The Ramifications of Yet Another Season of Flaming Denial
Yes, this was the perfect deal: neither of them would tell on the other. Perfect. They could sit here for hours, drooling over the facts of the situation and sharing memories. Photographs. Lovers details. But neither of them would have to admit to the free world that they still held unvoiced- well, until now- affections.
Perfect.
The "I won't tell if you don't tell" system of friendship was going to work out amazingly, Fallon smirked. She could divulge everything to Rose and Rose could do the same to her; and no one would be any the wiser. Especially the key players. Like say, well if, per chance, they were to rant and rave all night long about a certain male, he would never know.
"I don't want him to know," Rose spoke Fallon's thoughts aloud. Yes, that was the wonderful part about having best friends: they could read your mind. Fallon nodded and stared at her close friend: the beautiful but petite brunette that she had known for the past three years. The youngest of their group of friend's, Rose was every bit as beautiful as her name. From her upbeat, loving and bubbly personality to her gentle heart that she wore, more often than not, directly on her little Made sleeve. Fuck. Made. Fuck. "Did you hear what I was saying?" the soft voice inquired, and Fallon realized she hadn't been listening. She'd be lost in thoughts. Thoughts of him.
"No."
Rose nodded and handed the pint of chocolate chip cookie dough- complete with spoon- to her friend. "Fallon, you're really upset over this, aren't you?"
The raven-haired, elder friend leaned back into the sofa and sighed loudly. Her brown eyes filled with thoughtful tears as she eyed her friend. "Ro, it's not that I don't think-"
"It's the age thing?" Rose questioned, knowing.
Fallon nodded. "She's just way too young for him."
"She's my age," Rose observed and Fallon immediately felt guilty. Because that was true: the woman that he had left her for- had technically left both of them for- was Rose's age. Not even a woman, still very much a girl.
Fallon frowned. "Somehow, Ro, it's different with you."
Rose smiled softly and brought the blankets to rest more comfortably over the pair. She shut off the television and turned to her friend. "Fallon, I really think he still loves you."
"I'm not going to delude myself."
"I think he does."
"What if he doesn't?"
Rose paused to consider her friend's argument and shrugged. "Then he's missing out."
"He's missing out on you, too," Fallon pointed out and took a deep swallow of the creamy moistness. She loved ice cream. In fact, nothing cured a semi-broken, entirely-trampled-upon heart better than a good ‘ole pint of Ben & Jerry's. She smiled at the taste. "He's just an asshole. End of story."
Rose giggled. "But he has a nice ass."
"HE DOES!" Fallon sighed with a smile and tossed her head on Rose's soft shoulder. They were cuddled together under Fallon's favorite Care Bears' blanket- still intact from her childhood- both clad in their pajamas. It was supposed to be a Girls Night of fun and penis jokes; it had turned into a mutual mental coddling of the physique of a particular male.
"And he has gorgeous shoulders," Rose gushed.
"Beautiful shoulder blades," Fallon frowned, trying not to formulate the accompanying mental image for her words.
"Shoulder blades?"
"Yeah," Fallon failed to push away the image. She sighed, dreamily. "Like the way they move just under his skin when he flexes."
"You're whipped," Rose laughed.
Fallon handed the ice cream back to the younger girl. "Yuh-huh."
