Creativity: Not Together

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction about fictional situations involving fictional people.

"I don't know if I lied when I said we're not together..." ~Unsent Letter, Machine Gun Fellatio

To hell with it all, I don't know.

She's been my roomie for pretty much as long as I can remember. We moved in together as total strangers - needed to get a place near our uni, she placed an ad in the newspaper, so I got in touch and here we are - and now everyone I know is talking about us like we're an item. I don't know if we are or not. I don't know what I think. I don't know what she thinks. I haven't the foggiest fucking clue.

We act enough like a couple at times - argue over stupid things, finish each others' sentances, little stuff like that, y'know? But we don't sleep together, don't have sex, don't kiss, aren't a couple. We play video games together. We help each other with essays and crap. When she broke her arm I brought her flowers and homework in the hospital. On my 21st she took us out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. She cooks dinner, I clean up after. We split the bills and groceries.

Hell, we're comfortable enough with each other. I'll be eating cereal on the kitchen table in my boxers, she'll walk in dripping wet in a towel, tell me that the shower's free, get herself some breakfast and sit down across from me. Happens every morning. She usually just wears a big shirt at home - I usually don't wear a shirt at home - and that's more than once caused someone at the door to blink and ask if it's a bad time.

For once I'd like it to be a bad time, y'know?

She's the most damn reliable person I know. She drove an hour either way to pick me up from a wild party at a friend's place once. At three in the morning no less! Boy was she unhappy about that - at least I think, I was off my fucking face - but she was there, and I still haven't paid her back for that one. She's always our designated driver, and hell, I don't even have my Ls.

The one time she wasn't driving, I'm told we made out like animals in heat. God, do I wish I wasn't drunk for that. Don't remember that night one fucking bit.

Maybe she's gay.

Man, that'd be rich, wouldn't it?

I 'spose it doesn't matter if we're a couple or not. My dad always told me to put my mates above my woman. Damn bastard, my dad was. And hell, she's closer to being a mate than she is to being 'my woman.' Fucking lot of good your advice is doing me now, Dad. But I feel a lot... safer... with her around, y'know? One of those spiritual things, I guess. Like she's one of those buttress things, and I'm the house she's holding up.

Man that sounds stupid. Fucking stupid. I hate metaphors.

It doesn't matter. It matters. I don't know. I don't fucking know, and I know it doesn't matter, and I stay awake at night wondering if it matters or not, and wondering if we're together or not. I don't even know the word to describe that! Fucking stupid, that's the word. God damnit.

I don't know. But I wish I did.

And I don't think I'll ever find out.