👌! { any of my muses }
send me a 👌for my muse to drunkenly confess something
Nadia smoked less cigarettes when she was with Phoebe. She wasn’t entirely sure why that was, or when it started, but one day she popped into the small corner market for a carton of Prince cigarettes and as she reached into her purse for her wallet to pay, her fingers brushed against one that was still half-filled. Nothing had been spectacularly different about her day, but she had spent the morning getting breakfast, which then turned into brunch, with Phoebe. She hadn’t stepped out of the restaurant for a smoke once, not even after she got a call from her mom. Phoebe had a way of staving off the urge, keeping the addiction momentarily at bay; she left Nadia feeling a little lighter, her lungs a little clearer. It wasn’t often that Nadia made a friend who could do that; she was a girl comfortable in her familiar doom and gloom.
But that wasn’t the only thing Phoebe managed to make Nadia feel, Nadia mused. It was another Sunday, another brunch, and Nadia was two and a half mimosas deep, thanks to the fact that they were bottomless. Narrowing her eyes, she lifted a finger off her glass to point toward Phoebe, swaying forward in her seat. Her head ducked a fraction, as if to keep what she was going to say between just the two of them, and by making herself smaller, the smaller their bubble would be. “Hør på meg…” she started, then snorted. Engelsk engelsk engelsk, she repeated to herself. She hated English. Not only because it felt so awkward and clunky, a far cry from the lyrical sounds she found and loved in Norwegian, but she hated that she had to bend to English-speakers wishes. Why couldn’t they ever learn the other language? Why does it always have to be us? she thought. “Listen to me,” she said again, slowly in an attempt to disguise how easily champagne always got to her. “You are… the only person I don’t want to strangle for making me talk like this.” She held up her other hand, pointer finger up. “The only one. And I mean that, even if your accent is fucking miss-mush mashed potatoes. Try and tell me that’s not love, bitch.”