bâtard.

– and so she does “take a second”. Make that a minute, listening to this saturated array of bullshit spewing out of his mouth liked a parent condescending their child. WELL , that’s a little harsh, but she’s pissed. Pissed and with an abundance of post-high school baggage. Before continuing, she goes in almost full force with a knee to his crotch, THE LAST HIT SHE SWEARS. But it was better letting it out now than setting fire to his tent. “Your proposal, elaborate.”

He says, “Give me a minute,” but he means more like ten, and he presses both his hands to his knees as he tries to remember to breathe. “I probably deserved that, like, TWO YEARS AGO,” he manages to mutter, and he sounds strangely choked up. “So if we could refrain from doing that again, that’d be great.” And then he rises, looking relatively calm, apart from the the distressed line that’s etched itself between his brows. “Right. PLAN. Here’s the thing. It’s been two years. I know you might feel like it’s my mission to DESTROY YOUR LIFE, but think rationally. When’s the last time you saw me? Gotten a text? I stayed on my side of New England well enough, and I can do the same thing here.”

“Yes it’s free, so come on. We’re wasting precious toking time.”

Matthew actually wanted to mentally kick himself for having a piqued interest. He blamed eighteen year old him who had been welcomed to the drug while living in LA, heavily appreciating the feeling of not-stressing that came with it, but unfathomably hating the severe hunger for everything in sight. It was a huge love/hate relationship. “I don’t do joints,” Matthew ended up saying, subtly trying to get away with not exactly saying yes or no, “I read smoking the paper’s is the worst part for you.”

He laughs; not because it was particularly funny, but because he had nothing else to contribute. “I’m sure my impending emphysema won’t give a shit whether I have burning paper in my lungs or straight crack rock. But it’s a forty and a handblown pipe, so we can ditch the skins if it really matters THAT much to you.”

"Well, Jazlynn,” he says, gesturing to the cabin’s door in a ladies first manner, “campsite murder is not really on my list of interests. I meant that more in a, ‘Hey, I don’t wanna get caught with PARAPHERNALIA‘ kind of way. I’m too scrawny for jail.” And then he follows her, stretching his arms above his head as they find their way into the sun. “What brings you to Greco?” Because polite conversation seems necessary somehow.

“This new group is really brave. It’s not even a week in and we’ve got awkward makeouts and weed. If you guys get kicked out and make me take care of your kids, I swear to god I’ll punch something.”

“To be fair to ME, the weed thing is a constant. As for awkward makeouts...” He shrugs, non-committal, because it seems to be the least offensive thing he could do. “But I PROMISE. I won’t get caught so you won’t have to do more than the bare minimum.”

Stromae- Tous Les Mêmes

TENACITY WAS ONE THING , audacity was definitely another. To say his crass humor and overall condescending demeanor was expected? Now that’s something they both saw coming. What bothered her the most was probably why they ( c o n s t a n t l y ) fought: she’s too easily wound up, and he knows the right things to say when it’s too late. BUT ! it was a game that was supposed to be left back in the west coast, and dragged itself to the east coast for a little while. Not in Canada where she finally had a chance to turn a new page. “You know what, FUCK IT, whatever. It doesn’t even matter if I believe you or not, because you’re still here. Like a fucking parasite.” she proclaimed, steaming down slightly as she persistently shook his hands off her shoulders.

He’s quiet for a moment ---- to give her a second to settle, to catch his breath ---- and he finds himself frowning. “I think you need a second,” he begins slowly, carefully, weighing his words, and it might be his INTRO TO PSYCH class talking, “to process this before we go any further than we already have. HARVARD isn’t going to out-weight HOMICIDE on your resume.” She shakes him off, and he doesn’t push it, fitting his hands into his pockets instead where they can do no harm. “Obviously, this isn’t an ideal situation for you. You’ve made that  a b u d a n t l y  clear.” ( There’s that SARCASM again, and he clears his throat to stop himself. ) “But this doesn’t have to be difficult.”

“Wunderbar. Ditch the question sheet and grab your hiking shoes, because we’re going wandering into the wilderness.” He turns to go, pauses, turns back, holds out a hand, then: “JUDE, by the way.”

“Fuck, how could I forget? I totally forgot how you have no other ulterior motive than to completely fuck with me !! ”. With her voice reaching almost dangerous levels of attracting attention, Ellie instantly grabs his overworn Thrasher tee, pulling him outside the event to prevent her from any more embarrassment via this slice of former teenage hell. As soon as they got outside, she took this as free reign to shove him against the wall, “You better have a good fucking reason why you’re here, or que deus me ajude…”

“Hey, hey ---- !” Honestly, he’s not sure WHAT he was expecting. ( Not a warm welcome, certainly. ) But he couldn’t quite call it an overreaction. A bit ENTHUSIASTIC, perhaps, but not entirely unjustified. Still, he has the tenacity to act a offended, air coming out from between pursed lips in a short huff when she shoves him, and he holds up his hands as the universal sign for I SURRENDER. “Jesus,” he gives breathlessly. “If you wanted to play R O U G H, you could just ask.” Fingers fall to her shoulders gingerly, and he pushes her a step back as he moves forward and away from the wall. “I’m here with honest intentions, same as you. I swear. Lorraine thought it would be a good idea, and I just find it’s easier humor her nowawdays.”

It was almost like she SWORE, as soon as she heard that voice, she had to be hallucinating. FOR HIS SAKE, this had to be a bad nightmare. No, no, this was not the part of the story where a gigantic, shit eating grin is plastered on her face as old “high school flames” come to reunite. This? – was a worst case scenerio. A code fuckin’ red, as former regrets come to incinerate this place to the ground. “It’s about to get a lot less often, thanks for asking.”

“Oh, come on, Els.” And though it’s an old nickname, one he’d use in times of seriousness, it holds NONE of the conviction it used to ---- because he’s not being serious, and presumably hasn’t been for a while. “Is that ANY way to greet the man who used to steal you wine? Luce didn’t mention you’d be here. If she had, I might’ve brought some FLANNEL, just for you.”

“So… if you could go back in time, what year would you travel to and why?”

He doesn’t even think. “Any time between, like, ‘60 to ‘79. When Beatlemania was fuckin’ HUGE, and then they all had solo careers or whatever. Because I’d want to punch John Lennon in the face, right in his prime. Might’ve knocked him and his fake peace, love, body odor thing down a notch.” And then he finally looks at her, almost as if he’d forgotten she was THERE. “What about you?”

She barely glanced up from the list of questions in her hand, and could be talking to a wall for all she knew, which wouldn’t be much of a difference as the response people get when talking to Ellie. “Where… do you see yourself in ten years from now?”

“MARRIED. To Danielle Haim, hopefully, but I’ll also take Jessica Williams. I’ll’ve killed David Fincher by then and begun wearing his skin. Then they’ll ask me to do a suspense film on the creation of the Tootsie Pop, and I’ll gladly accept as Jude McFincher, and I’ll finally have enough money to buy my grandmother that house by the Vatican.” At last, he looks down at his list of inquiries. “Come here often?”