miserable now.

      she smirks, keeping her gum pinched between her teeth and pulling it with her fingers, wrapping it around her forefinger. she turns to the magazine spread of judd nelson, dragging her fingertips across the picture of his face.  ❛ ---ugh . . . you’re so right. judd is choice. i’d fuck him in a heartbeat. except we would never kiss. like, on the lips, i mean---- ❜ she glances up from the magazine to lock her dead eyes on the blonde parallel to her. ❛ i just can’t even imagine giving myself away to someone like that. i eat sushi all the time. ❜ she looks spooked for a moment, clearly unable to separate judd nelson from his character in the breakfast club; she flits her gaze hellbound, flipping the page of the magazine. ❛ yeah . . . especially since he got his second grade teacher pregnant. not while he was in second grade, obviously . . . like, fifth or sixth, but still . . . . grody. and everyone freaked out because he was, like, homeschooled or whatever, but that's not even the worst part; she's, like . . . butt ugly. ❜ she rolls her eyes, shaking her head critically. she pops her gum, closing the magazine and tilting her cranium to meet the blonde’s gaze. suddenly she is a dog with a bone. ❛ why? is it short for, like . . . elevator or something? ❜ she jokes before furrowing her brow. ❛ actually . . this is going to sound so crazy, but that would actually be, like, . . . a wicked powerful . . . so garage chic. so much better than window. that was my salamander’s name---- y’know, after that saying, ‘windows are the eyes to the soul’? anyway, i’m gonna use that--- i hope it’s okay. ❜ she shrugs, trailing behind the blonde clerk blindly. she accepts the QUEEN vinyl, chomping her gum and inspecting the front cover. ❛ i dunno. i fancy a lot of people, . . . i guess---- pretty much everyone i meet. ❜ she hugs the vinyl to her. with a sudden realization, she once again looks spooked. ❛ wait--- you’re not, like---- hitting on me or something, are you? i mean, don’t get me wrong, i’m totally flattered---- but i have this penpal and i’m pretty sure he’s going to propose. but he always has a way of finding out when i’ve been with someone romantically. i wonder if he writes to my mom, too . . . ❜

     she permits herself to reminisce for a few moments longer before her non-expressive eyes drift lazily to the consignment clerk. she furrows her brow, glancing from side to side before retorting condescendingly, ❛ who said anything about gothic poetry, dweeb? i needed the size four of the men’s flannel. ❜ she deadpans, smirking knowingly. ❛ chill, i know what you’re thinking: i don’t look like a four in men’s anything. i mean, i did, like a year ago, but i started eating these weird weight loss bars from indonesia---- i lost, like, a ton of weight, and most of my hair . . . anyway, it’s not for me. it’s for my pen pal. he lives in brazil. or . . . ukrainia or whatever. the point is, he’s not from the states. ❜ she shrugs her shoulder suggestively, smirking. she retrieves a tattered picture from her pocket book and proffers it to him, a picture undoubtedly of ralph macchio that has clearly been ripped out of a magazine. she’s none the wiser. ❛ he has the voice of morrissey with the hips of prince and sexual prowess of mick jagger. of course, he’s never confirmed any of that----  he’s super humble. but i just know these things, y’know? i have six cents about things like this. i’m usually almost always somewhat right. ❜ she purses her lips confidently, raising her chin. 

      peering in each direction speculatively, she returns her gaze to her foe-turned-friend, her expression contorting with confusion. ❛ ---is that, like . . . a kind of . . . martian, or something? god, you are such a dweeb. ❜ she rolls her eyes, shaking her head incredulously with a huffed sigh. ❛ either way, you’ll be the first to know, ❜ she says earnestly, though her brow furrows at the punctuation of her sentence.  ❛ unless . . .  you drown me or set me on fire first. then you’ll really be the first to know. ❜ she merely blinks at his confused stare before following it up with a waspish sigh.  ❛ i dunno---- i’d probably tell, like . . . my mom or something before i’d be able to get to you. ❜ her confusion only grows, though she maintains clarity.  ❛ that’s total bogus---- you stood next to me first. and your eyes were definitely hitting on me . . . they said all the things you were afraid to say out loud. ❜ she speaks with a certain air of conviction, smiling with a fondness at the love story she is fabricating in her head. she deadpans again. ❛ sloane fitzpatrick. i’m in the yellowpages . . . probably. let those fingers walk. ❜ she smirks confidently, winking seductively before pivoting on her heel away from him.

     she flits her gaze elsewhere, as though the answers to his questions were written somewhere in the void. ❛ no. sometimes. i don’t know. my cat’s death has entirely rehashed the issue of non-permanence for me . . . i’m vulnerable to the elements. i’m also on the rag . . .sorry . . . ❜ she pinches the stem of her martini glass and begins to whip it back and forth subtly, avoiding his gaze momentarily. she reverts them at the sound of his laugh, as though startled by the reaction. ❛ ----oh. well. i shouldn’t bother you anymore. even though technically, you bothered me first . . . in a good way, i guess. i should get going anyway. that bitch devra’s probably eaten all of my funny feet by now . . . the snacks, not my----- actual feet. my feet are pretty normal. ❜ she rises from her chair.  ❛ how can i find you? you know . . . if i wanted to. in case i find some creepy goblin dude in need of eyes, i mean. it’s not entirely inconceivable. ❜

      she smiles meekly, tapping her cheekbones with both hands as though perhaps confirming they were still in her head. she rights herself, offering an olive branch of the smile she dared not exercise at the beginning of their conversation. ❛ i know you don’t care . . . i definitely don’t either; but you’re alright. ❜ she nods understandingly, flexes of humor emerging from her otherwise impenetrable expression. ❛ it’s okay . . . my sister isn’t either. ❜ she shrugs placidly, finishing off her martini. her brow furrows with a realization.  ❛ you aren’t even drinking . . . are you a -----mormon or something? ❜

      perhaps she penetrated a nerve. she retracts slightly in preparation for a cool-down session. she can never tell with these things; she’s quite dispassionate in general, but she is also deeply emotional . . . not fully unreachable. brow furrowed only slightly, she observes, hoping she had not pushed this man to the brink of physical hostility; merely happy in the haze of a drunken hour, good sir. she hadn’t meant to be cruel. besides . . . she did mean it. with the question, she involuntarily crooks her head in the opposite direction, mulling over her answer.  ❛ dunno. seems taboo. besides, i always liked my eyes. ❜ she haphazardly pats the high points of her cheekbones, feeling more vulnerable than she’s used to. her gaze plunges to her sweater, and she adjusts it meekly. she then reaches for her baby bottle drink. she takes a swig, slowly adjusting her gaze towards him. once again, she has snapped into her dead-eyed ditz persona.   ❛ i’m not actually going to sleep with my sister’s husband. he smells like mothballs. ❜ she dramatically flits her gaze away from him. ❛ no matter how tempted i may be . . . i’ll be good. which means you’ll have to sleep with him for yourself. sorry. ❜ 

      she blithely watches the interaction between he and the bartender before gesturing toward her martini and pinching her thumb and forefinger together with the remaining digits still raised in the universal sign for “good”. she returns her dead-eyed gaze to her company, crooking her head ever so slightly as though to indicate she’s listening like the good girl she is. ❛ the pleasure’s mine. i’m sure she’s resting peacefully---- anyway, it’s kinda hot, the way you obviously haven’t dealt with it. ❜ she dramatically shifts her gaze to her drink, reminding her that it’s still full. she takes a swig. ❛ i thought you weren’t sweet----- that’s the sweetest thing i’ve heard in my entire life. i’m a DNR, in case it comes up. organ donor too, but make sure they don’t take my eyes. wigs me out. and my name is sloane---- also. ❜

      procuring her drink from the bartender, she shrugs coolly, her smirk still plastered upon her visage. ❛ cool. i don’t care that you don’t care. although it seems like you care a little bit. i still don’t care, though. ❜ she takes a swig, tapping the glass with her finger to indicate how good it is. ❛ sorry for your loss---- if you don’t mind my saying, it’s probably too early anyway; it’s evident the wound is still pretty open. you’ll come around. i’m rooting for you. my nana is too. ❜ she retorts quickly, holding her drink to her shoulder. ❛ no shit you weren’t. you’re, like, fourteen. ❜ she shrugs, smirk growing wider. ❛ why do you care? you didn’t, like, 12 seconds ago. what changed? ❜

      it could be the narrowing edge of hostility in his approach, but color her interest piqued. she’s amused, more of; call it petty, but she enjoys getting a rise out of people when she can afford the luxury. ❛ chill. she’s my sister---- she may be a parasite, but she’s not my mother. besides, it’s the best and only way to effectively dislodge her from me. i didn’t expect you to understand, but i’d hoped you’d be a little more sympathetic toward my perspective. you’re being totally lame right now. ❜ she smirks meekly, ❛ relax. i’ll sleep with him twice. once for each of us . . . brother. ❜ with a victorious quirk of her head, she smirks into the rim of her martini glass before finishing it off. she rises to flag down the bartender. when her endeavor proves fruitful, she seats herself, returning her gaze to her company. ❛ ----is it because you also don’t have a nana? don’t worry---- you can have mine. she likes them younger, ❜ she deadpans, ❛ i don’t need comfort, i told you. i’m fine. my blood pressure is exactly one-sixty over eighty and i don’t regularly piss into my tube socks. and i definitely don’t try to make people wear them for sport. sounds to me like this so-called ‘connection’ provided a level of clarity for the both of us. thanks. ❜ she crooks her head in the opposite direction of him, eyes wandering dramatically above him. ❛ life imitates art . . . i guess. as if the government doesn’t program us to feel and think certain things. it’s the eighties, dweeb, not the fifties---- you’re allowed to know those kinds of things now. ❜

      she observes his peculiar demonstration from the side of her eye with mild bemusement, stirring her martini with her toothpick before shrugging dispassionately.  ❛ whatever . . . ❜ she retorts placidly, swiveling her head forward to steal a swig from her glass. truthfully, she had only been speaking aloud, hadn’t intended to ensnare anyone in perceived ‘meaningless’ conversation; hadn’t expected a response save for perhaps even more meaningless condolences. she is half-witted, surely, but she’s quite intuitive. after all, hadn’t she banished the idea of maintaining social courtesy? it’s 1987, for christ’s sake . . . still, cattiness was beneath her. it required a level of energy she verily could not muster. so she’d continue to dignify him with a response until one of them grew too disinterested to continue. ❛ not really. i’m hoping to sleep with her husband the second the divorce is finalized. i’m on a stevie nicks thing. you wouldn’t understand . . . ❜ she professes unabashedly, absently stirring the martini mix with her toothpick. her gaze dispassionately meanders back to her acquaintance; whether she’s looking right through him or doesn’t see him there, it’s not certain, but it is one of her many trademarks. the only indication of the former comes with her response. ❛ -----well . . . if it helps, my nana is the same way. she’s a bitch and a half, but i’m sure it’ll hurt all the same when she finally gets the ghost. maybe not. i don’t know, i haven’t cried since i was seven when my mom wouldn’t let me see child’s play. ❜