Foolish One ✷ Jess Mariano

VIII: Clandestine Meetings

Teddy's brows pinched together softly and leaned in a tiny, bottom lip tucked between her pearly teeth, "I don't know, he's, like, your kind of hot."

She groaned in dissatisfaction and lay flat on her back in her bed. The sheets smelt like mango shampoo and lavender detergent. "Why does everyone keep saying that!" She exclaimed.

Teddy shrugged and fell back with her, rolling on her front, legs bending at the knees and elbows perching to rest her chin in her hands, smiling down at where Kitty stayed flushed against the covers. "Kitty, when is there ever a time when you don't like a sarcastic white brunette male."

"Always. But just not him, though." Kitty said, readjusting her body so she was on her side, facing Teddy but not looking at her. "He comes from a place where they have, like, knife fights, and drag racing. And, like, sex on the hood of a car."

"That's from Fast and the Furious," Teddy cracked a smile, poking her cheek.

"Well, that movie was based on a true story," Kitty blinked softly.

"No, it wasn't," Teddy giggled, and her breath fanned against Kitty's cheek, squished against the plush duvet.

"Whatevs," Kitty scoffed and she shut her eyes, world black, her ideal self sleeping. "All I'm saying is he's just not someone I would go for. Nonetheless, someone my parents would approve of."

"And Heath Carter is," Murmured Teddy. Her eyes were shut now, too, and she was also on her side. Kitty hummed, but she felt nauseous all of a sudden.

Heath Carter had become a religion.

He prays to her behind closed doors when her eyes are closed. He listens to her breathing patterns. She pushed his hair from his eyes. She presses a kiss to the edge of his sharp jawline. She connects the stars along his back with hums. He fixes all the broken in her and she wonders if he even realizes his power with her? She holds his hand to ground herself when they aren't in the four walls of her room. He has an arm thrown around her shoulders when they're around friends, he shows his claim. She's the true one with a claim on him. Her life will be planned around him so she isn't spinning in her head. She can't slip up if he's everywhere all at once. He keeps her good. He keeps her rich.

No more staring at the boy with bloody knuckles and skeletons in his closet.

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The digital clock had stopped working; Kitty couldn't sleep.

She was tossing around like a madwomen despite the girl sound asleep on the other side of her bed, wrapped in one of her shirts and the light crocheted blanket her grandmother and her made three years ago. Teddy tossed a hand over Kitty's waist and buried her face deeper into the pink pillow.

Kitty admired her for a second, brushing a curl from her forehead. As if on instinct, a reflex, Teddy leaned into her touch despite her state of unresponsiveness as though it had been written in her genes to yearn for her touch. Her cheeks were warm; and she had freckles. Sometimes, Kitty would try and count them. Kitty took her restless hand in hers and squeezed gently, a small, lazy smile stretching on her face.

It wasn't weird for them to be close like this. Teddy spent a lot of her later nights with Kitty. She never saw the world like Teddy did. Sometimes she wish she had, maybe then she would find out why Teddy always looked at her like that; like she was angry and wanted to smash a wine flute into her face. She was always a bit odd, and looked as if she had actual skeletons hiding her in her closet. But Kitty never minded, she was her best friend, she loved her.