Fiction | Short Story

Girls in Love

Rosie is being followed. Her ex-boyfriend is having a hard time accepting the prefix.

Across the table from me, Rosie looks a little drunk. She’s wearing an Adidas sweatshirt and a headband made out of Swarovski crystals. It cost $95—an impulse purchase from thirty minutes prior, made on the walk from her house to the restaurant. All three of us, for some reason, are eating clam chowder for breakfast. The weather on the patio is San Franciscan, gray, and vaguely wet.



Lo had called me because thirty-six hours after she took the pill, I would be there while she bled, without looking sad or sympathetic or admiring or whatever it was she didn’t want to see reflected back at her.

“What does it feel like?” I asked later, as we tried to go to sleep. She was facing the window and I was behind her on the bed, working my fingertips over the roots of her hair.




kind of a bitch?

The Joy of Sex;

“You need to report him,” I begin, though already the suggestion feels stupid. On the night Rosie let him into the house, Ben told her that he was being sent back to Afghanistan in a month.

I love you, but you’re ridiculous.



The bloating is worth the bonding, the bloating is worth the bonding,

I could climb that.

hey, fancy meeting you here,

Love you so much. We had a blast. See you soon.

-M & L