Chapter Text
“I knew there was more to that dress than bad fashion sense.”
“My fashion sense is impeccable, Nicole. Nice try, though.”
“The fuck you mean ni—you look like a hippie’s first tie-dye.”
“Ew. I’m white but not neon white.”
“Check again, Lite-Brite.”
“Oh, I loved that toy.”
“So did every middle-class white kid with undiagnosed ADHD, but the only thing it would love is throwing hands with you in a blackout.”
“So... a typical Daft Punk concert.”
“Yeah, just with your addict-ass screaming ‘One More Time’ after each peg.”
“Front-page Redtube worthy for sure, but this world isn’t ready for my stardom. I’m cool sharing the spotlight.”
“Bitch you are the spotlight. I’m gonna go blind.”
“At least your last sight will be me.”
Jecka’s victorious wink dragged the defeated sigh from Nicole’s deflated lungs—sometimes it was frustrating that Jecka was pretty enough to say shit like that—and she allowed the stupid gossip magazine she was half-heartedly skimming to slip from her fingers until experiencing the papery kiss of Reese Witherspoon’s gaudy lipstick ad. She let darkness linger, rejoicing in the temporary refuge from Jecka’s energetic performance for the mirror.
Today was the annual pride parade, and while Nicole was indifferent to the whole thing Jecka made her excitement known for weeks, all her Lady Gaga humming and cold sore reminiscing finally capping in that striped abomination she called an outfit that hadn’t left her closet since last year. Something so hideous should’ve been abandoned to the moths but Jecka insisted nothing else she owned would be good enough. Nicole, out of the goodness of her heart, offered more than once to help her steal something less trash, but Jecka was confident this dress would send the message she wanted.
Fuck, maybe it would. Despite its ugliness it gained points for leaving little to the imagination, form-fitting red nylon dipping low on her chest and purple barely stretching to mid-thigh. Being white removed any possibility of ass but what Jecka did have was legs, and with the dress’ enhancement Nicole felt no shame staring—neither would the girls tonight, undoubtedly—and she had a sneaking suspicion this specific brand of sluttiness was Jecka’s goal.
Respectable, honestly.
And not like she could blame her. A guy pointing his boner her way was nothing special, only entertaining when she could exploit such weakness, but a girl? Nothing was a bigger confidence boost than a girl wanting to jump her bones. As fucking annoying as Box-dye Bitch was, her masochistic crush provided such massive strokes to Nicole’s ego her tent could’ve sheltered the crackhead by the mall.
But when it came to this, she had to wonder if Jecka’s was larger.
Couldn’t allow that.
Bracing herself, Nicole put Witherspoon to work at her chest and immediately winced at the insufferable vibrancy of Jecka’s mini dress; like a Teletubbies gangbang stabbing her eyes. She blinked away that psychedelic hallucination that surely would never come back to haunt her, hoisting herself up to lean against her bed frame. “You’re too preppy for anyone at school to give you shit for this,” she lazily twirled a finger at Jecka’s colourful ensemble, “but don’t you think wearing that in public today is a bad move?”
“It’s illegal to wear rainbows now?” Jecka scoffed as she plopped down at Nicole’s vanity, chromatic acrylic nails grasping at her makeup case. “Missed that memo in Obama’s presidency.”
“Are you—” Finding a real use for this waste of ink Nicole tossed the magazine like a frisbee in Jecka’s direction, the satisfying smack tugging her lips into a smirk that only increased at Jecka’s glare. “A black president doesn’t make you any less white.”
Jecka’s extended groan was music to her ears, a captivating crescendo carrying countless climaxes, blonde strands soaring from the speed she swivelled around. “I can wear a fucking rainbow, Nicole.”
“Look,” Nicole raised her hands as if peace were ever an option, “if you were five and still had a future I’d back off—”
“I have more of one than you.”
Oh, she loved when Jecka was fun.
“Everyone and their molester uncle knows I’ll be dead by thirty, that’s not the point. The point is that besides being a fashion disaster you’re gonna be tricking every lesbian there.”
“Excuse me,” all of a sudden Nicole was being threatened by a makeup brush, red adorning the bristles like blood, “tricking?”
“Sorry, didn’t realize you joined Kylar in remedial English; T-R-I—”
“Oh my god, shut up.”
There was the passion Nicole desired. Sometimes it took awhile, but pissing Jecka off to the point of smashing a bottle and pressing broken glass to her neck was always worth the effort. Not that Jecka’s attempted that alluring assassination, sadly, but fantasizing kept boredom at bay, and regardless if she ever tried Jecka was still her favourite person to provoke. Maybe because she didn’t lay down and take it. Maybe because, unlike the spineless and dickless, she fought back.
Maybe because she made Nicole feel something.
“One, how the fuck am I tricking anybody?” Jecka asked without really asking, as if offended by the very insinuation. Good—she should use that anger to wreak havoc. “Two, even if I was, why are you pretending to care? Making people miserable is, like, your life’s purpose.”
“This is true.” Nicole pondered these questions while Jecka parroted that mechanical three word response they often did when mocking men, wondering how to phrase this in a way that would finally convince Jecka to assist her suicide. When it clicked, she couldn’t fight her impish smile. “Because you look like a poser.”
Jecka’s hand noticeably twitched, nearly dropping her makeup brush. Her head turned slower than their school’s pedophilia inspection to glare golden daggers at Nicole. “I know you didn’t just call me that.”
“And you know who else looks like a poser?”
“Don’t you say it. Don’t you fucking dare compare me to—”
“Crispin.”
Jecka sighed, so long and deep her flickering soul must’ve flown away. “I hate you.”
“First you’ll hate me, then you’ll want me.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d used that statement but it was too good to let it gather dust, and maybe that amplified her lowkey surprise when Jecka didn’t immediately respond, opting to just stare at her for a moment like she was the most irritating gremlin to grace this planet. Which, yeah, only someone with that title could coincidentally make their dad shoot his brains out, but normally Jecka matched her snarky gremlin energy like a fierce rival. Instead her comment clung at the ceiling like a cloud, wispy at first but gaining weight every second, becoming more and more tangible the longer it remained unchallenged.
Nicole wasn’t sure what that meant, wasn’t sure what Jecka was thinking, and debated digging the thoughts from her brain before a storm destroyed her room, but her fascination of this unusual silence pacified her impulsivity. It was awkward, sure, it usually was when she wasn’t insulting somebody, and if it was anyone else Nicole wouldn’t even exist in a dimension that entertained this. But Jecka wasn’t anyone else. She was the only tolerable person at their school, her best available friend, and even waiting for her to hurry the fuck up had some semblance of solidarity.
It meant nothing.
Obviously.
“Pride’s like Halloween,” Jecka finally said, calm tone like a breeze clearing the skies—and even Nicole could admit sidelining her previous statement to keep her sanity was smart—perfecting her mascara before plucking a tube of lipstick. “You’ll stand out more if you don’t dress up. In, like, a bad way. Like, gay actor playing a straight character bad.”
Nicole blinked, giving that a minute to make sense, and now she was a minute closer to death. “Yeah. Totally know what that means.”
Jecka rolled her eyes. “It means the straighter you look the lamer you are. Won’t pull any bitches looking like a Sephora greeter.”
For the sake of superiority Nicole was once again forced to perceive Jecka’s atrocious outfit. It was an eyesore regardless of distance. “Won’t pull any bitches looking like that, either.”
Jecka cocked a sculpted eyebrow. “Wanna bet?”
Damn, nothing but pure confidence. Faking it till you make it really was a sound strategy, who knew?
“Do I look like a bitch with money?” Nicole spat.
“I have faith that one day you’ll pay for our Five Guys.”
“I have faith that five guys’ll pay you.”
“They couldn’t afford me. You’re disgusting, by the way.”
“It’s the sudden religion. Don’t worry—lasted as long as my mom’s last marriage.”
“Good. I was catching fire just being near you.”
“Christians everywhere are jealous of me.”
“Of course they are; you can be a bad person without using God as an excuse.”
“Amen.”
In the following silence Nicole scrutinized Jecka’s silly expressions through the mirror as she managed her makeup, fidgeting with her wristband while trying to recall how they went off on that tangent in the first place. Not that she couldn’t torment religious twats for several hours—it was always appropriate showing Jesus freaks how to properly pray—but today’s priorities involved Jecka and gay people and Jecka blending in with gay people.
“Hold on, wait,” Nicole said as she remembered, brow knitted in a confused frown. “Rainbows are like the basic of basic for this shit, like, so basic homophobes temporarily overcome their alcoholism to protest rainbow beer cans. If Pride is like Halloween, isn’t wearing a rainbow just like wearing a sheet with cut out eyes?”
“I’ll cut out your eyes.”
That smooth, effortless threat made her heart skip a beat. Like, genuine schoolgirl heart skipped a beat when her uglyass quarterback crush glanced at her type shit. Man, she really was fucked, wasn’t she? But at least she could make her mental instability everyone else’s problem.
“I’m wet, keep going.”
Jecka sighed. “What a shocker that I’m dry.” She stared wearily into the mirror as if wishing it could warp her anywhere but here. “No, a sheet ghost is more like wearing any pride flag as a cape like some reject superhero. Expected, boring, but they still dressed up so you can’t mock them. Unlike those losers, I’m using my rainbow powers for good.”
“What rainbow powers?” Nicole snorted. “You’re fucking straight.”
“Not today I’m not.”
“Oh this oughta be good.”
“Shut up,” Jecka popped that syllable, settling her bubblegum pink lipstick. “Like every week you’re like ‘What’s gayer? Wanting to touch boobs or suffocate in them?’”
“It’s a valid question.”
“You already know the fucking answer.”
“Uh, no, I wouldn’t have asked if I did.” Nicole crossed her arms. “I thought you were the smart one.”
“A genius compared to you, apparently.”
“A true genius would’ve helped me solve this by suffocating me in her tits.”
“Yeah, I’m not doing that.”
“Fuck you, why not?”
Jecka squinted at her like she’d just confessed to liking Smallville all along when they both knew she’d rather cut off her tongue and drown in her own blood. “Bitch, I’m too young and hot to be held accountable for murder. Your weekly sexuality crisis isn’t worth life in prison.”
Betrayed by the only person who effectively could. Was this what it felt like to be socially obsolete? “Damn, hos really ain’t loyal.”
“Maybe not for titty suffocation—”
“Weak.”
“But,” Jecka persisted, “you might find a ho loyal for the night if you show your interest.”
“What interest would I possibly have beyond drugs and death?”
“God, you’re fucking—” The sharp, frustrated slaps of Jecka’s palms against her bare thighs rang in Nicole’s ears. “It’s the spirit of the thing, Nicole!”
Nicole shrugged. “Lost that at birth.”
“Clearly.” Jecka rubbed at her temples, mumbling something under her breath. Probably her desire to commit murder despite her dissatisfying reluctance a moment ago. How much longer until she deadass punched her in the face? It would’ve been funny and honestly deserved, and if she punched hard enough then there was Nicole’s excuse to spend her Saturday scrolling MySpace blackmail material, but Jecka’s restraint was one of her finer traits Nicole had yet to ruin. “Trying to be even straighter than normal will fuck the whole experience for you—like actually trying in gym class when you already know you’ll get an A for being skinny.”
Really, though. Like hell she was gonna give herself a heart attack sprinting around the track when their pedo coach would ogle her ass either way. One small head motivated the other, and if there was no way to stop it she’d damn well use it to be lazy.
“Shit, you’re right,” Nicole said, purposely dramatic, even sitting up to further emphasize. “If I don’t look gay enough for every homophobe in a ten mile radius to fantasize about corrective raping me then what’s the point of going?” Then she blinked at the realization she brought herself. “Huh. No wonder lesbian porn is so popular.”
Jecka leered at her, deadpan, clearly unamused by her theatrics. She wouldn’t survive a day in Megan’s bullshit class—and there was so much of that to be jealous of.
“You don’t care at all, do you?” Jecka asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
“No.”
“You should.”
“I’m not gay, Jecka.”
Jecka’s shrug was too easy, too unfazed, blonde hair bouncing like sunlit waves along her shoulders. “Sure you are.”
Nicole raised an eyebrow, admittedly curious where this would go. “You just get to decide my sexuality now?”
“No.” Shiny pink lips curled into a playful smile. “But that would be kinda fun.”
And Nicole naturally responded to that energy. “Oh, totally. Imagine Kylar’s in the middle of his straight pride advocacy and suddenly he rants about sucking dick.”
Jecka had a pretty laugh, musical, evolving into an orchestra at other people’s expense, and Nicole pretended this wasn’t one of the reasons she supplied venues. “I’d pay good money to see this.”
“You’d pay to see Kylar suck dick?”
“Ew, what?” The way Jecka’s whole body squirmed in disgust like a prismatic worm was a thing of beauty, ending with the stomp of her feet. “Are you fucking insane?”
“Was about to say—Redtube’s already made you a voyeur for free, no point paying for it.”
As always, Jecka didn’t look ashamed of her porn addiction in the slightest. Not that she should be; she wasn’t a guy surrounded by used tissues and skeet-encrusted socks. Just a whore supporting other whores, that’s all, and that was a cause Nicole supported. “Have to learn tricks somewhere,” Jecka said, “and god knows it won’t be from anyone at school.”
“Blowjob tricks or eating out tricks?”
Jecka tilted her head, the perfect picture of slutty, slutty innocence. “Can’t it be both?”
“I don’t know—has it been both?”
“It can be,” her tone matched the excitement sparkling in her eyes, “depending how the night goes.”
Nicole sighed, losing all the energy she gained like a popped balloon. She leaned back against her bed frame again, wincing as wood dug into her shoulder blades. “See, I’m not a poser like you.” Jecka looked like she was about to fight that insinuation again but Nicole beat her to it, “I don’t give a shit about any of that. I just want the free drugs you promised.”
That’s the only reason she agreed to go with her to Pride in the first place. Jecka assured her over and over again—from experience, apparently—that if she caught a lesbian’s attention, she’d be loaded all night with whatever illegal substances she desired, all without brandishing her wallet once or being threatened to return favours. Normally she’d be risking rape and murder to get her fix, or burning away her cash at Emily’s scalped prices, but if this went the way Jecka promised she’d get fucked up enough tonight to be satisfied for a month and leave with most of her dignity intact. That was worth some touch-starved women dry humping her leg.
And to fuck with the Jesus freaks. If they truly were scattered around the festival embarrassing themselves with inapplicable Bible quotes and their obsession with gay sex, then this had the potential to be the greatest day of her life. Not that that was an accomplishment, but she’d take what she could get.
That was it. Drugs and Jesus. Her agreement had nothing to do with how happy it made Jecka.
Nothing at all.
“Which you’ll get more of if you put in some effort,” Jecka insisted, reminding her why something so appealing was also so ass.
“I’m not wearing a fucking mini dress.”
“Calm down, jeez. You wouldn’t pull off the lipstick lesbian thing anyway.”
That would be such a stupid thing to be offended by.
And yet—
“Who says?”
“Me, bitch.” And with her self-appointed authority Jecka waved off Nicole’s completely unnecessary defence mechanism like shooing a mosquito, looking all queenly and elegant and annoying. Nicole would throw another magazine if that didn’t involve getting up to find one. “Your emo style is good enough. And your eye bags are a nice touch.”
From one offense to the next with this bitch. “Eye bags?”
“I know you’re not gonna fight me on this one, ho. You look like you haven’t slept since fifth grade.”
True.
“Not true. I nap in class all the time.”
“You go to class like once a week.”
“And what do I do there?”
“Inspire school shootings?”
Wow, no hesitation. Was that the impression everyone had? “That was one time.”
Jecka hummed, tapping her chin, dragging out her facetious thinking. Like she didn’t have Nicole’s accomplishments memorized from the sheer shock value her existence wrought. “Make everyone consider killing themselves?”
“Our school is filled with rapists and pedophiles, they deserve it.”
Jecka clicked her tongue. “No point arguing facts.”
“See?” Nicole donned a proud smile, and, really, why wouldn’t she be proud? She was a damn hero at that school—which should be all the info the board needed to shut that grooming centre down for good. “I’m doing everyone a favour by letting the trash take itself out. And after working smarter, not harder, I sleep.”
“Whatever, you pill-popping raccoon.” Jecka rose from her cheap throne, tiptoeing around the depression piles peppering Nicole’s palace. “Let’s see what you have in your closet.”
“Bodies.”
Jecka rolled her eyes. “Besides that.”
“Nothing with rainbows, that’s for sure.”
“I already said your emo style is fine.” Having said that, she judged one shirt with a harsh sneer and shoved it to the other end of the closet with a resounding screech from the metal hanger, not even apologizing for permanently damaging Nicole’s hearing before moving onto the next poor volunteer. “Dressing like polar opposites will be to our advantage, actually.”
“Not that I care,” she paused as another shirt was banished to oblivion, “but how?”
“Easy. I’ll help you look more approachable and you’ll help me look like I kiss girls sober.”
Clearly Jecka was all for her half of this exchange, but looking approachable sounded as appealing as listening to Jeffery rank every single Pokémon by fuckability or whatever. She’d prefer people think they’d end up in a crime documentary if they got within six feet of her. Better being alone than with people who didn’t know how being alone felt.
Especially when they were super fucking annoying.
“And this is... good?” Nicole asked, sounding dumb and feeling dumb but this whole thing was like a bad trip.
“Yes.” Jecka turned to stare at her accusingly. “Have you been paying attention at all?”
“For blackmail purposes, sure. You’re just confusing as hell today.”
Nicole smirked at Jecka’s disappointed headshake. “Spoken like a true guy only with me to get laid.”
“There’s other reasons?”
That earned a dirty shirt to the face and she welcomed darkness, her old friend.
“Uh, yeah,” Jecka huffed. “My Xanax?”
“Finally, you’re making sense,” Nicole chuckled, chucking the shirt onto one of her floor mountains, watching it tumble over the side like an avalanche melting under the oppressive sunlight of Jecka’s bright ass dress. But that bright ass dress contained multiple hidden treasures, prompting Nicole’s grabby motions. “Gimme.”
“After you change. Don’t pout!” she chastised the second Nicole did. “That shit won’t work on me. You’ll get more lazy than you already are and I need you to, like, not be that.” Jecka turned back towards the closet, a pleased gasp bursting free. “Sweet, you have flannel.” Jecka threw the red garment her way but Nicole was prepared this time, catching it midair and eyeing it with puzzlement. She didn’t remember buying or stealing this. “Tie that around your waist; it’s like a lesbian mating call.”
Nicole squinted. “Why do you know this?”
“I watch Bravo, remember? The gay channel?”
“Oh, of course. Didn’t realize I was dealing with an expert here. How’s your tour with the Indigo Girls?”
“Fuck off.”
And those two beautiful words led into a few minutes of Jecka destroying her closet, groaning and complaining all the while like she actually had problems. While she waited Nicole debated retrieving her laptop to cyberbully someone into dropping out of school to become an underage stripper but the idea of getting up still sucked, and her view of Jecka’s legs from this angle meant she wasn’t going anywhere.
She was straight, not blind. Though, if she kept staring at Jecka that might change.
The blind thing. Not the straight thing.
Jecka was probably the one person who could change that if it was something that could be changed, but it couldn’t be changed because it was unchangeable.
Liking legs wasn’t exclusively a gay thing. Men also had legs.
Legs she currently couldn’t see.
Legs that weren’t shooting out of a tight mini dress—
“Alright, these’ll do,” Jecka said, breaking Nicole from her thoughts like a hammer on glass, only noticing now other apparel had joined the flannel on her bed. Jecka drew back her attention by placing her hands on her hips. “You have any combat boots?”
Nicole blinked slowly, taking a moment to register the random question. “Maybe?”
“Wear them.”
“Bitch, I said maybe. I don’t know for sure.”
“Then fucking check before we leave. They’ll make you 100% more fuckable than your sneakers.”
As if in defence of her precious sneakers, even though she really didn’t give a shit, Nicole raised both her eyebrow and her chin. “Any other gay advice, Miss Gay Guru?”
Jecka’s fingers drummed along her hips, amber eyes intensely roaming Nicole like she was actually serious about this and not just trying to piss her off. It was weird being stared at this long and this intensely by someone who didn’t dream of fucking her, outlandish attention she didn’t know how to handle, and under such scrutiny she fought not to squirm. “Yeah, actually,” Jecka said with a pompous smile, drumming ceasing. “Let your hair down.”
Nicole wasn’t sure what she expected but it wasn’t that. “Why?”
“Ponytails are for straight girls.”
She really just said that with her whole chest like it was something everyone agreed on.
“Assigning sexualities to hairstyles seems weirdly homophobic,” Nicole exclaimed, “but counterpoint: I am straight.”
Jecka’s smile twisted into such an incredible snarl it was like Nicole butchered her whole bloodline. “Nicole,” oh she was mad, “if you keep making me repeat myself I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
Nicole fluttered her eyelashes. “You promise?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Just Nicole is fine.”
“I fucking—” Jecka sighed, and Nicole wondered if she set a record in how many migraines she gave someone in under an hour. Then Jecka’s expression steeled with a determination that put Nicole on high alert. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Do wh—”
Nicole yelped as Jecka clambered onto the bed in a rainbow blur, flailing limbs shooting for her hair. “Jecka, what the fuck?” she near shouted, attempting to fend off whatever strange sexual assault this was supposed to be, but Jecka’s element of surprise was too strong. “Ow!” She yelped again when nails scratched the back of her head to yank off her ponytail. “What the fuck is wrong with—”
She had planned to finish that sentence, she had so much more to say, so much of Jecka’s existence to demolish, but all her newfound violated energy dissipated when she realized just how close Jecka was to her.
And with the way Jecka’s eyes widened, she just realized, too.
Nicole was trapped beneath her, Jecka’s weight in her lap and warm thighs enclosing her own. One hand lingered at Nicole’s neck from undoing her ponytail, the other using either the wall or bed frame for balance. Her chest was too close, so Nicole looked up figuring that would restore her breathing only to lose what little breath she had left.
There was some hazel in Jecka’s eyes, thin rings around her pupils that Nicole wondered if anyone else knew were there. The green gradients in her deftly applied eye shadow complimented the deep gold of her irises, and only now did Nicole notice she’d embellished the look further with a dusting of glitter, sparkling like gemstones. The sweet-smelling smoke of Jecka’s earlier cigarette clung to her breath, mixing with her lavender perfume and Nicole gulped down the intoxicating cocktail in her struggle for oxygen.
Sure, she asked Jecka to suffocate her earlier, funny suicidal behaviour as always—but she didn’t expect it to happen like this.
She shivered as Jecka’s nails grazed her nape, suddenly very unsure where to place her hands or what hands even were and if she had any. She forced her fingers to flex, shaking away the threatening numbness that only pills had given her before. Just leaving her hands on the bed would be best, wouldn’t it? How gay would it be if she held onto Jecka’s hips? Shoulders would be safer. Then she could keep a reasonable distance; easily push her away if necessary.
... Why would that be necessary, though?
She waited for Jecka to give her a reason, pretended her room was thumping with heavy bass because other than drugs that was the only thing that could make her heart roar in her ears, and she was unfortunately sober. But Jecka said nothing, in a similarly frozen state and openly staring. She never looked away, not once, like she was searching for the ends of the universe in her eyes or some corny shit that Nicole’s never felt in her life ever. She didn’t do feelings.
She didn’t do a lot of things before Jecka.
“Can I help you?”
It slipped from Nicole’s lips before she even realized, tongue flapping messily around the words like she were speaking English for the first time. They came out totally normal, though. No voice cracks or anything. She definitely didn’t sound like a virgin busting his first load.
Either way her pathetic attempt at rationalizing this situation seemed to calm Jecka down, loosening her arms and settling her weight more comfortably in Nicole’s lap, like she had no intention of leaving. “Your hair looks good down,” Jecka said, sounding surprisingly genuine. Her eyes were soft and her nails, unlike the razors from before, were gentle. “Why don’t you ever wear it like this?”
Nicole shrugged, no idea how to take a compliment not masking venom, ignoring the odd brush of her fanned out hair against her back. “Ponytail’s easier to maintain.”
Pink lips tugged into a playful smile, looking much more like her earlier self. “Easier to grab, too.”
The familiarity helped Nicole regain control. “In case you warped to a dimension where you thought that was hot—you sounded like a rapist.”
“I was aiming for kinky.”
“Well, you fucking missed.”
“All the more reason to keep your hair down today, then.”
“You’re not my mom.”
“This position would be weird if I was,” Jecka chuckled dryly. “As I said—white, but not neon white.”
This position was definitely something, and Nicole would sooner kill herself than get within a few feet of her mom.
Jecka, however, seemed content in her personal space, and while that didn’t make Nicole want to kill herself it did make her wonder why it didn’t make her want to kill herself.
“Are you...” Nicole awkwardly gestured between them, “gonna get off me any time soon?”
“Hmmm. I dunno. Your thighs are comfy.” Jecka tilted her head, blonde locks cascading over the cliff of her shoulder, Nicole biting back a jolt as it tickled her arm. “Do you want me to?”
Who fucking knew anymore?
“You’ll miss your little parade you dressed up for.”
“That would be a total bummer.”
“Yeah.”
Yeah? That was all she was capable of saying? Couldn’t try any harder convincing her to move?
“Will you change if I do?” Jecka asked.
“Um, Sesame Street taught me to never change for anyone—”
“Your clothes, bitch.”
Nicole was tempted to double down, just to test Jecka’s limits within strangulation range. Really, if she wanted an out, this was it. If she made Jecka mad enough she’d probably just go without her. Then she could relax at home doing jack shit while Jecka was off getting fucked up and making out with girls and enjoying the night she’d looked forward to for weeks. This was Jecka’s day, not hers. Jecka would enjoy herself whether she went or not.
But Jecka asked her to go.
Promised her a good time.
And while Nicole’s shitty life proved that promises were unreliable, Jecka hadn’t broken one yet.
... Nicole had nothing better to do today, anyway.
One last tease, though.
“This seems like more work than I expected.” Nicole faked a yawn. “Maybe I’ll just stay home and watch Mythbusters—”
“Change, Nicole.”
Nicole blinked at Jecka’s stern tone, shock converting into amusement, lips donning her routine smirk. “Yes, Mistress.”
It was worth nearly being shoved off her bed, but as her legs grew colder the further Jecka retreated, she came to a horrific realization.
The dress wasn’t half bad up close.