"Erm..." I gingerly brought the straw up to my lips. Then I moved it away with a finger, poised to drink instead from the tip of the glass. I looked up to check Deen’s reaction.

She scrunched her nose at me. "I don't have any disease transmissible by saliva if that's what you're worried about."

“Wha-? I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“So you don’t have any issues sharing a straw?”

"Do we even really need straws in our lives," I said with amusement before sipping from the glass. It could’ve been my imagination, but I swore there was a subtle drop in Deen's eyes when I did it. Was that disappointment?

"Are you going all philosophical over a straw now?" she said. "And I win—"

"Win what?" I said before taking another sip, this time from the straw. Her eyes widened a bit in surprise as I did it. Sure enough, there was a weird taste. This bitch did put her saliva into the straw again, but somehow, this didn't bother me.

"Nothing," Deen nonchalantly said, slightly tossing her hair back with a gentle nudge of her head. "I was just talking to myself." She returned to eating as if feeding her best friend saliva was normal.

"The milkshake in this place tastes really good, doesn't it?" I said, stringing the conversation along because I wasn't sure how to proceed from here. Deen would never admit to this disgusting act even if I insisted on it—actually, I was looking like the loser if I continued doing that.

"Yeah, it tastes good, I guess." She had an annoying smirk—she was already claiming victory.

I had two choices: One, ignore her antics and relax and enjoy the food, or two, continue our tiny match and conduct counter-offensive operations. If I went with the first option, I didn't know why, but it felt like I was losing. If not losing, at the least, I was letting her win—which was just the same thing!

I can't fucking walk away from this.

But option two...I couldn't believe I was even considering option two. If I were to take Deen up on her challenge, then I'd have to do the same thing as her. That was the 'unspoken' rule of our contests thus far. Slow escalation until somebody gave up and couldn't continue. And in the case of this bullshit saliva thing that she started, that meant that I should...

The fuck, Erind, I thought to myself as I took another sip from the straw.

No, not a sip. A reverse sip.

I stared at the glass, wondering if this was a dumbass decision. That was a dumb question—this was a dumbass decision. So much dumbfuckery in this. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to back down.

What had I done wrong in my life that I got to this point? I melodramatically thought at the obviously wrong decision that I was still making despite knowing how fucking wrong on so many levels it was.

Was this a punishment from the Mother Core? Was SpookyErind influencing reality? Whatever it was, I couldn't believe I was about to retaliate in the 'Saliva Wars' with Amber Deen Leska.

Next, I pushed the glass, now half-full after we had both drunk from it, to Deen's side of the table. After it left my hand, there was no taking back what I had just done.

She stared down at it, then looked up, meeting my eyes. Raising a brow, she held the glass. I tilted my head towards it. I didn't need mind-reading powers to know what she was thinking about...what she was assuming. And she was right in her assumption.

Deen pursed her lips, considering for a moment, before sipping from the straw.

Other than a slight pause and a few deliberate blinks of her eyes, Deen didn't react as she drank the milkshake. And my saliva. Was that pause because she tasted something wrong...something that shouldn't be in the straw?

Better end this stupid war thing since I already have the last say. A very disgusting last say. "So, Deen, what do you want to—" I began to speak, trying to change the topic. But she cut me off.

"You know what?" She suddenly stood up.

"No, I don't know what," I replied, observing her with suspicion.

"I think it's much better if we sit together." She slid out of her side of the diner booth and went over to mine.

"I don't agree with your thinking," I said, glaring at her standing outside the booth. “Think about something else.”

She just chuckled as she scooted into my side of the booth. I moved away from her, almost sticking to the wall.

"I think it's much better if you stayed on your side," I told her as I placed my left hand on the seat cushion, blocking the spot beside me. Deen ignored it and sat on my hand. "Hey! Get back to your seat." I tried to pull my hand from beneath her, but I was too late. She caught my left arm, her right arm linking with it, and her left hand grasping my forearm.

"Don't be too noisy, you're bothering other customers," she rebuked me.

The word 'bothering' plucked a string in my head. "I'm not bothering anyone here," I shot back at her, but in a much, much lower volume. "And what are you doing?" That was a rhetorical question because I knew precisely why Deen was doing this—instead of continuing our contest, she felt the need to escalate it to win.

"It's so much easier to share the food if we're sitting side by side," she reasoned. Using her left hand, she cut into the apple pie in front of me with a fork to prove her point.

Sensing my chance, I tried to yank my arm away, thinking, is this deja vu?

But Deen was quick to react, pinning it to her side. She also dropped the fork and rushed to grab my hand again. With both hands and super strength, she held me in place. Actually, I could overpower her, even with only one arm. But that would create quite the raucous that would bother the other customers and maybe draw attention to us.

"Can you just behave?" she told me. Her tone was like she was scolding a child. Her signature cotton candy scent wafted in my direction because she was so close. "I nearly knocked down a plate," she added, shifting the blame to me.

"How about you behave," I pointedly said, "and release my hand?"

"No."

"What do you mean no?" I tried to sit straight, acting nonchalant. "And can we eat in peace? Push the plates towards me."

"I can feed you," she said, her voice quivering as she struggled to suppress a giggle.

"No way! Do you think I'm a kid?" I'm a strong, independent woman, I jokingly thought. Fucking Deen wouldn't stop this shit.

"Why not? You keep calling me Mom. Let me feed—"

“And let me go already.”

“Don’t wanna.”

"If you don't want to let my arm go, at least release my hand from under your—under you..." Under your ass, was what I wanted to say. But I couldn't recall if I had ever said 'ass' while using the Erind face I was presenting to Deen.

I wasn't going to violate Rule #7 just because I was fucking pissed off right now being this close to another human being—well, Deen was no longer human. She looked human, and that counted; my instinctual repulsion to physical contact seemed to think so. Not to mention there was no air conditioning in this diner, just a lazy ceiling fan that wasn't turned out. It was getting fucking hot with Deen sticking to me like a Cocoon trying to absorb bodies.

"It's your fault you placed your hand there." She pinched my arm. "Erind, behave. Don't wiggle your fingers; it feels weird."

It's not my fault that this is getting weird! I decided to change tact. "Deen, I know your butt is perfect and all that, but you don't need to let me feel it." There. She was going to feel conscious about that and parry my compliment, and then—

"Thanks," was all that she said in reply. She picked up the fork again. Her right arm still pinned my arm to her body, pressing it almost against her boob as if to remind me of their size. She speared a few pieces of fries with the fork.  "Open your mouth," she playfully said.

"What? I'm not—"

"Or do you want me to make airplane noises? I'm not sure how mothers get their children to eat. How did your Mom trick you into eating veggies?"

"Firstly, I ate vegetables when I was a kid, okay? Secondly, I wasn't a picky eater...just that I ate some things differently."

"Like eggs and sandwiches," Deen said.

"And lastly, can you already let my hand go and push the plates over here? The fries will get soggy."

"Good point!" She ate the fries on her fork. Then picked a single piece of fries with her fingers. She lightly touched my lips with the gravy-coated piece and said, "As you said, the fries will get soggy, so eat up already. I'm not letting go of you anytime soon."

"Fine," I relented with a groan. I bit the fry, along with Deen's fingers holding it.