french silk pie

I was reading thisĀ Thought Catalog piece titled something like ‘Signs your Friend is a Badass’, and you fit them all.

My phone chirped brightly, signaling a message from Roods. Having lived together for over half a year, it was disconcerting not having seen her for four so many days. The distance apart left us communicating via text and the occasional FaceTime chat – though mostly so I could help her remove the attachments on the stand mixer – and inciting looks of incredulity from my mother for our unanticipated bout of codependency.

I glanced at the screen and scoffed at her message before typing one of my own. “Did it mention getting into fights with pieces of wood and losing? Because if so then I can understand the sentiment.

A few seconds later, another chirp. “You have a BLACK EYE. That is SO badass.

I winced and absentmindedly reached a hand to brush at the cut near the corner of my eye. “That’s because I SLAMMED MY FACE into a kitchen cabinet, in case you’ve forgotten.” I pressed the ice pack gingerly against the still-bruising lid, feeling the coolness wash over the blinding stinging in a wave of relief.

Whatever. Still badass.

I snorted and tapped the screen off, stretching off the couch and slinking back toward the kitchen for the day’s third round of pain pills.

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