BRADLEY +
Christ. He practically shuddered like Quentin Tarantino at the sight of an open toed sandal. Bradley took a seat on one of the barstools, hand flush to the condensation of the beer but not bothering to bring it up for a sip. She was used to dealing with things like this. Grew up around men who took it upon themselves to declare she was inhabited by an evil that needed their special, expert exorcism or, inversely, men who only wanted to help fester it into something worse because they had some kind of fucking Joker syndrome – either way, invasive as a slit down the sternum and a fist crudely shoved to rummage inside, never fucking asked for. Made her want to crack open his skull like a pistachio shell and stab a corkscrew into the brain inside it. Instead, she only watched him, eyes cool and expression blank. Had many memories of sitting just like this in the chair of her father’s study, waiting for the bullshit to stop droning, the much needed needle scratch on an overplayed record.
“Oh, you’re done?” she asked after a beat of silence like she had to be sure, continuing regardless of any potential answer – would’ve bulldozed on even if he opened his mouth, perhaps even slammed a fist against his throat then pressed a thumb to coax the further throb of a wounded Adam’s apple. “How about this, Upton? You’re supposed to stop being a fucking weird, insufferably pathetic, lonely cunt of a fuck. You’re supposed to salt that tragic fucking slug of an excuse for a dick in your pants so it shrivels up and dies, because no-one wants to suck it – if sucking your dick saved an orphanage of burning children, I’d be having a barbecue of those prepubescent fucks with extra Ketchup. I’d be sucking their charred eyes from their heads like I was dining on five star fucking oysters. You’re supposed to invest in moisturiser, because your skin looks like a leather fucking couch abandoned on the sidewalk and it’s making my vag dry to the point of terminal fucking chafing and I’ll never fucking ride a horse again – not that I’d want to, ‘cause god forbid Upton might be watching and furiously beating his pink shrimp of a dick over every fucking trot. And, hey,” she paused, smiling a little as she pulled up the cup, took a large mouthful of beer and then leaned over the table just to spit the entirety onto his crotch, drawing back with a lazy swipe at her glistening mouth. “You’re supposed to go to the fucking bathroom and use the air dryer to get the fuck out of my face, ‘cause you’re an incel cunt in a lesbian bar and it looks like you just came and pissed like an incontinent dog. Could give the wrong idea. You know, that you’re a worthless fucking creep that amounts to jack shit other than a jizz stain.”
he wasn’t angry with her for saying such things, for painting the back of his brain with his own blood. at least, not really. DUMBFOUNDED, maybe. it wasn’t the specificities of her insults that mattered, but the repulsion in her voice. it sunk into his skin, a catalyst for half-forgotten memories of feeling this same way before, during the early, formative years of his life. deja fucking vu in the worst kind of way. unbeknownst to him, his mother sometimes spoke to him in a similar way when he was small ; as though his mere presence was an inconvenience.
fight or flight mode ACTIVATED — he’ll choose the latter. or at least, he would have, if weren’t for the following events
“ what the FUCK is wrong with you ? ” upton yelped, hands flailing in a futile reflex — what, was he going to do, catch a fucking mouthful of beer in his hands ? she’d absolutely soiled him, in every possible way. he had half a mind to storm out, but dramatics would only prove bradley’s point. besides, all he could focus on now was proving her wrong. at that moment, everything around him was buzzing with adrenaline, body set in neutral as he struggled to react.
he moved as he spoke, briskly knocking the plastic cup out of bradley’s hands, “ great. ” it hit the ground hard, pale liquid splashing all over both of their legs. not exactly perfect execution but there hadn’t exactly been time to plan his attack. “ now someone has to clean this up. ” he’d do it himself, to tell the truth, or at least leave a hefty tip for whoever fell responsible.
“ you don’t know shit, bradley. ” timbre was rough, a quality he reserved only for when being incredibly serious. ( which didn’t happen much. sometimes he used it at the bank but only when he had to go inside. it also doubled as his money voice. ) “ whatever. is it so weird of me to wonder about you ? you’re a wreck. and a total fucking asshole. it’s fine if you don’t feel empathy, or whatever, but most people do. ” he took a few tentative steps backwards, adding to the space between them. “ and not everything is about sex. ” words just kept tripping out of his mouth one after another — he was afraid if he stopped that she’d never let him start again. “ — i don’t even, like, think about sex that much. i’m a grown ass man — i’ve had a lot of sex. it’s kind of lost the fucking novelty, okay ? do you think if i was really trying to fuck, this is where i would go ? jesus. ” it wasn’t likely that bradley was still listening, but that hadn’t stopped him before.
