, you really miss it.
The Barbie skates are found, scuffed and torn, at the back of your closet. You watch Pash as she tugs them on, trying hard not to let your thoughts show on your face. It's still so weird to think that she's been thinking of you like that for so long. You can hardly sleep because it's all you think about. Pash; her feelings for you. Oliver; your feelings for him. Pash; your feelings for her.
Are they more than you let on?
The skates barely fit Pash, but she insists they're fine and you both stomp down the stairs. Pash nearly falls and mumbles about how she should have put them on outside and you laugh but it's dry. You roll through the living room as Pash struggles to keep up, arms straight to her sides.
"Bliss!" Your mom calls from the living room as you open the door for Pash, who carefully steps out, squeaking. "What did I tell you about skating in the house?"
You shut the door and hop off the cement, pushing yourself forward with calves of steel. Pash watches you carefully before staring at her feet as if willing them to move. "Maybe this was a bad idea."
"Too bad, you're out here. Come on. You can do it. At least get to the cul-de-sac."
She whines, taking a very slow stride forward. Her arms swing at her sides like wings.
She snorts and takes another stride forward, screaming profanities as your twirl on the sidewalk in front of her.
"Bliss, come help me!"
"Nope. I'll help you when you get to the cul-de-sac." You cross to the street and watch with a a bright grin as she struggles over to you, flapping her arms like a drunk bird. Finally, she's at the curb, thrusting a hand out at you.
"Help me or I swear to God I will kick you in the vagina."
"Fiesty." You take her hand with one of yours and her elbow with the other. It's the most direct contact you've had since that night in the storage closet and it feels nice to have her skin touching yours again and maybe you hold her hand a little longer than necessary when she finally steps into the cul-de-sac. She glances at you, an eyebrow quirked, and you quickly let go and skate a few feet away, turning so you're facing her, skating backwards.
"Come towards me," you say, opening your arms. "Let your feet stride. Like this." You turn and demonstrate, skating a few feet forward before spinning again. "Try."
Pash takes a deep breath and goes forward, squealing at the movement.
"Bend your knees. Bend your arms. Hunch over." You mimic your own instructions and fly forward again, toward Pash. She moves a little to the side, mirroring you, before pushing forward with another squeal of fear.
She's going to fall. You can see it. You should have forced her to wear a helmet or elbow pads or something but you didn't even think about it. You rarely fall down if you're not in practice or in a game. You know how much it hurts. She's tilting to far forward and her arms are waving uselessly at her sides. You reach out, screaming, "Pash!"
Your hands find her waist, gripping it and holding her up as you turn around. Your feet are angled to keep the both of you up and you're holding her tightly because you don't want her to fall - yep, that's it, you don't want her to fall, it's not also because you kind of like holding her.
Her hands grip your shoulders, nails digging past the fabric of your t-shirt and carving deep into your skin. You don't really notice though because Pash's strong, dark eyes are wide and staring at you, panting.
You both stand there as if you had just nearly gotten hit by a car or something. Really, Pash would have been fine if she fell but you don't want her to get scared away from skating - or you - if she hurt herself. That's how Pash is. If one thing goes wrong, then she never does it again. Like partying. And boys.
It's a wonder she hasn't given up on you yet.
"That was scary as fuck," Pash finally says, releasing the death-grip she had on your shoulders but not putting anymore distance between you. You're still holding her waist, afraid to let her go. Seeing her about to hurt herself made everything that much more fragile.
"Yeah." You swallow and slowly move your hands from her waist but don't move back. You don't want to. "Let's, uh, let's try that again."
You and Pash spend the entirety of the afternoon in the cul-de-sac, and you don't leave her side once. Actually, you're going out of your way to touch her in every fashion you can; holding her waist, guiding her by he hands, tucking her hair behind her ears so she can see - and Pash seems to be enjoying it just as much as you. The blush never leaves her face and her freckles stand bold atop the pink flesh like little sprinkles of joy. You're laughing, squealing, spinning out of the way of cars and the neighbor kids come out and watch as you show off, jumping over a discarded skateboard with no wheels and skating backwards around the cul-de-sac.
Pash doesn't fall. Not once.
It's hours later and you're laying in your bed. Pash is moaning about her sore legs and you laugh at her and throw your window up, letting the late evening breeze fill your room. It's summer-warm, and you smile as it plays with your hair.
"Oliver's an idiot, you know." Pash says at your side, shifting herself so her head lands in your lap. Almost instantly a blush is tingling at your cheeks and your thighs are on fire. You reach down and touch her hair, still looking out the window.
"I know." He was an idiot. Is an idiot. You were more than good enough for him and he threw it all away. You tell yourself it's his loss, but you lost something, too. Even if it wasn't what you needed or wanted, loss hurts, regardless.
"You're perfect," Pash whispers and when you look down her eyes are closed.
"I'm not perfect."
"Close enough. Closest he'll ever get."
"You're saying that because you're my best friend."
"And because I love you." Her eyes open, strong and hard as you've always known them. And you know she means so much more than she's actually saying, that there a thousand words hiding behind those three.
"I love you, too." You've said it a hundred times before.
But now it means something else.
Pash rolls to her feet. "I'm putting my pajamas on," she announces and, without a word, starts tugging her shirt off.
You've seen Pash like this before. You've seen her butt naked. You took baths with each other as kids and constantly try each others' clothes on while in the same room. You didn't look twice at her. But you glance up like your eyes and her skin are magnets and there's Pash's back, different than you have ever seen it. The curves are in perfect symmetry of that of an hourglass, and her skin is dark and smooth and you want to reach out and touch it and you have to shove your hands between your knees to keep them from doing so.
You close your eyes. God damnit.
You're fighting off your skates and Maggie, widely known as 'Maggie Mayhem', is changing into her sweatpants. "Yeah?" She doesn't look at you, swinging open her locker as she works on wiping sweaty eyeliner from her eyes and cheeks.
You bite your lip because you don't really know how to put this, so you try to say it really casually, like you couldn't care either way. "What would you do if your best friend said they digged you?"
Maggie frowned in contemplation, throwing her hair up into a ponytail. You couldn't imagine talking to anyone else about this, God forbid your mother. She would have flipped a friggin' tit by now.
"I guess it depends," she continues, fluffing fingers through her bangs. "Do you -" She makes quotations in the air, "- 'dig' them back?"
"No. Yes. Maybe."
Maggie turns, raising her eyebrows at you. "Well? Which is it?"
You huff and play with the ends of your hair. "I don't know."
"You have to figure that part out first before you take any more steps forward." She plops on the bench beside you. The rest of the locker room is empty and quiet and it's here where you can really find help. Maggie, other than Pash, has always been your outlet for advice. "If you don't, you have to let him know. Just tell him that it isn't going to work out, that best friends are just that - best friends. Nothing more." She rolls her eyes to the ceiling and purses her lips in thought. "But if you do, then you have to decide if it's worth the risk of losing your friendship. Some people would argue it's just a tragedy waiting to happen - but, I don't now, maybe sometimes best friends can be lovers too."
She twists her wrist and glances at her watch before hiking herself to a stand. "I gotta go, Babe. My little man's waiting for me with a box of fruit gushers and the new Princess and the Frog movie on DVD."
"Your son is strange, Mag."
"I know. Good luck, though." She smiles at me and grabs her duffel bag, swinging it on her shoulder before pausing at the door. "Who is it, anyway? The best friend?"
You blush madly and look away, hastily tucking your hair behind your ears. "Er - Pash."
Maggie blinks in surprise, her mouth opening with no sound coming out and then shutting again.
"I know. It's ..." You sigh. "It's complicated."
You're starting to avoid Pash now and it's not because you don't want to be around her - it's because you do. It's because you want to do nothing but be at her side all the time. When you're skating, you'd rather be with Pash. When you're trying to read a book or watch a movie there's Pash, right at the front of your mind. And everything feels empty without her there and you never noticed how addicted you were to her before you thought about losing her in some way.
Either way, there's that risk; the risk that maybe you're just confused and you're going to end up hurting her and if you don't even try you'll hurt her too and maybe you'll discover you want her and she'll be long gone.
What if Pash gave up on you?
How could you have not known all this time? It just seems like something most people tune into. But maybe you did know and you were too afraid to acknowledge it, or you were too dense and surrounded by Oliver that you didn't notice. You're always just pacing your room every day, staring in the mirror, staring at pictures, punching pillows - why did Oliver have to break you like this? You felt so strong before, you felt like you were doing really well considering the circumstances.
And then Pash had to go and make you confront feelings you didn't know you had and it's all so confusing and tearing you to pieces. It wasn't like this with Oliver in the beginning. He's a boy and you're a girl and it felt natural and easy but -
Is it not just as natural, or more so, to be with your best friend?
You glance at your phone. How long has it been since you've talked to her? Three days? Four?
You pick it up and run your fingers hesitantly over the buttons. You don't know what you're supposed to do, what you're supposed to say. But you hit speed dial two anyway and wait until she picks up.
"Pash? Can you come over tonight?"
"Oh, you feel like talking to me now."
"I've been -" You almost say busy. What are you going to do, start lying to her now. "Thinking."
"Uhm. Just, just come over."
There's a heavy silence and you know you don't really deserve her coming over here after all this time neglecting her and treating her like she's filth. You close your eyes and pray to whatever is above you that she does anyway.
"Will there be ice cream?"
There's a click and you release a breath through your teeth. Pash is so much more understanding than you will ever be.
When Pash bursts into your room, you're cradling a bowl of frozen ice cream on your knees and hers is waiting patiently on the covers. You smile weakly at her at let your eyes flicker over her form - the form you can't help but think about getting naked somehow - and she's wearing jeans and a white tank top and a jean jacket that she tosses to the floor. Your room has been her room for as long as you've been friends.
Without a word, she sinks into your bed, takes the bowl of ice cream, and swallows a spoonful. She kicks off her sandals and scoots back across the bed until her back meets your window.
"I'm sorry, Pash." You say this into your ice cream bowl and don't dare look up when she turns to stare at you so powerfully. "For avoiding you."
"Do I smell?"
"Like a rancid pig."
"I thought it was an adorable scent." She goes back to her ice cream, shrugging her shoulders. "I guess I'm not surprised. If I were in your position, all freaked out by your dyke best friend -"
"You're not a dyke, Pash." You interject more harshly than you intend to; Pash glances up in surprise.
"I am, though. Lesbians are dykes."
"Are you a lesbian, then?"
Pash pauses, shrugging her shoulders once more. "I guess so. When you like another girl like that, doesn't that mean you're a lesbian?"
You swirl your spoon in your bowl and frown into it. Even chocolately, creamy goodness isn't bringing you much satisfaction right now. "I don't know. Maybe not. Maybe it just means you're attracted to one person."
You both laugh at that and then there is just the sound of spoons hitting bowls. You set your empty bowl on the window sill and simply stare at Pash and she stares at you back, and intensity in the room is so thick you feel like you could wrap yourself in it and it would keep you warm. Or cold. Whatever came first.
"I think you should kiss me," you say, very slowly, sounding each word out as if you haven't spoken English before in your life.
Pash doesn't even blink. "Why?"
"Because it might help me sort things out."
"I'm no Oliver, Bliss."
You open your mouth to reply but no words come out. Pash isn't Oliver. No one is Oliver. No one will ever be Oliver. No one will ever be what Oliver was to you.
Your first heartbreak.
"You're better than Oliver," you say, and you mean it, and you want to take that risk. You need to take this risk, because if you don't, you'll spend the rest of your life living in the 'what if's and the 'could have been's.
Pash stares at you for a long time, or maybe it's a short time, you can't really tell. The world is moving in fast forward and slow motion all at once, and your breath hitches in your chest when Pash puts her ice cream bowl on the window sill next to yours and she's crawling over toward you like she did when she was drunk but there is no alcohol giving her courage this time, she's acting on her own.
Pash is so brave. Braver than you.
And then her hands are planted on either side of you and her eyes are hooded and on your lips and lick them absently and you can smell her breath; chocolate, and you can just smell her, and it's licorice and cinnamon and you wonder - you wonder just what Pash tastes like.
A second later, your curiosities are quenched.
Her lips meet yours with a rush of heat, and it's hesitant on both sides. You can't imagine what it must have been like for Pash to hold this back all of these years when you only had to deal with it for a few weeks, but it's absolute torture to think that you had been denying her this all this time. She holds your lips for a long time before she backs away and you don't want her any farther away then she needs to be. You feel like animalistic instincts have suddenly woken up inside of you somewhere. Your hands raise and hold her face, thumbs running over her freckled cheeks and pulling her back. She looks surprised, and you're surprised too, and you study her for a moment before closing the distance again. There it is, that rush, and you're thinking as you both fall back on the bed -
Why haven't we done this sooner?
"Can you two detach yourselves for five minutes and actually serve these people?"
Birdman glares down at you and Pash, whose arms are wrapped securely around your waist from behind the bar counter, singing Elton John in your ear. You laugh at Birdman and completely ignore him, letting Pash's hips swing you from side to side.
"Guys, I'm serious, I'm in the position to fire you and I swear I will -"
"Oh, shove it, Birdman." Pash gives you one last squeeze before slipping away from you, bouncing toward the one occupied table in the Oink Joint.
You watch her with a smile, cradling your chin in your hand and admiring her from a distance. You wonder for the hundredth time how you never knew that the person you always wanted wasn't Oliver - or any boy, for that matter. It was the girl who had been your best friend your entire life. The girl who sliced her finger with a sewing needle and pressed it to yours.
Maybe you're bound to her now because of that. You don't mind. Not at all.
"Are you in love with her?"
You blink and tear your gaze away from Pash to stare at Birdman. He doesn't look pleased about having to ask the question. His arms are crossed. He looks ridiculous with his thin, black mustache. You fail to mention it.
"I don't know. Maybe." You smile and trace a circle on the counter. "Jealous, Birdman?"
You shake your head and glance out the window again and you see it once more, strolling toward Oliver as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of the jacket you burned. You shake your head and it vanishes. It doesn't hurt anymore. He's just another reason you're with Pash. Or maybe Pash is the reason you're not with Oliver.
You look toward her again, scribbling orders down on her notepad. She turns and winks at you with a slow grin, and your body turns on like a match.
Maybe there is such a thing as soul mates. And you know for sure that all of those shitty love songs on the radio are true.
"Hold my hand. I won't let you fall. I promise."
"I know." You arch up on your skates and find her lips with yours. It's so natural now, like your heart beating and your lungs inhaling and expanding. Or itching a scratch.
You break the kiss and turn to gaze down the steep hill below you. You take Pash's trembling hand, her fingers wrapping so tightly around yours, you feel the blood flow cut off.
"If I die, Bliss -"
"You're not going to die."
"But if I do, say nice things at my funeral. Even if you have to lie."
"Deal." You move forward but Pash hesitates, tugging you back with a whine.
"I don't want to do this."
"Yes you do. You've been practicing really well. You're ready."
Pash reaches up and pats the helmet on her head. "This will protect me, right?"
"Yes, but I already told you, I won't let you fall."
Pash nods, swallows hard, and grips your hand even tighter, if that was possible. "Okay."
"Are you ready?"
"All right then." You move forward. "One."
"Fuck me -"
"I'm going to shit my pants -"
You pull her forward and the momentum is slow at first but then gravity does its job and pulls the both of you. Pash screams. You scream. And you're both going faster and faster, faster than you've ever gone and your hair whips behind your face and Pash's nails are digging into the flesh of your hand and you feel so very much alive with Pash screaming bloody murder next to you and the vibration of cement under your wheels. Your free arm raises above your head and you scream again. Pash emits a noise somewhere between laughter and pure fear. The wind makes your eyes water and this is so much better than Oliver could have ever been.
This is life with Pash.
And you both blur down the hill in your skates, screaming to the world your terror and glee.
Disclaimer: I do not own Whip It or any of its characters.
I hope you all enjoyed it. I wrote this over the course of two days and worked really hard on it. I've been wanting to do this pairing for so long.
Please leave reviews! They make me happy ~