Up in a flash behind the other, he handed the cigarette back and tried to weasel his way into getting the vodka. If Craig’s parents were at it again, he was probably going to stay, too. After all, he got enough familial abuse at home, he didn’t need to add to it.
“I… I don’t. I wear it because I like it.” And because he was ugly without his makeup. He sighed a little, “My ‘faggy friends’ are mostly gone, anyway. Michael’s in college, Pete went to join him, Henrietta is in Wyoming with her new girlfriend…” Now, he almost sounded too sad, grabbing the bottle again, “I’m all that’s left, and I still wear all of this. So shut up.”
“So, you really were talking about me, right? Being here, with me?” Half of him wanted to bust out the syringe and bottle in his backpack, but he thought better of it. “Because I dunno, I kind of thought you liked the ability to get your dick sucked on demand.”
Fuuuuck.
Why couldn’t he just keep his moth shut?
Craig took another swig before giving in and handing Firkle the bottle. This night was not going his way. All he’d wanted to do was smoke, watch some Red Racer, maybe fall asleep early -- but no. Firkle had squirmed his way in. Laura’s muffled voice could be heard above yelling something or other.
“Maybe that’s cause you’re too afraid to move the fuck on.”
Craig sighed loudly, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Firkle was getting huffy, and huffy wasn’t a good look on that kid.
This thing they had going -- whatever it was, it was getting bothersome. He chose his next words with out thought.
“Ever notice how I’m not the one who initiates that?”
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