The Taste of My Chapstick on Her Lips - Part 2

The Distance Between Us ( The Taste of My Chapstick on Her Lips - Part 2) No-Nudity WLW Fiction by Faerie Realm This blog continues the story begun in: https://budgetpixel.com/blog/the-taste-of-my-chapstick-on-her-lips Hiya! My name is Allison, but my friends call me Allie, and my BFF growing up was Katrina. She and I were inseparable from Year 6 onward, and for our last year and a half of secondary school, even more so. And by more so, I mean we were something more than just friends even if we weren't quite girlfriend-girlfriend in the fully romantic sense. For those new to our story, here's a quick recap of the six years prior to the momentous phone call during our final year of university, a moment that would finally bring us back home. I was much more outgoing and yes, touchy-feely, than Katrina, but she didn't seem to mind. (Me and Katrina, age 16, during our Duke of Edinburgh expedition.) England is tolerant enough, we didn't feel we had to hide our affection. (Me and Katrina, age 17, at Wycombe Abbey, an all-girl prep school near London.) Like most high school students, we went to different universities after graduating. I headed north to Glasgow University and, since she was much smarter and way more studious than me, Katrina stayed in London to attend Imperial College. We kept in close contact for the first few months, calling each other every day at first, then every other day, then every week, then every other week. And then came the fateful phone call just before Christimas break. "I can't wait to see you again!" I gushed into the phone. Her hesitation, however, immediately told me something had changed. "You are coming back, aren't you?" I asked. "Yes, but... I have to tell you something." "Of course, you can tell me anything," I exclaimed. "I... I have a boyfriend." Luckily, Katrina couldn't see my face when she gave me the news — she'd met a guy. (Me, age 18, in my dorm room in Glasgow, close to Christmas.) Some part of me had expected that day to come, but because we had never really talked about boys during our time at Wycombe Abbey or on our phone calls since, it still caught me by surprise. I of course told her I was happy for her, and that I wanted to meet the lucky guy, and we did indeed get together right after Christmas. His name was Richard, and he was oh so very handsome and came from a posh family, just like Katrina. Needless to say, I didn't enjoy the meeting at all because that's when I experienced jealousy for the first time in my life, and not in the way I should have. I wasn't jealous of Katrina for landing such a cute guy—I was jealous of Richard for stealing my BFF! But I put on a brave face and kept telling myself, this is how it's supposed to be. This was always how it was supposed to be. I repeated it, like a mantra, until I believed it. That's me, in the background, feeling like a third wheel... and a miserable one at that. (Katrina and me, age 19, and Richard, age 21, in London.) When school resumed, I resolved to get a boyfriend as well. I missed Katrina, after all, and since she clearly wasn't missing me, I decided it would be better if that imbalance were eliminated. I still wanted to be her friend, after all, even if I couldn't be her special BFF. I wasn't as pretty as Katrina, but what I lacked in looks, I made up for with my bubbly personality. I picked out a quiet guy in one of my art classes and soon I had a boyfriend as well. I still called and texted Katrina regularly, but my texts and voicemails often went unanswered, and we spoke less and less frequently as time wore on. I learned to enjoy the physical aspects of having a boyfriend, but emotionally, part of me still longed for Katrina. Sometimes I would even call her phone just to listen to her voice in her greeting message. Listening to her greeting message. (Me, age 20, in my dorm room, having finally discovered makeup and hair styling.) Katrina and I did get together a few times over the summers, but one or both of our boyfriends were always with us except for once. And during that one lunch outing when it was just us, we reminisced about old times, but didn't hold hands; and we certainly didn't kiss or even talk about how we'd kissed during our time at Wycombe. I'd resigned myself to the distance between us at this point. (Katrina and me, age 21, in London. And yes, I'd started dying my hair various shades of blonde.) Our level of contact had become extremely sporadic by the time our fourth year of university rolled around. Imagine my surprise, then, when I suddenly received an all-caps text from her just before Christmas break: "I NEED TO SEE YOU. PLEASE." And this is where the story really begins. At this point, it had been well over a month since we'd last spoken, but I immediately turned off the stove (I'd been cooking) and called her. "Can I see you?" she asked almost immediately, and even though so much time had passed, I could still sense her mood from the tone of her voice: She was upset. You're all up to date now: This is Katrina and me, almost age 22, at the time this story really begins. "Yes, of course. I can catch the noon train and—" "No, I'll come to you." "But I'm at the easier school, so I—" "Dammit, why do you always have to be so nice?" she practically barked at me over the phone. "Huh?" I asked, confused at her outburst and accusing tone. "I'm the one calling out of the blue, so I should be the one to make the trip." "Yeah okay sure," I said with a shrug. "It's good timing, because my roommate is gone for the weekend." "By roommate, you mean your boyfriend, right?" "No, I'm between guys at the moment." "Oh. I'm sorry it didn't work out with... what was his name again?" "Meh, it doesn't matter. It's easier living with a girl, anyway. So what's going on, Kat?" "I'll tell you when I get there." I almost couldn't believe it when Katrina actually stepped off the Avanti West Coast at Glasgow Central. Like a giddy teenager, I ran up to her and flung my arms around her. Because she had become more and more standoffish over the years, I wasn't prepared for her reaction: Far from being reserved, she wrapped her arms around me and gripped me in an embrace that was almost desperate in its intensity. "So, do you want to go shopping?" I asked when she finally stepped back. She looked prettier than ever, but she also looked troubled, and I wanted to distract her from whatever she was worrying about. "Since when do you like to shop?" she asked me. "I don't, but I remember you like to." She stared at me for a moment and then, to my surprise, suddenly covered her face with her hands and started crying. "Whoa, what's wrong, Kat?" I said, putting my arms around her again and patting her heaving shoulders. "You're always so nice to me! You haven't changed at all." There it was again: Her confusing statement that sounded more like an accusation. "I don't understand," I said. "Should I have changed?" "No, and that's the problem!" she managed between sobs. "Why is it a problem?" I asked, utterly confused at this point. "Kat, what's bothering you?" She wiped her eyes, then looked at me. "Can we go for a walk?" she asked. "Sure, whatever you'd like. You want me to show you around Glasgow?" "Glasgow is depressing," she said, wiping her cheeks. "I didn't come here to see the city." "Yeah, it's a bit drab downtown," I said with a chuckle. "But the university's nice. How about there?" She nodded and attempted a smile. I showed her around the stately buildings of the University of Glasgow, interjecting irreverent or silly observations as was my style, and it wasn't long before I had her smiling again. "And this is where, in 1892, a bunch of old dudes finally decided to let girls study here as well," I said as I led her through the stately archway of the Gilbert Scott Building. She laughed and touched my arm, and I couldn't help but notice that she let it linger there. "I've really missed your silly faces," she said. "Well you're welcome to come see them whenever you like," I said, sticking my tongue out at her. She laughed again, and then let her hand fall next to mine, her palm grazing my knuckles, causing my heart to beat a little faster. I instinctively wanted to take her hand, and I could almost believe that she wanted me to. But I knew she had a boyfriend, we weren't teenagers anymore, and I couldn't even be sure she wouldn't just disappear from my life again after this visit. What would you do in this situation? I bit my lip and pondered the question, knowing I only had to turn and move my hand an inch... This story continues at the following link: https://budgetpixel.com/blog/the-taste-of-my-chapstick-on-her-lips-part-3 Originally published: April 26, 2026 Updated: May 3, 2026 (split to shorten, and added links)