Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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@kathrynvtkins
“You’ve got to understand, my mother loved me, but I was not meant to exist. She loved me because it would have been more painful not to, like bruising a leg that’s already broken.”
“This is Your Love Story,” Lucy Wainger (via thisisabsolute)
fuck me as hard as i hate myself
* emilio jeannin.
He wasn’t manic nor on drugs, but he couldn’t help his attitude. He was just stating how he felt, albeit a little too honestly and sounding a bit like a zombie but what else could he say. In fact, his skin was probably as dull as the expression on his face. If he just kept like this, by the end of the year he might as well be a zombie. Emi let out a small snort at her question, at least she was honest in the fact that she was only entertaining him for her sake. “Coffee is the last thing I want, I want sleep but that’s yet to happen so I’d rather take a plant.” He shrugged, attempted to. His shoulders didn’t really lift much. He would’ve joked, that life and the pursuit of happiness kept him up but he had no energy to that so he sighed. “Work. I played myself and now I can’t sleep.”
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. Well, maybe she was a little more than curious for her sake, watching the way he stretched in such a slumped manner. His body was more like noodles than anything. “I mean, how much sleep did ya get?” She asked, eyes raised towards his eggplant colored bags. Her lips parted slightly, tongue poking in her cheek as a small smile stretched. “So, what’s the plan, huh? You’re just gonna buy a plant and try to sleep? Honestly, I’d rather trade. I have to film in a couple hours, so a few errands for me.”
She took a pause, allowing her gaze to linger towards the rest of his body. This dude seemed on the edge of either a killing spree or a flight off of an underpass. She wasn’t sure she could sit idly by, knowing she was in a similar state only a few weeks prior. Kat leaned against the shelf he posed at, sticking her hip out as she made eye contact with him. “You look like you need a drink. I’ll buy. There’s a place around the corner I planned on stopping by. Not only do they serve at noon, but they also have a sick tea mixture of everything for the winter.”
* sofie gardner.
Party hard or go home - well, Sofie wanted to go home. The party idea had been a big fat bust. It was late by now- how late she wasn’t even sure of. Late enough for the real degenerates to come out and play. Late enough for them to realize she was one of them. It didn’t matter if she had been clean for six months; it didn’t matter that the sight of finely milled white powder made her gums itch and her throat burn. None of it mattered because there was a mentality among users- an attitude that once a user always a user. Sofie would always be an addict. She would always have that small voice scratching at the back of her mind reminding her of her first obsession- a ghost that haunted her. But she was not a user. Sofie reminded herself as her palm shoved into Rainbow Brites chest, and she hauled ass out to the pool deck. What the fuck, what the fuck - “What the fuck-” Sofie groaned louder than she had anticipated as she flopped unceremoniously on what she assumed was an empty space in a chair. Until the space moved- Sofie jumped up in a panic. “Make some noise! It’s dark out here; I could have broken your ribs!”
𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 -- She wanted to leave. Her bottom lip quivered as her throat tensed. She could barely find her way out of the glass house. Every door lead to another large room. She didn’t usually go to places near Newport. It was easier to just stick to a dive bar she liked in Corona. It was close to her apartment, so she could walk with her knife between her fingertips and feel safe. But this, fuck, this was worse. She didn’t expect to see him this far out of Los Angeles, but she did. He touched her shoulder and apologized. The conversation lasted only five minutes. It made her sick. It made the hallway warp and spin around her like she was drunk. As soon as she found a restroom, she unloaded her emotions enough to cope before slipping out to the couple that waited outside the door to rail a few lines.
She saw the baggie. She almost thought of asking for some, but knew better. She needed to leave before she did something stupid. Her jaw tightened as she finally entered the backyard. A pool stretched along half of the yard with a waterfall to pair. Her fake lashes fluttered as she looked around for her friend. Spotting the bright costume, Kat chewed on her lip before approaching quietly. She was alone. That was good. Knowing Sofie, she expected the girl to hop on the nearest tallest dude in the vicinity and escape for the night. She expected to drive home alone, but her nail biting was evidence enough. She saw it too.
"I think we should head out.” Kat swallowed down her emotions long enough to hold a calm exterior. “I don’t want to be here. I’ll explain in the car.”
* beck anderson.
Beck didn’t think about people much; who they were, why they did the things they did — but when the woman asked for her number, she turned her head again, trying to meet her eyes and find the glint that revealed her true intents. “Are you asking me out?” She joked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, but before the woman could respond, she pulled out her phone and unlocked it, handing it over to the woman. “Sure.” Why not? Secretly, Beck wanted friends, desperately, but her razor sharp edges and potty mouth made it difficult to form any sort of healthy relationship. Even though the woman was sober (and Beck had no intention of quitting drinking, she didn’t want to get ahead of herself), there existed a darkness within her that Beck found interesting. She’d always felt at home at night, after all.
“I’m Beck,” she said, without another prompt, the cigarette in between her lips emitting a lazy trail of smoke. “B-E-C-K, short for Rebecca, but I might have to kill you if you call me that.”
"𝐈’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐛𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮.” Kat looked her up and down before allowing a small smirk to draw on her lips. “That being said, you’re welcome to hit me up anytime for that.” She looked over as a few pedestrians passed by. “My only thing is no drugs in the house if I come over. Hanging out or otherwise.” She didn’t bother talking any more once the phone was handed to her. She made the mental note of her name and typed her own contact information and sent herself a text. Beck. She liked that. It was short and sweet.
“Funny enough, my mother decided Kathryn was a good name. I prefer Kat. It’s short. Better really.” Kat scoffed, rolling her eyes towards the street again. She slid her phone back, hanging it lazily in the air between her fingers. “I feel like the only person that gets to call you that is someone you’re in love with or a very close family member. Neither of which I’m looking to fill.”
* tori nesbitt.
“Holy shit,” was all she could manage to utter, dividing her attention between the road and what Kat was saying. It sounded like the other woman made more money in a single day than Tori had ever had in her bank account at any given moment in time which must have been nice but Tori really didn’t think she had the guts…or anything else for that matter to make it in Kat’s line of work, “I make sixteen bucks an hour,” she added, explaining why she’d reacted in such a manner when Kat described her income.
“So, you live out here or just visiting?” she asked, trying to shift the conversation a little, purely because she didn’t have anything meaningful to contribute and she wasn’t exactly sure what Kathryn meant by manic. Manic depressive, perhaps? Maybe it was slang she was unfamiliar with. She couldn’t be sure but she had a feeling that there was plenty that the other woman had to discuss that would leave Tori confused or at a loss for words.
𝐊𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭. That was around the rate she made when she first started modeling. It was always a check, given to her at the end of her freelance work. If she impressed the photographer enough, they would recommend her to other people in his network. It was a sliding scale of inappropriate and appropriate networking that Kat never minded to cross. “I live over on Corona.” Kat explained, wondering if the girl was from the area. She had to be. “And you?”
* maia rourke.
“Do you have a gun? Are you lost? Do you need to go to a shelter?” Maia reiterated, a small smirk forming at the corners of her lips. She didn’t want to fight with the female and it was obvious she was getting frustrated. Getting stranded in the middle of nowhere past midnight? She didn’t blame her, Maia would be too. “Don’t worry, it’s only me here.” she added, giving her a tight lipped but sincere smile this time. “I think I saw a Shell on the way out here that’s open twenty-four seven. If not, I’ll sort out Exxon. You seem like you’ve had a rough night enough as it is.”
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧. Hell, at least someone had a sense of humor in this town. Her tongue poked from her grin as she tried to relax. Her gaze flickered towards her backseat. You never knew when a wire would draw from the shadows and hoist you by the neck. She had to be careful. So far, she didn’t think this girl was a threat. That was good. It meant she was safe for now. Kat looked over as she crossed the shoulder lane to step by the passenger door. Her fingers hovered over it before pulling it wide open. “Are you sure this is cool?” Kat asked. She didn’t want to make a mistake of getting in the car with someone that had a problem with her.
* mason hartley.
“Why would I have a problem with that?” Mason asked, but a look of recognition flew over his face as he understood. He supposed some people didn’t react well to women who were sexually promiscuous, fake or not. “Well, shit,” he uttered, carefully pressing down on the acceleration as if to correct his earlier mistake as he turned. “Do I really look like someone who doesn’t?” A part of him was slightly offended; he liked to think that he was charming around women, but clearly she thought otherwise.
Finally, he came upon the corners of the streets she told him earlier, and he slowed down, looking out the window. “Is this you?”
𝐎𝐡, now his feelings were hurt. Kat felt an amused grin reach her lips, stretching enough to show teeth. Her fingers curled beneath her chin as she looked towards the street he turned on. Well, he was right. He did know the town very well. He was almost to her place. She curled a lazy finger towards the apartment complex on the corner. “That’s the place.” A beat of silence followed before she stole a glance. “Are you driving off after this or bringing your bruised ego upstairs?”
“She was a very Lonely Person, but not many people really knew that.”
— C.B - I’ll write a book one day (via nevilleslongbottom)
* mason hartley.
At first, Mason didn’t realize; being from California, he met plenty of actresses that the word film didn’t bother him. He was from a family of Hollywood big-shots, after all, although he never knew how anyone got used to the fame of it all.
It was only until her manicured fingers crawled up to his thigh, the mention of how she’d showered everything off that the possibility hit him — and in the haze, he just barely caught sight of the red light, and slammed on the brakes, the momentum jolting both of them forward. Mason was no stranger to women hitting on him, but in his sleep-deprived state, the combination of her being an… ahem, adult film actress and blatantly hitting on him took him by complete surprise. “Sorry,” he apologized, and suddenly finding the situation incredibly funny, Mason began to laugh. “So, let me see if I got this right: you act in… adult films?” His tone was fairly non-judgmental, and in fact, hinted at a tinge of interest.
𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡, well, until the man decided to slam on his breaks abruptly. Kat lurched forward, her seat belt being the only thing that stopped her elbow from smacking the radio. “Shit,” Kat grunted, feeling her shoulder settle back into the seat as she shifted back in her own space. Was that some obvious hint to stay back? Her gaze lingered towards his hands. He didn’t look like he was wearing a ring. His laugh was discouraging. In all honesty, she didn’t expect him to be smart enough to catch on.
With a slight roll of her eyes, she looked over at him with a raised brow. “Yeah, I am. Is that gonna be any sorta problem here?” She prepared herself for a sting of rejection. Though the closer she looked, the more it just looked like Mason was caught off guard. Her nails curled into the seat as she tilted her head in his direction. “You really have no game whatsoever, do ya?”
* beck anderson.
Death — in the darkest recesses of her mind, it was a thought that frequently entered her mind, although never so violent, and she was slightly shocked at her admission, though Beck hid it well. The other woman’s pause indicated that it was far worse than Beck had initially imagined, and she didn’t press further. It seemed that things had been shit enough for her that reliving it would only make things worse.
And at the end of the day, who was she to wallow in her own situation? There was always someone who had it worse, and here this woman was, right before her, and it was all the proof she needed to finally believe in that statement. Letting the silence between them grow, Beck shifted her stare from her to the still-burning joint, rolling it in between her fingers, in deep thought. “Fuck it,” she finally said. She threw the joint onto the ground, smashing the little thing underneath the heel of her combat boots, pulling out her own pack of cigarettes and sticking one in between her teeth. “Seems like you still smoke anyways, which is good. Don’t know where I’d be without these,” she commented as she lit her cigarette. It felt good to do that, to have perform some sort of proactive action — but maybe it was just because she was still high.
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. Kat stared at Beck for a while, watching her completely fade into her thoughts. The blunt hung on her lip as it slowly dropped to the ground. In some dramatic gesture, her boot came next and crushed it. Was that some declaration of sobriety? Kat wasn’t really an inspiration for it, barely managing to hit a year after ten years of this back and forth. Her gaze drew to the side, finding the idea of eye contact revolting. She wasn’t some fucking person to put on a pedestal. If anything, she was the example of what not to do with your life.
Kat scoffed. “It’s hard to not smoke after all the bullshit. If I can shoot up, at least I can do is have a fucking cigarette.” She shrugged, knowing it was now appropriate for another. She pressed it to her lips and quickly lit it. The orange hue masked over her face as she continued to stare at the road. “What’s your number? I could, uh, add you. Not everyone talks like this after meetings.”
@matt-donosaurusrex / plotted starter.
𝐏𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞. It was often more or less for Matt to come over to her place. She didn’t enjoy the spacious kitchen that he had. It felt like something her mother would faun over and push her into marrying the man with the nice kitchen. She could practically hear her words crawling down her neck, suggesting that she could quit filming and purpose a happy life as a mother and wife. Her tongue clicked as she heard the door rattle. “Let yourself in. My hands are kinda full.” Kat called out. She knew Matt would hear her. She steadied one pumpkin over the sink as her playlist drowned out any other noise. It was dull enough to hear the door, but still blasting from her Bluetooth speaker in the living room. Once a wisp of sandy hair came into view, her smile widened. “Hey, you’re by pretty early.”
* mason hartley.
“Hey, I’m down for it — unless your plan is to rob me, in which case, I’ll pass,” he joked back, smiling. At what seemed to be her version of praise, Mason moved his shoulders up a bit, not feeling particularly proud. He’d only moved back because he was running away — which was profoundly uncourageous to the max. Completely undeserving of her compliment. “What about you? Where were you coming from?” In an attempt to get out of the hot seat, he shifted the conversation towards her. In truth, he was deathly curious about her situation; all Mason knew for certain was that she definitely wasn’t one of the uptight wealthy wives in Newport (swore too much, and she smelled faintly of cigarettes). “I should know a bit more about the person I’m driving home, don’t ya think?” He justified, making a left turn at an intersection.
“𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲?” It wasn’t the oddest proposal she’s encountered. She just didn’t expect anything. “I just came from shooting a film in L.A. It’s sometimes easier to shoot afternoon to night for some scenes. I showered off everything and headed my way home. I was in such a rush to just get the fuck outta there that I never looked at my gas gauge.” Kat waved her hand in a casual manner. She didn’t mind talking about work. It was a toss up on reaction, so she generally kept the acting vague. Not everyone was a fan of sex work. She wasn’t about to defend herself to some bigot. Her gaze flickered over, letting her fingers slide over the middle console. Her nails remained stagnant against his thigh, focusing on resting there for now. She wanted to see what she could get away with. After a beat, her fingers slid to his inner thigh as she leaned against the console to press her cheek against his seat. She looked up at him with doe-like eyes before speaking. “Do you really need to know me?”
