#ft. cleo

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐬𝐨 much. it was hardly after sunset, and selin was already in the bathroom, tears beading in the corners of her eyes where her waterline was dusted with glitter. she felt like the dumbest woman on the planet, mortified to see the guy she’d been crushing on and her boss were an item. logically, she knew she had no right to be upset. she could hear her therapist’s voice in her head: you let it stay casual. you never asked for boundaries. you went on other dates too, did you not? but then she told jeanetta’s stupid voice to shove it. she was allowed to wallow in self-pity, just for a little bit. she was nursing her drink, tears finally slipping free and running down her cheeks, when the bathroom door creaked open. a familiar face walking in, one she really did not want to see. the bitch from the theater.

selin sniffed and moved so quickly to wipe her face that half her drink sloshed into the sink. “i, uh, sorry,” she said, mortified all over again. but there it was, that stupid little instinct to keep the show going. to remain likable. so she forced a watery smile and added, “men suck, you know?” hoping cleo could relate. after all, drunk girls showing solidarity to other drunk girls in bathrooms was practically an american tradition.

𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞. she had a bad feeling about tonight, mostly because she’d already seen her fiancé catatonic with grief and didn’t think he could handle anything else going wrong. she figured they’d spend the night standing in a corner, but he’d gone off and gotten high without her, which she was miffed about because, well, romy loved getting high. fine, then. if he was going to have fun, so was she. “hi, cleo, you look pretty,” she began, approaching the blonde. she looked vaguely ethereal, wispy, and glowing, her hair a white flame. “can i ask you somethin’ without you gettin’ offended?” she paused, then asked anyway. “do you have anythin’…on ya?” it wasn’t like it was a random request, exactly. cleo had been vocal about her love for substances, from stimulants to downers to psychedelics; it seemed she had a story for all of them.

aylie: i had a private lesson with a whole family today

aylie: from grandpappy to a 4 year old

aylie: i think i am either an honorary watson or they want to marry me off to their eldest

fuck this wasn’t how the night was supposed to go. he wasn’t even meant to be doing a job he was meant to have stopped his double life was now suppose to be ending. he was supposed to be happy but here he was groaning, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, leaning against the wall. he was going to have a fun time explaining this to anyone and he was hoping that it would be awhile till he actually had to. of course luck wasn’t on his side this time around. looking up his eyes connected with the woman’s who looked completely shocked, “please don’t ask..” he muttered holding his hands up causing him to wince slightly, “it’s definitely not what you think.”

aylie threw herself onto the bed next to cleo and let out an overdramatic sigh. “please tell me you’re ready to go explore. i need to get out of this bloody room.” eyes brightened at the sight of the bar cart on the other side of the room and she hopped up to grab a bottle of champagne. and pour it into the glass of orange juice that was just set up for them. being on a reality show was not without it’s perks. “so, what is our first plan of attack?” 

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 one week to indulge in a full-blown pity party. after all, the entirety of new york city now knew what she had done. she couldn’t stop wondering whether the news had made its way to türkiye yet. she had turned her phone off all week, a ‘when-pigs-fly’ level rarity for selin, but she was too anxious to face the wave of texts that had probably accumulated. sympathy would make her cry. judgment would make her spiral. a call from the police would make her throw her phone into the hudson. so instead, she went to a club. the plan was simple: drown her sorrows, dance, maybe go home with some anonymous man. she was already several drinks into accomplishing this when, from her spot at the bar, she caught sight of a familiar flame of blonde moving through the crowd. there was no mistaking her. cleo. of course. “if you’re here to make some shitty comment,” she called over the bass before cleo could fully reach her, “forget it and fuck off. you’d only be beating a dead horse.” she paused, silently congratulating herself for remembering the expression even in her current state. “seems beneath even you. so go do the whole regina george thing with someone else, okay?”

time skip from here