﹙ * ♚ ﹚▌▌ booty call is an ache of rage. a distant swell in the crux of her core that has her press her tongue to the back of her teeth as she waits for it to crash to the shoreline and leave again. penny's undecided if it's the truth of it all that knocks red hot against her rib cage. OR IF IT'S THE LIE. less complicated, ( surely ) the truth. booty call, a lie. more like lock boxes kept next to beating organs wrapped in carefully labelled caution tape read keep closed. things too soft and too real inside. except how much of a lie is it, when it's all they can be? all they ever would be? & she can thank her own reflection in the mirror for that. ❝ oh, mm- is that so? ❞ she half-scoffs, half-laughs over her wine glass. it's breathy and exasperated and indignant. then again, erin always did like to leave her — penny hangs onto things with white knuckles and a vice-like grip and stores them her back pocket. much like the everything and nothing that she and erin have always been to one another. ❝ then why don't you go call them, erin? ❞ of course that isn't what she wants her to do. not by a long shot. but she has always been good at carving out what she wants and separating it from anything detectable by the eye ... anything that would make her appear weak ... her eyes flicker, peering at erin through her lashes. ❝ unless you don't want to. ❞
. . . ERIN : @magiabesos , i have way less complicated calls i can make.
