#msujae

EVERYTHING HAS AN EXPIRATION DATE. namely, for wednesday, whose good graces had only been prolonged by a substantial amount of sweets and booze, was starting to wear thin as hours past (and the dj switched sets to something more beat heavy, so much so it reverberates from vertebrae to vertebrae, shaking up her insides and leaving her, somewhat unsettled, teetering antsy). now, now she’s thinking of turning in—before something rolls along to shit on the one good night she’s had in a hot minute.

                                       which, mind you, something always does.

                                                                                  AND?! right on cue! her phone rings. 

fucking perfect. her eyes squint at the caller id: 😑dad😑 and scowls. of course. somehow he is always calling at the most inopportune moments. and somewhat predictable of her, she doesn’t bother to pick up, simply chugging the rest of the drink her hand—minus one last gulp for future use. 

                                                 future use? yeah, just watch.

it takes a couple more calls, all screened, before she can pick out a foreboding figure approaching from the crowd, phone pressed to his ear and nonchalance on sharp features. instantaneously is the prickle of irritation, tiny hairs on the back of her neck bristling at the mere sight alone. wednesday is fully aware of what to expect here. it’s routine. written into code. so is the fated interactions between wednesday seon and dad’s favorite lapdog. the same as when they were kids and ultimately, the same now. so forth and so on. 

only this stupid mother fucker happens to get more and more good looking every year. stupid lame-freddie-mercury-costume ass fucker. her eyes narrow further when he was closer into view, hand lifting to fill her mouth with leftover beer. stupid hooked nose looking jackass. three steps away. stupid! two steps. don’t you dare come closer. one.

here, her lips pucker, shooting out a jet of liquid that lands square on his white shirt. about as good of a warning shot as anything. (also, immature as fuck, she knows, whatever!) but wednesday has a feeling he doesn’t give a fuck either. 

                                              “i DON’T want to fucking hear it.”