#megnessa

She doesn’t believe in God. She wonders if anyone really does. It’s all made up, she says, when she is trying to be superior. She says it like she doesn’t care, holding her chin up, rolling her eyes, the snoot in her voice (that reminds her of her mother when her mother talks about poor people) prominent and piercing.

But then, sometimes, when she thinks about it (God, a higher power, the afterlife, the End), and it is late at night, darkness enveloping her and creeping everywhere, she doesn’t feel superior. She feels small, insignificant, lost, scared—bad things.

“Do you think anything happens after we die?” she asks one such night, staring at the ceiling. It’s dark in the room and Meg lays next to her, half asleep.

“It’s a bit late for an existential crisis, V.”

“It’s never too late for an existential crisis.”

“It’s four in the morning.”

“Exactly. Perfect time for an existential crisis.”

Meg laughs, rolling onto her side and twining her fingers through Vanessa’s. In the darkness, Vanessa can make out the curve of Meg’s cheek, shape of her nose. She can hear Meg’s soft breathy laugh, feel the heat of her skin.

“You have an exam tomorrow,” says Meg. “Go back to bed.”

Smirks, laughs, sarcastically witty remarks. That's what happened after their little romps that happened almost weekly, or whenever it was needed. Meg and Vanessa didn't admit they had a sort of complicated relationship. They had sex. That was for sure, and they were friends, but to what degree was the complicated part. Where did they sit on the scale? People frequently thought they were together, to which they both laughed at and just made fun of: jokingly kissing and climbing to sit on the others lap. They weren't serious about anything. It was all made out to be a joke, when really, under the walls they both had, there were feelings that neither of them had cared to address. So, as Meg laid back in her bed, Vanessa next to her, joking about how much better the girl was than the last time and making yet again another sex joke. It seemed to be a little different. Like the balance had shifted between them and Meg know saw a little more of Vanessa than she was used to.

As much as Meg didn't want to say something had changed with Vanessa's confession of how highly she thought of her, that was a lie. Or at least it seemed to be at least to her. They never talked of feelings, never spoke of their pasts besides the basics of their shitty families They were more than just the sex, but like liked to pretend that that was all they really needed from each other and never really acknowledged the long standing friendship. It was one thing to know it was there, and a whole other to hear it being spoken about to someone else with as much passion that had been communicated across that night. And Meg didn't know how to react. The brunette found herself speechless, which everyone around her knew that had only happened a few times. And they had usually involved Sulley, which was saying quite a lot.

It was as if she felt sort of naked, I mean she was naked right now of course, the sheets covering the both of them, but emotionally exposed in a strange way. How could Vanessa think so much of her when she barely thought much of herself in the first place? Sure she had that air of confidence and was willing to say whatever but that was a facade she had to adapt to survive.