Nocturnal Dance of Star-Crossed Lovers

There were two ways to kill a cat. One was to stuff it in a bag, and the other was to crush it in your hands.

I had always preferred the latter. It was quicker, less messy, and more satisfying. Cats are very smart animals, and they knew when they were going to die. A cat's eyes widened, its ears flattened against its head, and its fur stood on end. It would spit and claw at me while I held it, but I would hold tighter until the sputtering stopped. When I let go of the limp body, a wave of relief would wash over me and the world would silently turn back to normal again.

"Why do you like cats so much?" Siara asked me once. She had just broken up with her boyfriend and was curled up on my bed next to me in her pajamas, eating popcorn and watching an old movie while she cried into a pillow. My house is usually loud with all five of us running around like maniacs, but that night it was quiet as all hell. Mom ran errands, Dad was out for drinks with his friends, and Lincoln had left for the weekend to visit his parents'. All of our phones were off.

"They don't make noise," I told her between popcorn kernels. "They just sit there purring or crying."

"That's not true!" she said suddenly loud as if she had forgotten where we were. The tears slowed down and she looked at me through bloodshot eyes. "Cats are assholes."

"You know what? They are," I agreed sincerely as I turned back to the screen. "But they're small assholes."

When Lincoln went away for the weekend that year, Siara didn't cry on my bed like that anymore. We were both tired from finals week, so instead of studying we played movies in my room all day long until one of us fell asleep on top of the covers in front of the TV screen. We woke up early Sunday morning still cuddled together and feeling brave after a couple drinks we stole from Lincoln's parent's liquor cabinet before he left for his trip Friday night. Underneath my sheets we talked about everything: boys who didn't like us because we liked girls or vice versa; boys who liked us who weren't good enough for us; boys that made us feel special; boys that didn't deserve our time; girls who liked boys but hated themselves; girls who liked girls but hated themselves; boys who lied about liking girls; boys who lied about hating girls; sex (which wasn't enjoyable); sex (which was amazing); sex (which reminded us of our exes); sex (which reminded us of our first times). There were things we hadn't shared before-- things that brought out the kindest parts of each other that made both of us want more than friendship despite knowing how complicated that could get with Lincoln living just down the hall from us-- so we kept them secret between us for when Lincoln got home again later that month. That afternoon passed too quickly in a blur of whispered giggles and stolen kisses under my covers before someone knocked on my door asking if Siara wanted to eat dinner with everyone for once since Lincoln wasn't there anymore to hog her attention all day long in their room upstairs. We brushed off any evidence from our afternoon tryst from our bodies and clothes before walking downstairs together with wide smiles plastered on our faces as if nothing happened at all between us except for maybe some sisterly bonding over movies like we always did whenever one of us needed any kind of comfort during hard times or lonely nights without friends or lovers nearby.

I'm pretty sure Lincoln knew what was going on between Siara and me even though he never said anything about it when he returned from his trip after spring break ended three days later because the very next weekend he invited Siara over to his house again even though I begged him not to because I didn't want him to think that I needed a buffer between him and Siara whenever I visited because then he would think that I cared more than anything else in this world besides friendship about what he felt towards me (even though I did care). But there wasn't much else I could do besides follow his rules so when Siara showed up at my house wearing her shortest skirt with her longest legs ever attached underneath it, along with too many layers of makeup that made her look older than she really was, plus a pair of high heels just in case she might need those too because God knows she wore those shoes nowhere else besides maybe around her bedroom while getting ready every morning before school started this summer (unless she wore them when she went out clubbing last fall), Lincoln's dad drove both of them over to his house where he gave them a tour through all four floors as if he hadn't already shown them everything years ago when Lincoln moved in after starting college nearby. However, none of those places were meant for guests unless you found yourself spending an afternoon