All Under the Place

chapter 8

...

I wake up to Dia sleeping on top of me.

Naturally, it would be an endearing moment if it was in that cute, couple-like way that leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy and protected. Where, yes she may be laying on me, but her arms are also around my waist and she's adorably snuggled into my chest.

However, Dia and I are not a couple. And I don't feel warm, fuzzy, or protected. Really, I'm more on the suffocated, restricted, and sweltering side of the spectrum.

Dia's literally on me like she skipped over the mattress last night and instead decided I looked like the better option. She's sleeping on her side and curled into a fetal position, an impressive position for an area of such little space -- the area being me, of course. Her head rests on my chest, but the ends of her curls tickle my chin and nose, disregarding any need of mine to sneeze or itch.

From any objective perspective, Dia's smaller than me. She's shorter than me by only two inches, but what she lacks in height is made up for in her body. Her thighs and booty are heaven sent, and although she never drew much attention to herself until high school, she was always my basis for comparison when looking at my own body.

Being a late bloomer in middle school was not fun when you were best friends with Dia Johnson. The snarky comments made by newly hormonal boys were truly the cause for most of my insecurities during those three years. I remember how ridiculous it all seemed when, in sophomore year, Dia admitted to feeling the same kind of admiration towards me that I had towards her from the second we hit puberty.

Yet right now, I'm wishing she didn't have a body. Whatever it takes for my airways to function properly and the sweat dampening my mattress to disappear.

Moving what I can, I stiffly pat Dia's arms. "Dude," I try to wiggle from beneath her. "You need to get up. I'm dying down here."

Dia barely stirs. "Dove?" She whimpers quietly, having me question whether she's still asleep or still drunk.

"Do I sound like a man to you?" I wiggle again. "Get your ass up, D. I'm hot and hungry."

Dia lovingly strokes my arm. "Hungry for what, Dove?" She whispers.

"Oh hell no." I roll to the edge of the bed, not caring if Dia gets hurt in the process or not. The second she feels the weight shift below her, she grasps onto the neckline of my shirt, throwing off my balance. We hit the floor in collective groans.

Dia's first to sit up. "Lord have mercy," she brushes herself off, rearranging the straps of her dress from last night. "Good morning to you too, Kara." Her discontent is clear as she narrows her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," I push off from the floor, lending Dia a hand once I'm standing. "My voice will not be used to encourage any wet dreams involving Dove." I shudder from the thought. He's practically my brother.

Her eyes remain in slits as her mouth draws in annoyance. "That's so inappropriate."

I flinch from her proximity once she's standing upright. "Whew, girl. That vomit breath is what's really inappropriate." I pinch my nose. "Please go brush your teeth."

She gasps. "I threw up last night?" Then, realizing she just blew a bunch of hot air in my direction, she covers her mouth with both hands. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

She uses both her hands to smack me. Repeatedly. "I. Can't. Believe. You. Let. Me. Throw. Up. In. Public." She grunts the words between each hit.

I lean back in defense. "I didn't even see it coming."

She leans closer. "Wait, were there a lot of people around? Because if there were hardly any witnes--"