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 ^{(it's beta!)}

You ask me my regrets with a cocked eyebrow and I’m forced to laugh and think at the same time. It’s harder than you’d guess, this thinking and laughing.

On the one hand; you’ve asked me a question that requires a lot of thought–I think–and on the other; your face is so silly that I’ve forgotten the question to begin with.

You cover my mouth and bring your eyes to my eye level.

“Come on now, what do you regret?”

…Oh yeah.

“Nothing,” I say in what I believe is a quaint tone.

“Nothing,” you repeat in an unconvinced manor. Your eyebrow begins to cock again so I cover your eyes with my hands and you peel them off with a smile.

“Mmmhm,” I nod. “Nothing.

“As I see it, if I’m happy with things for the moment, I can’t regret anything I’ve done in the past. The choices I made then led me to today. I wouldn’t be who I am if I changed any of it and my life wouldn’t be the same either. We wouldn’t even be here talking right now.

Everything affects everything.”

You look at me in a way that makes me think of eyebrows so I point my finger at you warningly, “And don’t you dare cock that eyebrow.”

“Pssh,” you tap my nose, “you’ve been spending too much time in those after-school philosophy classes.”

“Oh bite me,” I reply bitterly, crossing my arms.

Now you’re leaning back in your chair smirking. I hate that smirk, and wish I could slap it off your face. Sadly, it is the world’s most powerful smirk and I’d need some kind of level up gaming card to do such. I think I’d need the slap of a pimp to wipe it off and, unfortunately, those aren't available to 15-year-old girls. Some kind of rule.

Instead, I mirror your question. Casually I retort, “And you?” I hang upside down off the couch in my living room, “What do you regret?”

Touché.

You look down and shake your head.

I’m a little hurt but it’s alright. You’ll tell me eventually. Boys keep secrets all the time.

Girls keep even more.

"Don’t you like playing games?” I ask, sitting on your floor; resting on my knees because sitting cross-legged seems too vulnerable. Too much like kindergarten.

“Games?” You ask back, “Well yeah, but isn’t Truths a bit childish?”

Childish? You’re the one who still has dolls, oh sorry. ‘Action figures.’ Yeah sure. “No. I don’t think so at all. In fact, I find it an incredibly mature game that little 12 year old girls shouldn’t be allowed to play at slumber parties.”

You’re rolling your eyes. You roll your eyes almost as much as you smirk.

“You’re too damned opinionated,” I frown. “ Ok, I’ll bite. What makes Truths so mature?” Hmph. You’re so skeptical.

“Well, honesty’s an aspect of maturity, so wouldn’t a game centered around honesty be a fairly mature one to play?”

“Depends,” you reply.

“ Everything has a ‘depends’ at the end of it. I’d be scared if something didn’t. It’d be too straightforward. Too easy.”

“You’re changing the topic,” your voice is a mixture of irritated and all around unamused. I wasn’t trying to amuse you so I don’t know what you’re expecting from me. Pray tell it’s nothing perverse. I’d much rather just play my game.

Suddenly, cross-legged doesn’t sound too bad, mind, neither does hiding behind my knees in a corner.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

Your face softens. “It’s ok. Let’s play the game, then.”

I smile a smile that is hopefully less self-satisfied than it feels. I win. “Oh fuck!”

You look at me puzzled, “what?”

“I lost…”

+For those of you who don’t know, the ending line is a reference to The Game. The basics of The Game are tat if you think about it…you lose, so…YOU JUST LOST TOO!! AHAHAHAHA…Yeah..Someone told me I should end it a different way. I disagree. If they don't get it. Too bad.

Mild sexual content for the mention of boobies and make outs:

“In a perfect world, I’d be the only one left and clothing would be optional.”

You’re now thinking the same thing except it’s you and I. You’ve got that look on your face that means you’re thinking sexual thoughts. I blink, then again and once more for good measure. The kind of blinking that makes a person appear like their confused. Instead I’m wondering.

Wondering if you see us in bed, or perhaps a shower. Who knows, maybe you’re fantasy is in a wheat field.

I lie back, purposely allowing my breasts to press against my shirt, “So, what’s yours?”

You jump slightly, and your eyes find mine. “My what?”

“Perfect world.”

“Oh, uh yeah.” Your eyes scroll up and down. I can’t tell if you’re thinking, or just checking out my chest. “I think the same thing,” you roll over towards me and kiss my forehead, “except with you too.”

Bingo.

“Aww,” I smile, “that’s sweet.” I kiss you, first reservedly, then with more passion; more oomph. You kiss back, more so than I am and I pull away, still smiling.

I lie on my back and look at the ceiling. Your carpeting is rather comfy; the ceiling, however, is less interesting.

Your arm reaches across me and you pull me towards you. Usually I’d complain, claim that rug burns on the back are hard to explain to parents, but I’m cold, and you’re always warm.

You feel like questions boiling over and I shudder from the rising heat. Eventually, you’ll burst and I’ll feel awkward. The touching will cease and we'll retreat to our corners again, waiting out the storm. You bring your lips to my ear and take in a breath. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the words to ruin our moment, but surprisingly, you contradict yourself and settle for nibbling and kissing. You make your way down my neck, hands caressing my waist under the shirt. I breathe out and relax into the cradle you’ve created with your body.

“Hey,” you whisper, like I’m soft or something, “anything wrong?”

“No.” I answer. We’ll save questions and answers for another day.