he goes to parties to help cure his boredom—-and somewhere between the beat of the music and the liquor in his cup, he finds distraction. tonight he hasn’t had much to drink, just a sip or two of the rum and coke in his grasp and it’s really only enough to leave a whisper of its presence on his tongue. he’d made his way to the front of the house, leaving the drunk bodies at his back in search of quiet space to just be for a bit. ( he doesn’t get much of that. ) it’s then that she stumbles out.
she’s all delicate and sloppy limbs, some how finding harmony in the balance of the two extremes. he watches her strategically place each step in such a way you’d truly believe she’s intoxicated. except he knows better. and it’s not just because he watched her switch the drink the guy she definitely fucked earlier gave her. its because despite her striking capability to play dumb and slur her words in such a way that should win her an oscar ; her eyes give her away. not sure he’d call himself an expert but being someone that’s spent more of his life observing than feeling, he would know. he dumps his cup, shaking the red plastic as he takes several steps forward to interject her path.
“ drinking and driving, tsk tsk—–what would your mother say? ” it’s a probing question, he’s fishing. not that you’d ever guess it. ( tell me everything about you so i can use you. )
hostility is a black dress that clings everywhere and rests many inches above the knee, and she wears it well, makes even the lace back that shows enough skin to leave her small frame cold and wanting look a little like ARMOR, an umbrella of wild pink hair fans out around her with a curl she never quite manages to tame out of it to match. it’s different than the dress she unzipped in front of a unassuming college boy earlier, a shade of lavender, frilly & delicate and too easily slipped over the curve of her shoulder, and though it, too, allowed a degree of SAFETY, safe wasn’t really the point. this is different ground, and this guy’s fully clothed, and of course —— she never agreed to show any skin unless someone else did first, and she knows better than most, people are most themselves naked, even when they aren’t. ❝ —— she’d shame me good, i’m guessing. ❞
she LAUGHS at that. mask between her fingers sounds tempting, but she can’t seem to want to pull it back on, would feel more FOOLISH between her slurs of words than anything else. so she doesn’t, not looking up until the keys are secure in her hands and only then paying him so much as a glance. his words put a bitter taste in her mouth, the kind she’d like to brush or kiss away, but she doesn’t give much, not even a slight shift in her jaw. what they stir in her only shows in her eyes, and what she sees in his hardly enough to keep her attention long enough to NOT-BOLT. hardly enough, but still enough. still enough to have her taking a testing step towards him as if she’d brush past, but remaining firmly in place, blue eyes alight. ❝ really, it’s what my FATHER’D say. ❞ and she hasn’t mentioned him in five years, but if she’s a black dress, angry and defiant and refusing to move, careful girl grown careless, he’s a NOOSE around your neck, and she’s learned to like the danger she invites in for a midnight snack. ❝ —— your CONCERN is touching. ❞
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