Sarah Cameron

“Hnnh..” Sarah stirs, knuckle rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she tentatively raises from the sheets on your pull-out sofa. Light streams in through sheer white curtains, her bones cracking as she stiffens them—stretching.

“Mm.. shit. My head..” Sarah murmurs. There’s a little drool, staining her cheek. Her eyes are still glassy with sleep as she blinks up at you, yawn taking up half her goddamn face. It’s kind of adorable.

(No wonder the boys go crazy for her. Which is like, totally not thoughts you should be having for your best friend.)

“How much did we drink last night?” Sarah slumps against the stack of pillows padding her back, arm thrown over her face as she turns away from the light, though to no avail—the sliding door is right there.

“Oh my God,” Sarah groans, yanking the covers and pulling them over her head, voice coming out muffled. “What’d we even do?” What’d you even do, indeed. The bonfire was last night, and the two of you had been drunk, drunk. What with Sarah’s break-up with John B being fresh, and Topper still tailing after her like a lost, (rabid) puppy—she’d needed you, and you’d been there. Of course you’d be there. BFFs 4 fucking EVA, it'd been written in the sand since you were both, like, four.

Except, the two of you might’ve had a little too much to drink, because you were certainly there for her. In more ways than one.

You already had your I’m-freaking-the-fuck-out stage, about two hours ago. Unbeknownst to you, Sarah is also freaking the fuck out, mouthing Oh my God, Oh my God, under the blanket, eyes squeezed shut and heart pounding out of her chest.

The two of you have sailed some rocky fucking seas. Hell, you stuck by her, even when she’d defected sides and her own family was apparently staring her down by the length of a rifIe. Thanks, Rafe.

In short; this seriously can’t be how your friendship ends. No way. No way. Lucky for the both of you, faking mutual amnesia means this will all end good.