Livre: One Shots

[31] the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now

Karlie drums her fingers against the steering wheel, switches on her turn signal. She's driving in circles. She only ever drives in circles with Taylor in the car. She slows down when the green lights come and stops completely at the yellows, always waiting for a red so she can lean over the console and kiss her.

It's too perfect of a metaphor and Taylor's tired.

"You know that's not true, Taylor."

"You used to call me Tay," Taylor says. "I think it is."

Karlie huffs, checks behind her in the street, and pulls over jerkily. "Spill it," she says, turning to face Taylor. "What's your problem today?"

"It doesn't matter." Taylor says. Her skin itches where Karlie's sucked the bruises of her teeth into her, where she's touched her, where she's pretended to never touch when she's around someone else. She feels sick.

"Are we going to talk or are you going to get out of the car?" Karlie says, grip tight on the wheel.

"Do you love him?" Taylor finally says. Her voice cracks at the question mark, embarrassingly so, and she wants to just shove open and door and walk home. They're not even three blocks away from Taylor's place.

Karlie sighs and leans her head against the wheel. "Really, Tay?" She says. "God."

"Just answer the question." Taylor says.

"He's my boyfriend. You're my friend."

"Ha!" Taylor shouts, sitting up in her seat and tossing her head back. "Ha! That's so funny! You're such a comedian."

"Get out of the car." Karlie says. Her voice is so low she doesn't sound like herself.

"What?" Taylor says. Her face pales.

"You heard me. Get out."

"Karlie."

Karlie shakes her head. "I gave you an option, Taylor. You chose this."

"I choose you," Taylor seethes, suddenly furious. "I always, always choose you."

Karlie closes her eyes. She's always too defeated. "Please, Tay."

Taylor leans her head back on the seat. "I can't believe you," she says. "I really can't."

Karlie stays too quiet. Too long. She turns the car off.

Taylor covers her face with her hands. "I love you," she says.

She says it like this: she unlocks the car door, throws it open, gets out, slams it shut. She cries the whole walk home.

-/-

It's a month and a half later and Karlie still has a boyfriend.

She calls Taylor and says, as soon as she picks up the phone, "I'm in your driveway."

Of course she throws her hair up in a bun, slips her sandals on and goes outside to meet her.

Taylor shuts the backdoor behind her and when she looks up, there's Karlie, leaning against the hood of her car, wearing a white crop top, (most likely vintage) bell bottoms and a pair of sandals she stole from Taylor a long time ago.

"Hey, pretty girl." Karlie says. She's smiling a soft little smile, a tiny bit unsure, and the shine in her eyes tells Taylor she's being sincere.

And Taylor loves her. Despite the fact that this is always how it goes. Because this is always how it goes.

"Hi," Taylor says. Her feet shuffle forward on their own accord, down the steps of the porch and so close to Karlie that she easily curls her fingers through Taylor's belt loops and pulls them flush against each other.