I was sitting on the couch enjoying a glass of wine and the reruns of Friends. After a 13-hour day at work this was perfection. I'm sure this is how perfection is described in some kind of dictionary. And if it isn't, well, they should put it down as that. My peaceful thoughts were interrupted by a slam of the door and some angry huffing in the hall. Well, someone was not in the mood.
"Why?" - she practically ran into the room, nearly bumping into my coffee table. I need to move that thing, because seriously! She already ran into it three times this week and that did not go well for my favorite cup, pieces of which currently reside in the trash.
"Why what exactly? And please, don't touch the table. I don't like bruises on you." – and that's true. She bruises faster and easier than a baby. That was hard to get used to and now I only leave marks where they can be totally covered.
"Why do they always, always write me as a bottom? I mean why?" – her voice went all high-pitched as she was looking at me with these incredible eyes of hers. I love her eyes. I love how they darken when she thinks she's being smug. I love how they look amazingly bright in the mornings. I absolutely adore her eyes when she sees something beautiful and they get little freckles in them and she looks like a cat. She would look like a cat. Cats are my favorite, after all.
She moves to the couch and puts her feet on the coffee table which shakes a little. I paid almost $3000 for that thing and she goes abusing it all the time. Ah, there go the magazines. They fall on the floor and ironically the first one on the top has her on the front. She looked stunning in that photo shoot. But when doesn't she? She's disgustingly beautiful. She has the ability to rise and actually shine! The ability that most people acquire after several couples of coffee and some make-up. That's probably one of the good things in us not living together. This way, I don't have to deal with her being all chipper and giggly first thing in the morning. God knows I'm neither of those until after coffee kicks in.
"Have you seen yourself, Di? You are the girliest girl I've known and I'm friends with Chris Colfer. You created a website that has rainbow-y flower-y unicorns and baby animals on every page. Half of your fans know you as a little lamb, and the other half thinks you live in a Wonderland."
"But… but I'm mean on the show! And I… I listen to M.I.A! I love skulls! And most of my fans know me as Charlie! I'm a badass!" – she truly is adorable now. Look at that pouty lip. She bites into that lip often and I don't like it. Only I am allowed to do that. Geez, now that's clinical. I'm being jealous of her and about her at the same time.
"Baby, do you want some wine? You look like you need it. Why do you keep reading those things? It's okay if they think you're the bottom. We know it isn't true. I mean… after that one night when I couldn't walk after and almost fell at my interview? Um, anyways, what I'm trying to say is… what am I trying to say?" – I try to remember because I most certainly had a valid argument that would lead to a logical conclusion but right now my heart is swelling with all these emotions that are busting out. I adore her. Like the stupid girls in the cheap romance novels adore their knights. Like high-school girls adore their boyfriends. Like Rachel loves Finn. Like gays dream of Enrique. Like fucking Bella admires Edward. It is just more than I can ever put in simple English words. More than Barbra. More than New York. More than Empire State with a rainbow on it. More than my first cup of coffee.
"Leeeee, are you with me? Earth to Lea! How about that wine? Ah, whatever, I'll get it myself." – she leaves to the kitchen and all I can do is just smile at her and shift to the place where she has been sitting because it's warm and smells of her. And because when she's back she'll want to sit back and will inevitably end up on top of me. That's right. On top.