sugar & violence

He snapped out of the quiet little moment they'd found themselves in, the decision mode. Nessa relenting with a snark that if he'd pay for that nail that caught his eye would be fixed had left him leaning back, leather seats making noise over his own scoff. "Down to the dollar, huh? Fine." How she so casually brought it back to money grated his gears, not in a way that penny pinching seemed to go, but in a way where he'd probably hear about it from his mom in a month asking about Pinky Nails out of Laughlin. He was supposed to be done with these girls only after one thing. Nessa was supposed to be already put together on her own. "Baby —" he breathed out, the humidity of his breath on the wheel around his fingers much more thick and omnipresent than when they were flying through the desert with a nice dry breeze, "You know I'm not gonna do that." He said, turning off car. Jack let it sit, keys in the ignition as he got out himself and leered over the roof at Nessa— who was turning redder and redder with the sun or equal frustration, who could know. "You think I'm gonna risk you findin' someone out there you think knows how to shade your bush? I really fuckin' doubt that. And tell me if I'm wrong here, please. . . you're underestimating my value. Have been for a while now. Don't you see that? Somewhere, somehow, you've started taking me and what I have to give you for granted. Why can't you just trust me? I don't do you wrong—" a beat when the very situation that got them here and now categorized as exactly that, "It's only a couple hundo more to Scottsdale. Put on what you want on the radio and lets just, nail this one shut yeah? Can you do that? A-and you know, be grateful. Or something. You know my people are like, clairvoyant and shit. Moms always sniffin' out rats. Not that you're a rat but, know what I mean?"

"Knows how to shave my bush?!" Nessa was getting more irritated and less composed by the second. How in the world had it come to this? More and more she was starting to see things as they were, not as she had been. She drew in a deep breath and did her best not to let it out in an irritated huff, though that was more or less what happened. "And what do you see happening in Scottsdale? I don't wanna see your folks. Your mom does look at me like I'm a rat. You should know better than to want to put me through that." It wasn't like she was his official girlfriend anyway, was she? What would she say? Hi, it's me, your son's on again, off again, fling-thing he calls up when he wants to have a good time, and I'm the dummy who falls for it every time?