Cat Life (Life Shots)

Rage = silent??

Date: September 10 20XX
Location: Upper Lake Grand Student Lounge, London, UK
Time: 4:49 PM (BST)
POV: Cookie

     The moment I press my lips to Will's, I get a momentary pang of regret and guilt, directed mostly towards and for Rage. But for some crazy reason, my brain tells me, fuck it, that blue-haired psycho isn't here! Continue doing this shit, Cat!!
But then, another part of me thinks, isn't this cheating? Technically? Even if I don't mean anything by it and I just want my best friend to get his first kiss, even if he has to die a goddamn virgin?
I guess my brain overrides my heart, and I end up actually deepening the fucking kiss, my tongue coming into the picture at some point. Actually, I've lost all track of time and space and my surroundings in general. Everything in front of me, behind me, beside me, around me is Will, Will, and Will. All of my senses are overwhelmed with Will. And instantly I can tell that this is bad. When I did this, I wasn't supposed to be enjoying this, just helping Will get his first kiss from a girl he liked being around. But fuck it, I think I'm actually getting into it. And all of me, even my brain, hopes heavily that Rage won't just happen to be around in a 3 mile radius of us. Of course, my luck isn't very dependable.
     "Jesus fuckin' Christ, not when I'm tryna drink my goddamn coffee in peace! In fucking public, too!"
I instantly feel both the state of my heart and my head just sharply decline, feeling numbly as I whip my head towards the couch across from us, where Rage sits, looking weirded out, a cup of school coffee in his hand. And I instantly regret the first question that escapes my lips.
"W-Weren't you supposed to be at Starbucks?" I stammer, swiftly cursing myself for asking such a suspicious-sounding question. Will just seems at a loss for words. It looks like he forgot about Rage, too.
Rage raises his eyebrow. "It was closed," he replies to my idiotic question. He takes a sip of his coffee, subtly making a face at it. Of course it tastes terrible to him; he's not used to free, cheap watered-down coffee.
I open my mouth to say something, but whatever I want to say, an explanation, doesn't come out. Instead, out comes a meek, wavering, "Sorry..."