viii. you single?

"Do you need a change of clothes?"

Colette looked down at what she was wearing. Skinny jeans wouldn't be fun to sleep in. "Yes," she responded, "I do."

Marisol nodded and rifled through a dresser on the other side of the room. It wasn't long before the shorter girl stood up and threw a mass of clothes at Colette.

Colette managed to catch them. She would have asked where the bathroom was to change: she hardly knew Marisol, but the photographer's assistant had turned her back and started changing. Colette felt her mouth go dry. She hadn't been to many sleepovers in her life, and she couldn't remember changing in front of any friends. It wasn't normal to stare either, but Colette couldn't draw her eyes away from the young woman's tan back, shifting as she pulled a shirt over her head. The last thing Colette noticed were a series of dots around Marisol's shoulders. She couldn't tell if they were acne scars or freckles, but the word cute crept in the back of her mind.

Just as Marisol turned, Colette whipped her head to the side, pretending not to look. She mustered the best of her actress abilities - after all, it's her profession - and plastered a smile on her face. "Could I use your bathroom?"

"Yeah, it's across from Nevada's room." Marisol made eye contact easily. From the unbothered expression, Colette could tell that her staring went undetected.

"Thank you." Colette walked out of the room and past all of the couches. She held her breath until she finally stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She let out a long, drawn out sigh and put her hands to her face, dropping the spare clothes to the floor. This was not the time to have a heart attack. Marisol was an acquaintance, or maybe a friend, Colette wasn't sure yet. But what Colette was sure about is that something as little as another woman changing in front of her shouldn't make her lose her marbles.

She rested her hands on the sink and stared into the mirror. She'd change, act normal because this was a sleepover, which is what normal girls do, and she'd be a polite guest. She detached herself from the porcelain and picked up the clothes from the floor. She examined them. Marisol was shorter than her, but Colette was slimmer, and this difference seemed to balance out their clothes. They fit well, though the pajama pants were a bit high-water. Colette folded the clothes she just took off and tucked them under her arms. She steadied herself and walked out of the bathroom.

Marisol was sitting on her bed, tapping away on her phone. She looked up when Colette walked back in.

"It wasn't too messy, was it?"

"No, it was fine," Colette responded. It was sort of a lie. She didn't actually pay attention to the state of the bathroom while she had her mini crisis, but that must have meant that it wasn't bad enough to distract her.

"That's good," Marisol said, putting her phone down. She stood up from the bed. "I'm going to go brush my tee-" Marisol paused mid-sentence. "It just occurred to me that I don't have a spare toothbrush for you."

Colette mentally cursed herself for not thinking this impromptu sleepover out. "It's alright," she responded, "I can last until morning."

Marisol nodded and walked out of the room. Colette sat down on the bed. A buzz from Marisol's phone reminded Colette of her own and she fished it out of the pocket of her skinny jeans before setting the pile of clothes down neatly by the bed. She opened Twitter and began scrolling through her feed. She hadn't posted much recently, the last thing being a selfie of her with New York as a backdrop, yet she still got tons of messages. She read through a few of them.

@benderfender12: Wish I was in New York so I could meet @colette lol

@natsanool: @colette is so pretty... imagine waking up to her every day lol

@jaxnlette4eva: @colette are you dating Jackson yet? You guys are so cute together.

Colette cringed at the last comment and shut down her phone. The two of them played a romantic couple in a show, but some people couldn't get it in through their head that it was just fictional. She shuddered at the thought.

A voice called from the door. "You alright?"

Colette jumped from her spot and looked up. Marisol stared at her, a questioning look on her face.

"Oh, I just read a weird tweet," Colette explained.

"Directed at you?" Marisol sat next to Colette on the bed.

"Yes, somebody was asking if I was dating my co-star, Jackson."

"Are you?" Marisol asked.

"No!" Colette responded. She coughed, lowering her voice. "No, I'm not."

"That bad, huh?"

Colette shook her head. "He's not bad, but he's definitely not my type. We acted as a couple in Zodiac Class, and our fans now think we belong together. He seems to think the same way."

Marisol wrinkled her nose. "That's gross."

Colette couldn't help but agree. Jackson had stopped really trying since the show ended, but she'd still get a text every now and then from him. She had gotten one a few minutes after she posted her New York selfie. She simply responded that she was too busy to meet up.

Marisol interrupted her thoughts. "Are you dating anybody, though?"

"What?" Colette felt her brain short circuit for a second.

"Was that too invasive of a question? You don't have to answer."

Colette forced her brain into a manual restart. "No, it's fine," she responded. "I'm not dating anybody."

"Why?" Marisol asked, "It's not like you'd have any trouble finding someone to date. You're Colette after all."

Colette resisted the urge to laugh at the way Marisol said her name. Colette wasn't vain, but she was willing to admit her own successes. She was confident that she could go on a date if she wanted to.

"Honestly, I'm just not interested in dating right now."

Marisol flopped back onto the bed. "I get it," she replied, "Are you asexual or aromantic, by chance?"

Colette turned and looked at Marisol, who laid on her back. "No, are you?"

"No." Marisol replied. Colette tried to ignore the spark of happiness that ignited in her chest. "Why don't you want to date, then?"

Colette pursed her lips. These questions were ones that were constantly dropped in her comment section, though she never replied to them. "My life is very public. I have paparazzi who follow me. I don't want to drag someone into such a life. It's stressful."

"What if you dated a celebrity?"

"Even if I did date someone who knew how to handle the spotlight, I wouldn't have time to date them. I travel a lot for shooting. I'm always working."

"And if you did have time?"

"Then I still wouldn't be able to date. I'm a witch. If I was around somebody so often, I might slip up. I can't risk that."

Marisol simply nodded, her head brushing against the comforter under her. This onslaught of questions seemed too one sided, and curiosity gnawed at Colette's mind.

"What about you? Are you dating anyone?" Colette asked.

"No."

"Have you ever dated anyone?"

"Yes, but we broke up."

Colette felt a pang in her stomach. She shouldn't have pried. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"It's fine, I'm not too hurt by it," she said, "She was a pathological liar. I honestly don't know why I put up with it for as long as I did."

Maybe Colette should have focused on the 'pathological liar' bit, but the word she rang through her head like a fire alarm. Colette couldn't stop the question from spilling from her mouth. "You're gay?"

"Yes."

"Cool." Colette said, quite lamely. She mentally slapped herself.

"I guess so."

Colette's sudden loss in conversation skills must have killed the vibe, because neither of them said anything. Instead, Marisol stood up and flicked the light switch, bathing the room in darkness. Marisol crawled back into the bed and nestled herself in the covers. Colette doesn't question it and copies the girl next to her. She slides under the blankets and does her best not to touch Marisol. It's a full sized bed, so it's not too hard to keep her hands to herself.

Marisol's breath came in small, steady snores. Colette listened to them, trying to count them until she could finally fall asleep. It didn't work, and Colette didn't know if it had been 20 minutes or 2 hours since the two of them turned the lights off. Insomnia gripped her at the edge of the not-quite-a-stranger's bed.