troublespin:
The ribbon of thought that Zoe wanted to wind around her finger was, you want me. It echoed from the implication in Niamh’s words like soundwaves emanating from a struck tuning fork. Without wavering, though, she forced herself to push past it. Niamh made it crystal clear what she wanted, and it wasn’t Eraserhead’s bassist and back-up vocalist. Still, it confused Zoe that the torture didn’t end there, and that the deceivingly sugary pop-star seemed keen on pressing her finger on the bruises to check if it still hurt.
Exactly like now.
“So cocky, Niamh Black,” Zoe said. In reality, she hid behind the phrase to pause for breath. The emptiness started aching, or was that just guilt? A second passed and Zoe resurfaced, ire stroked by how resolute Niamh was being. “And so delusional. Like, how many times do I have to tell you that I have a boyfriend now?” Hopefully, her bandmates proved even a teeny-weeny bit trustworthy and didn’t inform Niamh of Zoe’s escapades, but her family’s been slippery lately. Nonetheless, she mustered enough bravado to return Niamh’s smile, inching forward a small step. Not too close into the danger zone, but enough that Niamh was the only thing in her line of vision. “Fuck, yeah, do it. Everyone will be obsessed with me, the mermaid bitch who played bass for our generation’s The Clash, for inspiring the song. And you’ll just be a one-hit wonder no one remembers two years from now. And I’ll treat it like that other shitty single no one’s heard — turning that manufactured shit off.”
“Oh, yes,” Niamh said, her tone thick with a faux-enthusiasm that she would’ve tempered better, had she had better control around Zoe, “Your favourite topic to bring up, Sio. Maybe we should have a sleepover, braid each other’s hair and have a pillow fight, and you can tell me all about it.” She straightened her neck again, aware of the inch -- not even an inch -- of height that Zoe had over her. Niamh kept her hand tucked under her chin, propped up by the arm folded across her body. It was a pose that was as much analytic as it was closed-off, the implication of I see you, you don’t see me clear. Niamh knew perfectly well how little truth mattered when it came to social status; it was always the person who could project the most convincingly unshakeable image who won. “I don’t see why romantic status is relevant. We’re just talking, Zo -- but I’m glad you feel comfortable enough with me to share.”
She held her ground, steely as Zoe took the smallest step toward her, smile stretching at the implied challenge of it. Zoe’s ire being directed at Niamh herself did little to dull the shine of watching her when she was on like this; in the very least, Niamh had never been, and never could be, bored of Zoe Levin. A shame, then, that she couldn’t let her keep going. “Oh, sweetheart. Hence why it’ll be about your dreams. While you’re soothing yourself thinking about how people are gonna like you one day, I’m gonna focus on the present.” With a sigh, Niamh let her arms fall to her sides, digging into the back pocket of her jeans to produce a ten dollar bill. Not waiting for Zoe to take it, Niamh took hold of her hand, using the other to tuck money into her fingers. “Give that to Alexa for me, will you? I never paid her back for the drink the other night.” And then, “Monetarily, anyway.”
With that, she took a few steps back, resetting her expression to something more neutral. “See you around, kiddo. And have fun dreaming about me.”
