I didn't need the future-seeing powers of Deen's Guardian Angel to know her prediction that I was going to 'love' the show would be wrong. As expected, I didn't like 'Fashionista Empire.'

At all. Period.

It was about aspiring fashion models, high-powered designers, and glamorous photoshoots and shows, but it didn't give any fashion tips—at least tips useful to a normal girl like me. Strutting on a runway wasn't going to be my career anytime soon, that was for sure. Not with my height. The best I could do was walk on an airport runway.

This 'Fashionista Empire' nonsense was more like a drama show than anything else—ugh, I hated those. What was the term...reality TV? Supposedly real anyway. Everybody knew it was all scripted. And even if this show was actually about beauty lessons and whatnot, I still wouldn’t watch it either.

"So..." Deen slowly spoke as she gave me a sidelong glance. "I take it you don’t like this?" She teasingly pressed my arm that she had ensnared against her ample chest. Her mischievous smirk told me that she'd just escalate things if ever I reacted to her provocations.

"Maybe I'm just not used to watching this kind of stuff," I replied, trying to be polite. This seemed to be a show my 'best friend' liked, so I shouldn't dunk on it. I could just use this show as a study session on how normal people behaved. This was how they acted…right?

“Just change the channel if you want. I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine with this, really.”

Throughout this stupid show, Deen had slowly scooted closer and closer to me. In response, I moved my ass away from her like we were the same poles of magnets. Unfortunately, I was already sitting near the left end of the sofa when she plopped down beside me, so I didn't have much space to flee. It might be too impolite to transfer to one of the armchairs.

Cornering me, she launched her invasion of my personal space with an innocent contact of our elbows, followed by our arms and then legs touching. I stubbornly didn’t respond to any of it, sitting still like I was a mannequin. I felt like this was a challenge and I’d lose to her if I showed any reaction.

Then, while laughing at the banter of the models during their makeup session, Deen nonchalantly linked arms with me. Now, she had trapped my arm in between her boobs. This must be what a remote control stuck in a couch feels like.

I had considered just walking away, but that didn't seem like in character for the face I had presented to Deen. I would get annoyed by her antics from time to time. But if I couldn't avoid her, I had either tolerated her or just not so seriously fought back. Not only that, but I hadn't gotten angry for real with her even once. It was very hard for me to cross the threshold between intense irritation to actual anger, not to mention it was going to be so awkward living in the same house after a real fight.

I thought I might get used to her sticking to me eventually. After all, wasn't this what friends did, clinging to each other and such? Like that joke about women going to the restroom in packs was sorta true. It was just that I was usually alone, given that I wasn't close with anyone until now, so I didn't have anyone to go with me.

My cheerleader days in high school came back to me, trying to fit in the bitch squad—fine, I was just being bitchy myself describing them like that.

Most of the other girls, except for a couple of fucking wenches, were fine. I recalled that the core group, four third-years, were so touchy-feely with each other that I wouldn't have been surprised if they just melted into one being. Maybe this was normal for girl friends—with a prominent space in between those words—and I would stick out too much if I incorporated an aversion to touchy-feeliness to my faces?

After a few uncomfortable minutes passed, my arm started to feel unpleasantly warm. It was common for survival movies set in the North Pole or some other icy wilderness to have a scene where the characters had to huddle together for warmth or else they'd die.

Was this something like that? I hadn't imagined just how warm a human body could be before this. It was like my arm was inside a sauna!

The central air conditioning of the house kept everything comfortable and cool even during the signature warm February evenings of La Esperanza, but the cold air couldn't reach my right arm because Deen was wrapped around it. I'd certainly begin to sweat if this continued.

And what would Deen say?

Our earlier talk about smells and sweat needled my mind. I didn't need to have a Ph.D. in human interactions to know that it was super disgusting to get my sweat on my best friend's chest. Worse than living with someone I had fought with was living with someone who thought I was disgusting. What kind of face would that even entail? I had no fucking experience with that scenario.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

I tried tugging my arm out a couple of times, but I couldn't get it back. Deen just pretended nothing was happening, chuckling at the show while explaining to me the relationships of the models so I'd understand the context of their banter.

"Uh-huh," I said. "Is that so?"

Deen went on with her stories about this or that episode, and I continued giving her generic answers. I tried to free my arm a couple more times, but she tightly clutched it, hugging it more while nonchalantly chatting with me.

How about I use my super strength? I tried to yank my arm with increased force, but Deen responded by matching my strength. I thought of just overpowering her, but her weird moan as we struggled distracted me. Then she said in a breathy voice, "Don't move that much, I'm trying to watch the show. And no using super strength."

"We don't have a rule like that," I protested.

"Let's make it a rule then." For some reason, Deen's cheeks turned red like when I had smelled her. She faced the TV while we talked, her breathing kind of heavy.

"That's unfair. You're far stronger than me if we won't use our super strength."

"But you're stronger than me if we do use it, so that's unfair to me."

"I'm going to splash you again."

"You're not going anywhere." Deen pushed down my left forearm and pinned my hand in between her thighs.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Making sure you can't get a glass of water."

I groaned but just decided to let her be, hoping my arm wouldn’t horribly sweat. But it was just so stuffy, especially after she pulled me closer to lock my hand. This kind of reminded me of my judo days. I also hated whenever I had to spar because it was kind of needed to stick with my opponent to perform judo techniques—maybe someday they’ll invent long-ranged judo.

Come to think of it, I wasn’t that averse to being close to people back then. It was my judo classes that exacerbated my hatred of close physical contact.

I wiggled my fingers squished between Deen’s smooth legs, trying to shift my arm’s awkward position into something more comfortable. She made a strange sound, like a tiny squeak of a mouse, but didn’t say anything else. Did she assume I was tickling her or something? Fuck, I don’t want her to think I’m a weirdo.

What if I pinched her thighs? That’d make her release me.

How hard should I pinch? If I used only my normal human strength, that wouldn’t do anything to her. It should be hard enough to actually hurt and surprise her. And that meant I needed to use super strength. But if I used too much, I might end up ripping off a piece of her skin and flesh.

Maybe her Guardian Angel would warn her—

"I did buy you ice cream," Deen suddenly blurted out.

"Huh? Uh, yeah you did. Thanks for it, I guess?"

"No, that's not what I mean. I bought you ice cream. Sooo...tolerate me. Just until the end of the show."

“Oh. I…”

"There's nothing to this," she assured me with a purring voice. "Think of it like I'm hugging a pillow while watching a movie. And you're the pillow."

"I'd make for a very bad pillow. Just thin and bony. If we're talking about good pillows, you're better...um, nothing."

"What was that you're going to say?" She looked up at me, her lips an inch from my cheek.

“Nooothiiing...”

Perhaps, if I focused on something else, I could distract myself from the heat and also the repulsive feeling of another person’s flesh? The TV wasn't providing much in the way of distraction. It just made me more irritated. Focusing on Deen's nice candy scent might—No! Go away, fucking weirdass thoughts!

I didn’t have to suffer that long. After about five minutes, the 'Fashionista Empire' show finally ended. Commercials for beauty products with unpronounceable names—that's how I know they're expensive—came one, one after the other, featuring models who couldn't hold a candle to Deen.

I tugged my arm again. Deen held on to it, looking up at me with a frisky grin as her head laid on my arm. Frowning at her, I said, “Amber Deen Leska, uphold your covenant, or I swear to the Mother Core, I’m going to pinch your thighs.”

“I wonder how that feels—”

“Deen…” I threateningly said.

“Fine.” She let go of me and moved a couple of feet away. “There! You’re free. That wasn’t too bad, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” I said. A patch of her lavender tank top between her breasts had darkened. It was obviously drenched in sweat. Hers or mine? I was tempted to sniff my arm. But how would I know if it was her sweat or mine? Holy shit, my thoughts were absolutely nonsense tonight. “I…I’m going back to my room,” I mumbled, standing up and slowly retreating. “Have to study… tomorrow’s class…”

“You do that. As for me,” she said, looking down at her clothes, “I’ll also return to my room to change.” She winked at me and headed for the stairs before I could respond.