The first time Karma kisses you, well…

It's the first time she kisses you. There's no crowd of cheering students (though, to be fair, that was you kissing her and it was just for show.) There's no Liam staring and no cheap motel room ambiance and you're not in lingerie (though, again, to be fair, that was more a for him kiss than a cause she wanted to kiss but tell that to your heart, then or now) and she's not even drunkenly moving on you in a pool (though… well… yeah… you got nothing for that one.)

That one was just fucked up.

Which makes it different from this one, how?

The first time Karma kisses you, you're standing in the kitchen of your mother's house, a carrot in one hand and a bowl in the other. You're on dip duty, supposed be cutting up the veggies and mixing up a little hummus or a bit of ranch or a smidge of whatever there is that you've got in the fridge which, you know, would be so much easier to do if you weren't pinned up against it.

"Get some snacks," Lauren told you, hustling you off to the kitchen, as she played hostess and welcomed the early arriving guests (Shane and Karma, both on a break from college, along with Shane's boyfriend of the week and some girl from Lauren's Econ class and Felix (!) and did you mention Karma?) "Some healthy ones, so not your usual kind, ones that only you can eat and not gain a pound."

So, you know, no chips (damn) and no bacon (double damn) and absolutely no doughnuts (and that's just a fucking sin.)

Hence, the carrot.

And also hence the box of doughnuts that Lauren tried to hide in the cupboard behind the jumbo jug of protein powder for her morning shake, the one place she thought you would never go and look, but it's been over a year now, of living here together and you've learned her tricks.

And taught her a few new ones.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves and let's definitely not think about that, especially not when there's someone else's tongue in your mouth and hands gripping your hips and starting to drift (just a bit) and oh… Karma's an aggressive one isn't she?

You don't know what to think about that. (Though certain parts of you do seem to have some... ideas.)

Anyway… truth is, that Lauren's rubbed off on you too (and not like that) (not just like that) which means that yes, you are serving the doughnuts - assuming that you ever manage to make it out of the kitchen and that's kind of a big assumption right this second - but you've at least arranged them neatly, on your best serving plate (Lauren said that's the one) (for you, best equals paper or styrofoam, as in take out, and even with a tongue in your mouth and now a hand on your ass, you know either of those would be a bad bad bad idea) and it's sitting on the counter, waiting to be passed among the guests. Fine china and eleven fine doughnuts.

Yes. Eleven.

Karma didn't come into the kitchen with you - though she seems intent on making a solid effort at making you come with her (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) - and so you had a minute or two while you were finding the carrots in the fridge (you were supposed to know that the veggies had their own drawer?) and so there's a chance that one of the doughnuts (#12 in the box and #1 in your heart) might have slipped from the plate and ended up in your mouth.

Maybe.

Possibly.

No one can prove it. Especially since, no, there isn't a single bit of sugary evidence linking you to missing number twelve, not so much as a fleck of powder dotting your lips.

And yes, you know that might not be true for Karma's lips (not now) and you really should check that - with your eyes and not your tongue - and you'll totally get right on that. As soon as those lips aren't attached to your lips and that should be any second now.

Any second.

Any one.

Maybe this one.

Or, perhaps this one.

Or… now?

Or, you know, maybe not.

The first time Karma kisses you, you're legit surprised - like to your core, like you find yourself a bit… shooketh - at her staying power. Realistically, you know that this kiss isn't actually lasting as long as it feels (forever, it feels like forever) and, also realistically (which tends to fly out the window around Karma) (not that there's windows in the kitchen) (so not the point) you know this is all kinds of a bad idea and not just because of who could walk in on you.

Like Lauren, just as an example.

That would be bad. So bad, so past bad that you're not sure there's a word for it. Like death glares for the rest of the night and even after everybody else leaves you still have to live with her (though you'll probably become intimately reacquainted with your own bed) and you will spend weeks (minimum) living with the sound of her crying herself to sleep down the hall, in your mom's old room.

The one you've been sharing.

For a year and a fucking half and yes, the 'half' of it does make it worse especially the last half, the most recent half, six months since you whispered those three words in her ear while she slept, you know, those ones you've both been pretending she didn't hear and (almost) no one else even suspects and so, technically, you're not doing anything wrong right now.

Technically.

Yeah. That'll help.

And if it's not Lauren who walks in? Then how about Shane?

Do we need to go into all the ways that would suck? Do we need to take a walk down 'lesbian energy' memory lane or think about that summer when they (you totes know which 'they' you mean) became… ugh… friends. Maybe we should revisit their band?

And maybe we should get a root canal without novocain while giving birth without an epidural while listening to Farrah tell us - in great detail - about why Felix would be so perfect for you.

Oh. And then there's him. Cause if not Lauren and if not Shane?

Then it would be him. Karma's ex (and God… her taste in men). He's Ambien in human form, and him walking in and seeing the last two girls he was involved with making out, in the kitchen, one of them holding a carrot (which we all know is the most boring veggie of all the veggies, so plain and nondescript and… orange) (it's Felix with a spray tan) and oh, all the places his mind would go.

Likely, all of those places would be somewhere near the bottom of a bottle and you really don't want to be responsible for that (again) and so that's just one more reason (as if you need more) why this is such a bad idea.

And if you do? If the thoughts of each and every one of the people who could walk in on you and Karma isn't enough (and yes, you're not counting cute Econ girl with the purple dyed hair or Shane's boy toy) (and you're allowed to think cute cause you're… involved, not dead) then how about this?

This is Karma. This is Karma and you. And those two things + kisses + your mother's house have never equaled anything good. You, her, and a pool, that ringing any bells? For the next year, every time you smelled chlorine it was totes touch and go whether you were gonna puke or have the insatiable need to fuck the nearest non-Felix attractive person.

Sabrina loved taking you to the county pool. But that's a whole other story...

And - back to this story - let's be real. Those same two things + those same kisses, even minus your mother's house (the one you've been sharing - intimately - for forever) have never equaled even the tiniest bit of good.

Unless you count awakening you to your sexuality. Which led to the toast from Hell and then to the mother of all heartbreaks, so (again) not good. But… that also lead to Reagan.

(mmm… Reagan.)

But, to be fair, that also lead to the mother of all heartbreaks (you've had like six dads, why can't your heartbreaks have two moms?) so, see, no good. But that lead to your summer on the road which certainly had its ++++'s, but also lead to weeks of fighting with Karma, so lots of - - - - 's too. But that lead to you bonding with Lauren.

Like sisters.

Which, you're pretty sure, would make almost every single thing you did last night between the hours of eight pm and two-thirty am very very very illegal. Even in Texas.

Especially in Texas.

So, illegal sexual activities? Definitely not good.

And yes, that all did lead to Sabrina and that was good (not good enough to be good, like it was sweet and fun and you loved her, but it's not like you two were ever really meant to be, like you were some kind of legit endgame OTP, unless, maybe, your show got cancelled unexpectedly and the idiots in charge never had a chance to do something - anything - better.) But she did make you happy, for a while, and then when she didn't, that lead to…

Selma.

And Selma begat Jennifer who begat Callista who begat Diana who begat… um… fuck… what was her name?

(You're a bit distracted.) (Karma's hand - the one not on your ass - has found itself a new resting place and by resting, you totes mean 'caressing' or 'rubbing', perhaps even 'fondling', and who knew Karma was a boob girl?)

Mandy.

No, Mandy didn't know Karma was into boobs, at least you don't think she did, but you didn't think Karma was gonna turn dip time into the first five minutes of some good Internet porn (and yes, there is good and bad Internet porn and you can be forgiven if you've often found ones with a ginger-blonde pairing to be a bit more on the good side). Her name (the girl Diana begat) was Mandy and she was fucking adorable and brought you homemade doughnuts all the time and if she hadn't moved away, then maybe…

But she did. And her moving (and taking the doughnuts with her) begat…

Lauren.

Actually, no. She begat that dude from your bowling team (you like to bowl, don't fucking judge) but he never amounted to much more than a repeat of the great Oliv-aster of sophomore year, a single desperate kiss next to lane eight. But this isn't about who begat who anymore.

This is about who caught who.

"Amy?"

Her voice is soft and it's quiet and you haven't heard it like that in about a year (not counting the half this time because that would have been the first half, back when you both still felt like your mother was going to come home any minute and you were so quiet) and, underneath the quiet, there's a fear in it, one that you'd hoped you'd never hear again - the way it sounded after she dumped Liam and showed up on your doorstep asking if she could move back in, thinking that for sure you'd say 'no' - and you certainly never wanted that fear to be because of you but, of course, it has to be you.

Who else could it be?

It's only the ones we love… or the ones who whisper such things in our ears in the middle of the night… that can really hurt us.

Karma's hands drop to your hips (which is simultaneously a 'thank God' and a 'please, no') and her lips are like a single breath away from yours and you know - you fucking know - if you open your eyes, she's gonna be all you see and no, you don't mean Karma.

And yet, you do it anyway, cause, well… you're you. And you can't go through life blind, right?

Except when it comes to Karma and your heart and finding ways to fuck up every good thing in your life by letting those two things anywhere near each other. Then… oh, then, you can be as blind as a fucking bat.

You open them and, yup, there she is. Right over Karma's shoulder and there's this look on her face that you can't describe and that's only partly because you don't want to, and then Karma's stepping back (first time for everything) and then you think (stoopidly) (you're so fried you can't even spell) that maybe everything will be OK.

Right up until her hands slip from your hips and one of them takes one of yours - the one with the carrot and oh, that's just fucking weird - and she smiles at Lauren (even weirder), not that you see it cause you're still staring at her though, if you did, you might see something behind that smile that you might (maybe) (possibly) (you so would) recognize and then, on behalf of your… um… Lauren, you might want to jailhouse shiv Karma with that fucking carrot, right in

her heart.

But you don't see it, though you do hear it when Karma says "Oh, hey, Lauren. We were just getting the snacks."

Really? The 'snacks'? As if yummy food goodies (and veggies) are somehow now some dirty, face-sucking, five more minutes and we'd have been scissoring (dammit, Shane) on the kitchen table metaphor?

Only Karma.

Lauren shakes her head and waves her off and yes, you're quite sure those are both meant for you. "Doesn't matter," she says and no two words have ever hurt you quite so much. "Doesn't matter at all. Don't mind me." Her eyes flick to your hands, still entwined (and why the fuck are they still entwined?) and then back to you. "Carry on," she says, turning on her and heel and stalking out of the kitchen.

Karma mumbles something about not knowing what's gotten into her (mumbles cause her lips have already found the skin of your neck) but, see, there's the entire problem.

No, not Karma's lips.

You.

You do know. You know exactly what's gotten into Lauren.

A very non-carrot shaped knife, right in her back. And go ahead, dust that fucker for prints.

They'll all be yours.