violentine lemons. 🍋

Coming Out

"I like girls."

Violet blinks and stares at her friend for what feels like fucking forever, the mattress and sheets and comforter suddenly becoming too warm around her as her brain registers the bomb clem just dropped on her like it was nothing. They have been lying in violet's queen sized bed, talking and giggling for maybe an hour now—an hour that was just like any other hour. Nothing special happened. They aren't even tipsy. This is probably their billionth sleepover since their middle school days. They have been friends for nine whole years.

They have been to hundreds of parties. They have gone on several vacations and road trips. They have drifted apart twice and come back around for each other both times. They've been best friends for nine years and watched each other go through several boyfriends. Violet has talked Clementine through seven break ups, all guys, not one single female, not one girl crush, not one drunken make out at a party.

Clementine has never given off any vibes. They change clothing in front of each other, in front of all of their other friends, and violet has never caught her staring.

Clem hasn't said or done one single thing in their entire friendship that has prepared Violet for what she just said and it takes a moment for her to even process but clem waits patiently, lying on her side with her right arm tucked under violet's second pillow, short brown hair pushed off her face and fanned out behind her, emerald eyes open and staring back at her like she just told the blonde she's bored and can't sleep. She waits. Not one sign of panic or even anticipation of violet's response. She's just fucking lying there with a foot of distance between them looking completely normal and Vi is over here malfunctioning as she replays the confession over and over and over while she cycles for a response.

Finally she forms a sentence, voice quiet and careful, "Like, exclusively?"

Clementine tucks her lips in thought. "Maybe."

Violet stares blankly again blinking like an idiot because she can't really think right now, it's two in the morning and they were swimming all day today with some friends from the department and they both showered at Violet's place, got dressed for bed, passed out at like ten-thirty like a couple of middle aged kindergarten teachers and then woke up again about an hour ago. "What kind of girls?" Is what she comes up with.

Clem shoves the covers down to her slender waist, revealing her baggy white t-shirt that she cut so one sleeve hangs off her shoulder a little, neck and clavicles visible only in the moonlight—or maybe that's a street lamp. She places her left arm in front of her, hand sliding under the pillow. "Blondes. Girls who are good at things. Girls who make me laugh. Girls who are pretty."

Violet pushes the covers down as well, sighing in relief at the cool air and breathing a little easier now. "When did you realize?"

"Just now."

"Like, now as in—"

"A minute ago, after you said you feel like pop-tarts."

"Oh." violet swipes her tongue over her lips quickly. That was literally the last thing she said and it has nothing to do with anything. "Do, uh, do pop-tarts turn you on?"

Clem smiles and giggles, a sound that has always been soothing. "The s'mores ones do. They're that good, my mouth is watering just thinking about them."

Violet laughs warmly and brushes her hair out of her face. "You wanna get some?" Clementine sits up like she's late for anatomy and physiology lab, the covers flying off of her body and onto Violet's head faster than it takes her to say, "Fuck yeah."

Violet gets up and follows her out of the bedroom and into the small apartment kitchen to retrieve a couple packages from the box in the freezer before turning on a light and sitting in the older girl's love seat facing each other, bare legs tangled and overlapping. They are both wearing their high school gym shorts and violet realizes she missed a spot shaving her right lower leg. clem feels it against her thigh as she bites into her pop tart.