Gags of Egos

The Gags of Egos – Part One

A feisty chick trapped in a sweet face. What the hell. No.

Log Line: Super cute Kaz Miles moves to the bustling city of Edmonton with NOTHING but dreams. No impressive work history, not enough money, no place to stay at… neither… brains for love and relationships! To make her idiosyncrasies even worse, she meets the beautiful, shrewd, principled… and… ‘super straight’ Jane Randall who becomes her roommate, self-proclaimed mentor, love guiding light, and… FANTASY!


Genre: Comedy/Drama/Romance/YA

Warning: Crude Humor/Language

Free Lesbian Fiction Online. The Gags of Egos.


Summer. Edmonton, Alberta.

“So what’s wrong with your life?” Jane asks.

I’m a 23-year-old chick who has just run away from her small town to heal a broken heart. Oh, Jesus. I’m so lame.

Let’s do that again. But damn it. Why does she have to resemble some bewitching angles of my favorite faces in the world? That’s a distraction to my devastating breakup.

And she’s going to be my roommate, for God’s sake. Okay. One more time.

A 23-year-old woman must speak with conviction and maturity. She must speak her mind and in a diplomatic sense. She must… Oh, God. My head can’t even carve out a goody-goody speech about myself anymore. All right, then. I’m gonna say whatever I want even if it means I come off as arrogant. “Is this supposed to be a requirement?” I say, almost choking on my coffee.

“Listen, honey,” she says, “I’m already giving you a good deal here. 50% off 800 bucks. Now if you find my questions offensive, then good luck with finding a cheap room these days.”

A feisty chick trapped in a sweet face. What the hell. No. The sweet face thing should be deleted. Okay, fine! She’s literally my type. Ugh. This is tough. Breathe.

It’s time to investigate myself now.

You’re looking for an affordable room. A new significant other should be the last thing for you to worry about. Besides, she’s gotta be straight. Get rid of this horrifying fantasy in an instant because you’re only making your life a lot more complicated than it already is.

“I need to save up a lot of money to move to New York city,” I say. “I know I can get a better job here instead ’cause Grande Prairie has been nothing but a dungeon for me. So there. Have I satisfied you with my answer yet?”

She smirks. “Liar.”

“Pardon me?” My insides are about to explode. I’m beginning to change my mind about renting her spare room now. She’s creeping me out.

“You got dumped,” she says, “didn’t you?”

Oh, for the love of God! Give me a hammer, quick! The bitch button has just been pressed! “Excuse me?”

“Enough of this glorifying crap, all right? You’re just desperate to forget your misery. That’s all there is to it.”

“And what makes you such an expert in these things, anyway?”

“I was like you three years ago, and you know what I’ve learned? Honesty always saves the day.”

I gulp. C’mon, saliva. Slide down. “Fine. You were right. I got dumped.”

“How long did it last for? Two years?”

Who is this strange woman? She’s swimming through my head. She seems to know every hem of stories circulating around my brains. “Almost two years.”

“He fell in love with a porky-chested slut?”

I burst out laughing, roaring my amusement all over the room, titillating some customers’ funny bones. Jane sits still, though puzzled over my hilarity. If I were to tell her that my ex was a she, I would kiss this 50% off goodbye right away for sure. So this chick could still be ignorant about certain things regardless. Especially when it comes to my sexuality lurking behind a straight facade. “Yes, he… He did, actually…”

“Then what’s so funny?” she says.

“Oh, the… the… the porky-chested slut…”

“I have a gut feeling that’s not it though.”

“Jane, my hotel check-out time is at noon, and that’s about an hour from now. Are you gonna let me move in to your place or not?”

“It was a she, wasn’t it?”


Chapter One

“Just so you’ll know,” Jane says, “I fish for real dicks. I know you find me attractive and all, but don’t count on it. Clear?… You know why I’ve spat it out like that? ‘Cause I’ve got a strong energy catch about these things. Just by judging the way your pupils behold me is already one hell of a love plea conclusion, designed for a mistletoe magic.”

Seriously. I wanna cut off her beautiful long brown hair this second… Oops. Scratch that. Shit. Yeah, she’s a brunette. My type. So what? Her attitude stinks. What a cheeky ass this one is. No no. Big NO NO!

Still, I have to be grateful that she’s driving me to my hotel right now to pick up my ‘life’. “Um, Jane, sorry, but you’re not my type. At all. So don’t count on it either.” What? I gotta lie to defend my dignity.

“Liar,” she says.

“Have you ever thought of keeping your opinions to yourself and just letting the person enjoy her day and be normal?” I’m telling you, I’m gonna get even one day. I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But I will. And ‘I will’ echoes across 82nd Avenue. Good sign. There’s hope for me to trumpet out the last laugh. Regardless.

“Never,” she says. “One thing that you should know about me, I’m fearless. My mind and my mouth go along hand in hand. If one disobeys the other, then that’s when shit kicks off.”

From this point on, I know my life is screwed. But I can fight back. I can redeem myself somehow. By the grace of God, I can engage in prattles and arguments with this bad ass, and… and… triumph. “How old are you, by the way?”

“Does age matter? Does that accurately define intelligence and character? I’m 28. So what does that tell you then?”

“You’re single and bitter.” Huh! I can be a blunt alley too! I just need to practice more!

“I’m single, yes,” she says. “Bitter? It’s only for people who find themselves ugly, and therefore, they believe that being pathetic and taking it out on others could help them feel better.”

No, shit. She does have a point. Ugh. I hate it when she wins. “For whatever it’s worth,” I say, “I could never go for someone like you though.”

She giggles. “Every time someone proclaims that denial shebang in my face, something shitty always happens.”

“You know what, Jane?”… I’m ready to launch a revolution. I’m on fire. All systems must go… “I gotta say this in your face right this very moment. Fuck you with a capital F on your forehead, all right? Now stop ganging up on me. You’re making me sick.”

“Bravo!” she says. If she were not driving, she would definitely render me with an applause. “I love that! Keep it coming!”

We pull into the hotel parking lot, then… “I’m coming with you,” she says.

“Inside?” I blurt out.

“Fine.” She parks the car and looks at me. “I’m staying right here then. Go grab your luggage.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” My nose gets itchy all of a sudden.

“I’m just saying, since you don’t want me to tag along with you to help you with your stuff, I should just wait for you in the car. How does that classify as a threat?”

“You’re making it sound like a threat. Like, oh, by the time you come back, you’re not gonna find me here anymore.”

“You have trust issues, don’t you? That’s what ruined it all.”

No matter how beautiful her face is… Shit. Smudge the beautiful there… my knuckles are screaming to deteriorate it right now.

“Are we doing ‘me’ again?” I say. “So we’re never gonna get tired of doing ‘me’ ever, huh? Shit. What the hell have I got myself into? This is about me renting your spare room, Jane. Just me renting your spare room. You’ve answered my ad online, now here we are. Quit digging into my past anymore. That is not what I came here for.”

“Just say that you trust me regardless, otherwise, what’s the point?”

Damn. She’s right. I’m all alone in the city. I need to work on trusting someone at least. Trusting her for that matter. Fate sucks. The universe has decided for us to meet and butt heads against each other. I must accept it. “Okay. I’m sorry. I trust you.”

“Great.” She grins.

And I slip out of the car. She’s still glued to the driver’s seat. Annoyed, I march over to her side with a demanding look. She pulls up the window and gapes at me, bewildered. “What are you doing?” I say.

“I’m sitting in the car,” she says. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I’ve already said it. I trust you. Why are you still sitting there for?”

“Oh, you’re expecting me to swoop inside with you now after you’ve dearly said that?”

“You know what, fine. Forget it. I’m going inside all by myself instead.” We are officially candidates for bedlam.

“You are such a very complicated lady,” she says, getting out of the car.

“Excuse me?” My patience is now gasping for a massive oxygen tank.

“Dispensing an ‘excuse me’ blur means your brains are working on finding the right thing to say to reclaim your honor ’cause a tidbit of your integrity has just been tortured morally.”

“Jane, shut up. You’re hurting me already.” I know. I sound like a crying baby. But goddammit. She’s way too much to handle. I’m having a cardiac arrest in no time over her dreadful tongue.

She holds my hand. No. Let go of it. No. Grip it. No. Just let go of my shaky hand. No. Keep it still. And yes, I feel the comfort. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Now let’s go get your stuff.”

I gulp. As usual, my saliva is stubborn enough to get stuck in the middle of my throat. However, I manage to snatch my hand away… slowly… To spare us from another argument. To spare myself from her delicate skin. To spare us both from… any impending whatever. Oh, let’s just hope for world peace.

By the time we step into the elevator to take us to the top floor where my suite is, an awkward silence suddenly sets in. Ow. I can hear my heart palpitating like thunderstorms. As much as my composure is concerned, my head tilts up as a sign that I have courage to fight back, and I stand straight to uphold my integrity.

“Kaz,” she says.

“Huh?” I say, without looking.

“We’re in an elevator. We’re not about to sing the national anthem.”

I frown at her, though a part of me wants to spurt out a good laugh, but I must keep my composure regardless. My heart and my mind have been in a life and death situation since our first meeting. So I could care less if I look like an idiot now. My first priority matters most. Having a cheap good place. And that’s it.

The moment we enter my suite, Jane studies my luggage. 2 huge suitcases, a bulky backpack, and my laptop computer. “You’re already packed up.”

“I had high hopes that you would say yes to me,” I say.

She gives me a nonchalant look. “Of course I would. Just my place though. Remember, you can never attempt to come on to me nor even fantasize about me while I’m in the shower.”

I’m heating up. My nerves feel like a volcano, ready to erupt and cause the most horrifying disaster ever in the history of mankind. “Jane, you’re harsh and you have a pompous ass.”

“You’re very sensitive,” she says. “I was only kidding.”

“You’ve been poking on me about my sexuality and my life this whole time. Of course, I have the right to be sensitive.”

“You’re being defensive. Your sensitivity is just a euphemism.”

“You’re a bully. That’s what you are.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“Can we… survive a minute without being at each other’s throats?”

“Kaz, where am I?”


“Where am I right now?”

“You’re standing there.”

“And where are you?”

“I’m… I’m standing here.”

“And what are we doing in this hotel suite?”

Alzheimer’s alert? Bipolar warning? What in a world is she talking about? “We’re here to pick up my stuff,” I say.

“That’s right,” she says. “If we didn’t survive the first time, then we wouldn’t have been here together. Somehow we meet somewhere in the middle regardless of what we’re arguing over.”

I so abhor her guts. Her wit is over the top. I deserve to smack my head against the wall whenever she pulls something off that calms my vital organs. “Okay,” I sigh. “Shall we keep moving now?”

“I’m taking one suitcase and the backpack.”

“I’m taking one suitcase and the backpack,” I say.

“You think I’m weak?” she says.

“The backpack is a bit heavy, Jane.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m taking one suitcase and the backpack.”

“So you think I’m weak!”

“I did not say that. I’m just saying I wanna ease you off. That’s why I’m here.”

“Ease me off from what? I’m the gay chick here. I’m wearing the pants. This is my stuff. I have the right to carry the heavy ones.”

“Oh, so you’re equating your physical strength with your sexuality? Is that it?”

“It’s not about physical strength. It’s about principle.”

“You’re a prejudice. That kind of principle was the reason why the world was at war. And for your information, you’re still a woman. With breasts and a vagina. Your sexuality does not play a role in situations like this at all. Jesus.”

I give up. This non-stop squabble is wearing me out like playing the most strenuous game ever invented by some genius prick. So since I’m desperate and destitute, I rest my case. “Fine. You win. Again.”

“Of course,” she says.

We’re driving back to Whyte avenue now, heading to her apartment this time. She says she lives on 106th street. “So 82nd avenue is called Whyte,” I say.

“It’s the famous Whyte Ave, all right,” she says.

“Sorry, but I’m pretty laid-back though. Hype is only for lonely and desperate people.”

“And what is your definition of hype?”

“People who consume bars, pubs, and clubs just to mingle and hunt for potential fuck buddies or one-night-stands.”

“Let’s say for example, I’m having a bad day. So I decide to go to a bar to have a bit of fun. Not to look for a potential fuck buddy nor a one-night-stand though, I just wanna have a drink. Then someone comes up to me for a conversation. Either I find enjoyment talking to this stranger or not, would that still make me desperate or lonely?”

Oh, she has the knack to deviate my thinking, all right. “Yes, subconsciously,” I say. “You’re just repressing it, that’s all. Or perhaps, you’re not in the mood for sex yet ‘cause you’re still completely drenched from that bad day.”

“Honey, my subconscious could just kiss my ass, okay?” she says. “I’m talking about the real deal here. So answer my question.”

“Yeah, you’re desperate to get over whatever the hell it is, and you find yourself alone and lonely, so you turn to alcohol to make yourself feel better.”

“But certainly not to look for a fuck buddy nor a one-night-stand at all.”

“You’d get to that thought eventually once the problem heightens, and so the real deal happens because you need someone’s warmth, comfort, and a penis for explosive orgasms.”

“What if that thought wouldn’t cross my mind since I happen to be a woman with realistic views, and I know for myself that I’m the only one who can solve my problems with or without someone to turn to. Let alone plunging into alcohol drama. Would that still make me desperate and lonely?”

“Why would you go to a bar in the first place?”

“Because I feel like going. And it’s a place for me to think things over and come up with sound decisions.”

“Can’t you do that in your room instead?”

“I don’t want to. I wanna go out and have a drink.”

“Then that would still make you desperate and lonely. ‘Cause you’re there for a reason. You’re hoping for something to happen whether you admit it or not.”

“Like, meeting someone nice, probably, but not to look for a fuck buddy nor a one-night-stand for sure.”

“Well then, that’s the whole point of it all. That still makes you desperate and lonely.”

“Either meeting someone nice or not, my night would still end with just myself, going home, and diving into bed alone. No sex inhibitions whatsoever regardless.”

I’m practically running out of defenses. She’s chopping off my brains all to tiny pieces. “You’re still desperate and lonely.”

“So any ‘normal’ person who goes to bars, pubs, and clubs is desperate and lonely in your own philosophical concept.”

“Yes! Every single person, and anyone who’s going through a bad relationship, especially.”

“What if I were in a happy relationship. Then my boyfriend and I would decide to go to a bar together. Would that make us both desperate and lonely?”

“Yes! Because happy couples do not go to bars, pubs, and clubs together. They would rather spend their night, cuddling on their couch or having drinks by their fireplace or snuggling while watching movies.”

“Now I understand why people abandon you,” she hollers.

Ouch. I feel like a terrorist has just held me captive. The twinge makes me wanna consider suicide. But no. I’m just enraged that, for the first time, someone has slapped me in the face with my greatest fear. “Why in the name of God would you say that?” I say.

“You’re a judgmental, conventional, boring fuck who doesn’t only have trust issues, but mental and emotional disasters as well,” she says. “You need a therapist, honey.”

“Oh,” I say, “just because I have those beliefs, ‘that’ already makes me a psycho! Am I not entitled to my own principles and philosophies here? My freedom of expression does not have to reflect the way I handle my personal relationships.”

“Freedom of expression means you can say whatever the hell you want,” she says, “and do whatever you desire to do as long as you’re not judging and hurting other people.”

“But you’re already judging me, for God’s sake! And… and hurting me in the process! Big time!”

“There is a difference between judging someone and telling the truth.”

“And you think you already know everything about me all because of my beliefs?”

“Your beliefs signify how you live your life and how other people react to it, and that is how you run your relationships with them.”

“That is so not true!”

“Please say something more convincing than that?”

“Everyone has their own opinions and principles. Everyone is different. Everyone makes their own rules as to how they should live their lives, and it’s none of other people’s business.”

“Then it’s none of your business either if I would go to a bar and have a drink, which, by the way, does not make me a slut for doing so.”

“Fine.” I am compelled to surrender now, because I know for a fact that… Please don’t make me say it… That… Oh, God… I need to fix my brains… That she is absolutely right!

She beams at the thought of her victory… again. “Have I warmed you up yet? Feel like running away now or what?”

“I hate you,” I say, rolling my eyeballs.

“Ah, you love me already,” she giggles.

“Damn you, Jane.”

“You’re gonna hate me more once you see my apartment.”

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