How To Disappear - KiVi [Engl.]

Chapter 4

"Oh," Alba frowns.

Chiara's expression mimics Alba's own, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just... I thought you and I were going to hang out today, is all," Alba shrugs.

"Oh, babe, I'm sorry. I can cancel on Violeta - we can meet up another time or something."

"No, don't," Alba rolls her eyes, "I don't want to be that girlfriend that stops you from seeing your friends. Go and have a good time and catch up on old times. I'm being dramatic."

"Are you sure? Because I can just as easily call her up and -"

"Chiara," Alba says softly and wraps her arms around the others neck, "I want you to go. Okay?"

Chiara nods and briefly presses her lips against the brunettes own, "Okay. I'm gonna jump in the shower then."

"Mkay," Alba smiles sleepily and lies back on the bed.

Chiara cares for Alba, she really does. Although she wouldn't say that she's in love with the girl, she cares for her. And outside of Belena and a few friends, Alba is really the only person that she can be herself around out here.

But now there's Violeta. And Chiara knows, deep down, that she would leave Alba in a heartbeat if there was a chance in hell that she could be with Violeta.

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~~~ ~~~ ~~~ Present ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

Omar and Chiara had settled on eating at a quiet, fairly empty diner close to town. They holed up in a corner far away from the rest of the late-night patrons and Chiara made sure only to speak when nobody was in hearing range.

"Please, give me a second to collect myself before you tell me how you and Violeta had hot, licentious sex on the floor of her new apartment," Omar holds a hand to his forehead in preparation.

"Licentious?" Chiara raises an eyebrow, "Is that your word of the day?"

"I see you're not denying the sex part," Omar smirks, "Does that mean..."

"No," Chiara rolls her eyes, "Not yet, okay?"

"Yet," Omar brings a hand to his heart, "Please, continue before I melt."

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Violeta's flat is nice. It's simple and empty, but it's nice nonetheless. Once the two girls finish unboxing all of Violeta's things (which, to be fair, isn't that much of a challenge), they sprawl out across the white sofa that came with her new home.

"White leather," Chiara runs her hand across the fabric of the couch, "Fucking classy."

"Nothing says class like having your thighs stick to your furniture," Violeta retorts and brings her wine glass to her lips, "So how've you been, Kiki?"