All characters in this work are over 18 years of age.
I was brushing crumbs of lunch off my over-sized night shirt into the trash when I heard the front door open and close with more force than needed. Checking the time on the microwave, I noticed it was four hours early for either of my roommates to be home from work, but the grumbled ranting told me who it was.
"Hey. I'm in the kitchen." I called out, "what's up?"
She entered with rage painted across her face, unzipping her jacket and tossing it back out of the kitchen. "They gave Liam manager!" She nearly shouted.
"Oh no." I said and leaned against the counter. Not incincerely, but I found a specific beauty in her anger and ways her eyes flashed.
"Seven years on the job, five as assistant manager, and fucking Liam gets promoted. Liam!"
"Not Liam!" In all honesty, I couldn't quite remember who Liam was. She'd been my best friend for years and moved into this house when I did, but didn't talk about her job often, other than how she hated it, and the joint I smoked earlier was not aiding clarity.
"That really sucks." I offered.
"Well I quit that shithole. See how well that store operates without the person thats been making it run. If they're advancement scheme is pandering the patriarchy then fuck 'em all."
"Maybe you should've tried that?" I said, trying to add humor.
She glared at me. "Very funny. Almost as funny as me already having a day full of shit while you're still in pajamas at two in the afternoon."
"What? I'm off today."
"Great excuse to act like a fucking child."
"Don't be a bitch." I said defensively and straightened my stance. "I can do whatever I want. I get you had a bad day, but you don't get to take it out on me. You're killing my vibe and I'm just trying help you feel better. And you are absolutely not gonna charge around telling me how to dress. You're not... my... mommy." The last word ended in a hard swallow. During my rant, she had stalked across the small kitchen to stand directly before me. Still with smoldering eyes and a clenched jaw,
Even in my ready-to-kick-an-ass-or-two stance, I had to tilt my head back to look her in the face. I suddenly felt a familiar queasiness as my cheeks started to heat up. I snapped my head to the side and tried my damndest to sound aggressive again when I said, "What?"
I could feel her breath on my cheek when she leaned down. "Make me."
If there had been anything other than a tongue in my mouth, I'd have asphyxiated with how sharply I inhaled. "W-what?" I stammered.
She straightened and my peripherals saw her place hands on her hips. "Make. Me."
She said each word seperately. "Want me to stop taking it out on you, then do something."
I managed to meet her face again but knew that summoning a tough expression was beyond me. "I don't know what you mean. I can't--"
"So you want me to take it out on you."
"No, I--"
"Want me to make it up to you?" She said with more heat than rage, then I felt her fingers brush my wrist.
My brain blinked off and rendered my only response capabilities to a few short squeaks. I could feel my entire face start to burn. As my mind flickered back on, I desperately searched for words. After another hard swallow, the best I could manage was, "what do you mean?"
Of course I knew what she meant, but what? Was it the weed? That's it, I'm hallucinating all this. I'd been keeping a secret crush on her since high school, but a well kept secret, and she had never shown an interest in me. Had she?
My hallucination leaned in again and I pulled back as if her touch would be the end of me.
Legs pressed against the counter, however, there was nowhere to go but to lean backward.
She placed her hands on the countertop on either side of me. "You know what I mean."
