warnings: mild language use, mentions of weird/uncomfortable texts
⚝ return to masterlist ⚝
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐲!
damn the economy. honestly? let's just abolish capitalism itself at this point.
i glared at my bills spread across my table they had personally wronged me. rent. utilities. student loans. grocery reciepts. they all sneered at me, the numbers mocking my rapidly depleting bank account. the numbers didn’t even feel real anymore—just abstract threats in black ink.
i sighed to myself as i stabbed the calculator buttons like it had something to prove, finding the total of my costs for the month. i was hunched over the calculator, paper, and pen in front of me, sat down in my apartment's living room, slumping further into my couch as i saw the number on the small screen: $1,220 total. for one month.
i slumped further into my couch like it might swallow me whole. how was i even alive? no, seriously. i’m a nineteen year old college student with a part-time waitressing job that pays in crumbs and kind-of-okay tips if i smile enough. and somehow, that’s supposed to cover rent, tuition, food, and the occasional mental breakdown? it’s criminal. i should sue.
my mug of tea had gone cold an hour ago, abandoned on my coffee table as i spiraled into financial crisis. my laptop screen had dimmed, buried under a flood of passive-aggressive reminder emails from my professor and unread discussion posts. i was mid-rant to one of my friends from back home—something about capitalism, and student loans. as i was considering the idea of taking on stripping as a night job, she gave me an almost painfully logical answer: a roommate.
why didn't i think of it before? i mean, sure, i'm not exactly the most social person, but, if someone is just kinda in my apartment doing their own thing, and we split rent... hey, doesn't sound that bad to me. after i took a while to think about it, i set up an ad online:
[ad]
🏡 roomie wanted: cheap rent, good times (i hope)🏡
hey stranger :p i’m currently looking for a roommate to split rent with because, well… life is expensive and i’d rather not sell my kidney to afford groceries.
the apartment is decent—small, but cozy. there’s one available bedroom, a shared bathroom, and a living space that’s great for collapsing in after pretending to have your life together all day. rent is reasonable, utilities are split, and i’m close to campus (like a 15-minute walk if you’re aggressively late to class).
about me:
- 19, employed, college student
- primarily introverted, but i’ll talk your ear off about weird dreams and conspiracy theories if you let me
- i mind my business. you mind yours. just peace and harmony.
about you:
- preferably not a serial killer (non-negotiable)
- pays rent on time
- doesn’t force awkward small talk while i’m microwaving leftovers at 2am
general info:
rent: $900/mo (your half = $450) + utilities
available: november 5th
if you’re interested, shoot me a txt: (812) 789-4989
if this turns out to be a disaster, hey, at least we'll have a good story right?
[end of ad]
in all honesty, i wasn’t expecting anyone sane to respond. i mean, have you seen the internet? it’s like craigslist and tinder had a cursed lovechild. but hey, it was worth a shot, right?
a few hours later, the responses started rolling in. and let me tell you—nightmare fuel.
some highlights:
- one man asked if he could bring his pet rats. plural.
- a girl wanted to know if i was okay with “frequent overnight visitors” (translation: random hookups).
- guy who seemed halfway decent casually dropped on me that he was on house arrest for the next six months. i'd be lying if i said i wasn't interested in his backstory.
- one message just said “u up?” at 2am. spiritually? i wasn't.
don't even get me started on the degenerates. i didn't realize how low some people's self-respect can be until now.
my phone buzzed against the counter—here we go, another text. another stranger responding to my roommate ad like it was some kind of dating profile on plenty o' creeps.
seriously, i was two seconds away from tossing the damn thing into the garbage disposal, even though it would probably survive just to spite me. the thing had survived being dropped down three flights of stairs and left out in the rain once. a little white iphone 3g with not a single crack, the screen only covered by a veil of scratches and scuffs. i'll take whatever the hell steve jobs was on when he was making these things.
this text was... interesting, to say the least. here it is:
[unknown number]
7:26PM
💬👀: hey baby. not only can i bring you cheaper rent, but i can also bring you some romance, and a good time. a real good time. ;)
i blinked.
this wasn’t craigslist personals. it was a roommate ad. for housing.
what part of 'quiet, clean, non-creepy individual' translated to 'yes, please sext me'?
before i could even mentally formulate an insult, more messages popped up.
💬👀: just give me a chance. please.
💬👀: i just can't be alone anymore. i can't.
the screen stayed lit in my hand, thumb frozen. i stared, slack-jawed, while the next one rolled in:
💬👀: ...i'm a feminist? if that's your thing?
my first instinct was to throw my phone before this guy sends me something else i would want eye bleach over. second instinct was to screenshot it.
then, after a full minute of silence from me:
💬👀: fine then. you don't have to be such a bitch about it.
blocked.
that was my cue. so long, cassanova.
i felt like i needed to move. i definitely needed some fresh air after... whatever that was.
that was my first thought after blocking that number. not scream, not laugh, not dramatically throw my phone into traffic—just move. sitting still felt like suffocating. and when i felt like that, chores were my go-to. repetitive, mindless. today, it was laundry day. warm machines. detergent that smelled like fake lavender and something mundane.
i tossed my laundry basket in the backseat and drove with the windows down. the air was sharp and cold in that familiar indiana way—like it was daring me to roll them back up. it smelled like smoke, dry leaves, and someone’s horrible idea of pumpkin spice.
bloomington in the fall sometimes made me feel like a background character in someone else’s coming-of-age film. the trees were loud in color. people wore scarves and uggs unironically. there was laughter somewhere in the distance and it wasn’t mine.
i passed my work, lou’s diner on kirkwood—ben’s car was there. i could spot that rusted-out chevy anywhere. i remember he briefly told me it was his uncle's way back when, and it definitely shows. might as well stop in and say hi, right? not like i have much better to do on a sunday besides mope in the laundromat all by myself.
the bell above the door jingled as i stepped inside, dragging a gust of cold air with me. the smell of coffee and grease hit me instantly—familiar and comforting, like old flannel. the place was half-full, locals mostly, all hunched over pancakes and toast like it was a sacred ritual.
i spotted ben almost immediately—i mean, it's impossible not to with that firey head of his. he sat at a booth by the window, hunched over a plate of fries he probably didn’t even order, wearing that same faded brown flannel he always wore when he didn’t know what else to wear. he was halfway through doodling something in the margins of a notepad—little stars, planets, and constellations. he truly was a dork at heart. i casually slid into the booth across from him.
"y'know, it should be illegal to park something that ugly so close to a food establishment. think it'll start making the regulars vomit uncontrollably." i said sarcastically with a smug grin as i looked over at him.
his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. he was still looking down at his notebook with tired brown eyes, his wild ginger curls a mess. "y'know, if you insult her again, she'll get pissed off at you. maybe your airbag won't go off."
“excuse me?” i blinked. “her? oh my god. you named the van.”
"she's earned it," he finally looked at me, with that usual boyish smile he had on his face. "and for the record, i didn’t name her. the previous owner did."
i tilted my head slightly. “let me guess. your weird uncle.”
“yep, that's doug. toured with a pink floyd cover band in the eighties.”
i stared at him for a long beat. “that explains so much.”
he grinned and popped a couple of lukewarm fries into his mouth. "so, what brings you here anyway? you're not on shift." he says, his voice slightly muffled on account of the soggy mash of potato in his mouth.
"well, looks like you aren't either." i quipped, a trace of a chuckle in my voice as i spoke. "i saw your shaggin' wagon out front and decided to stop in. was on the way to the old laundromat."
"meg," ben groaned. "don't call it that ever again, i beg of you. besides, her name is betty."
i snorted. "betty?"
"betty," he confirmed with a nod, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "as in white walls, brown vinyl, smells vaguely like cigarettes and broken dreams betty."
"oh, so she’s a classy woman?" i chuckled, as i pictured the ugly-as-sin van i've come to know and love as some deeply troubled, esoteric woman chainsmoking and sadly sipping on some prestigious martini.
he shrugged, smirking. "of course she is. she’s got character. spunk."
i leaned back in the booth, arms crossed. "you’re one flat tire away from becoming a cautionary tale, you know that?"
"oh meg, you wound me," he said, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. "i’ll have you know she passed inspection last spring."
"right. and i’m the queen of england."
ben just laughed, low and easy, and went back to doodling in the corner of his notepad. he’d already drawn a little spaceship abducting what looked suspiciously like a cow grazing in the grass.
“so, laundry. you heading to that creepy laundromat on walnut?” he asked without looking up.
i nodded, pulling my sleeves over my hands. “yeah. figured i’d be productive. maybe stare into the industrial dryers and reflect on my many life choices.”
he glanced up again, that smile softening. “sounds cozy.”
“it’s something.”
we lingered in that weird, comfortable quiet for a few seconds—the kind that only ever came with ben. no pressure to fill the silence. no awkwardness. just the hum of the old diner lights, the jukebox, and the soft clink of silverware in the background.
i glanced out the window. the sky was starting to go gray, that muted indiana kind of gray where you couldn’t tell if it was 4pm or 9 in the morning. leaves scraped along the pavement like they were trying to get out of town before winter hit.
"i should get going," i said finally, sliding out of the booth. "before someone tries to use the good washers."
ben nodded. "tell betty i said hi."
i raised an eyebrow. "you want me to talk to your van?"
"i want you to respect her."
"not happening, ben."
he grinned. "drive safe, meg."
"you too, cowboy."
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
the laundromat was quiet when i got there. not dead, just sleepy. a kid was sliding around on the tile floors in socks while his mom tried to feed quarters into a jammed machine. some guy in the corner was reading the book of psalms like he’d read it a thousand times already—softly mouthing along, underlining a verse with a yellow highlighter that looked like it was running out of ink.
i shook off the memory of kokomo. my bible-belt hometown, all fire and brimstone and well-rehearsed smiles. sunday school stained glass and whispering women in floral skirts.
nope. not today.
i made my way toward a machine in the far back corner, the one with the dent in the side that nobody ever seemed to want. it was cheap and barely functional—perfect.
i dropped my laundry basket down beside it and started sorting through the pile. hoodies, socks, jeans.
i wonder how mom’s doing.
the thought came and went before i could stop it. i tried to stuff it down like the rest of the dirty laundry.
meg, you should really call her more. my hand hovered over the detergent for a second too long.
i hadn’t called her since the beginning of this school year. it wasn’t that i didn’t want to—it was just that hearing her voice always brought everything back, and i wasn’t sure i could face that again. i guess i just hadn’t wanted to hear that soft, tired voice laced with all the things she didn’t say. she always sounded like she was waiting for me to come home. not in a clingy way—just… like she still held space for me, waiting for me with open arms. sorry, mom.
the washer beeped. i snapped back into the room.
coins in. start button. spin cycle. move on.
the hum of the dryers filled the air like static. i sat on the little wooden bench by the window and watched the red leaves outside twist in the wind like they were trying to dance their way off the branches.
it was always like this.
bloomington in october. beautiful. lonely. loud in the ways that didn’t matter.
i stared into the washer drum as it spun, letting it hypnotize me. socks and hoodies and pillowcases tumbled like they didn’t have a care in the world.
must be nice, i thought. somewhere between the suds and spin cycles, i let myself breathe once again.
after reloading my clothes into a different machine, the dryer hummed behind me, its rumble rattling gently through the old laundromat floor. i sat on the cold bench by the wall, thumb absently tracing the edge of my phone, mind somewhere else entirely.
across the room, the kid in socks had finally tired himself out. he now sat curled up beside his mom, watching the dryers spin with the kind of wide-eyed wonder you only get before the world fucks you up.
i kept glancing at my phone, not because i was expecting anything, but because hope’s a stupid little habit you can’t quite quit.
i thought back to earlier today, being hunched over my coffee table, feeling the dollars in my bank account withering away with each number i punched into that damn calculator.
the hours at the diner weren’t cutting it, and neither were the uncomfortable couch sleeps at liza’s. i needed a roommate, and soon.
preferably one who didn’t sext me immediately or try to convert me to pyramid schemes.
a heavy sigh left my chest before i could stop it.
this wasn’t what i pictured when i thought about college. i thought i’d be in some dorm room with a cork board full of polaroids and twinkly lights, having the time of my life. not... whatever this is.
i reached for my laundry basket just as the dryer clicked off with a soft thunk.
the kid smiled at me as he left.
i smiled back.
i looked at my phone once again, skimming through the notifications i've recieved from the puddle of unsaved numbers of strangers i didn't even know the names of.
maybe this was all just a big mistake on my end.
okay, fuck it. a week. i’d give it one more week.
and if no one normal showed up by then, i’d delete the damn ad, burn my phone, and move into a cave somewhere. become the next small town urban legend or something.
and at that point, maybe i’d even start enjoying being the joke.
and if the universe had a sense of humor? it was about to make me its favourite punchline.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
next chapter coming soon! thank you for reading, xoxo <3
A/N: hey everybody <3 i know i've been kinda slow with putting out new things for domestic disturbances, and i just wanna say: thank you so much to everybody who's been supporting me and my silly lil writing hobby and i promise i haven't forgotten about you guys. so, here's a gift! a lil angsty snack from me to you while you all wait for the next chapter ^_^ (it's wartime flavoured)
p.s: this is lowkey the beginning of me experimenting with the idea of 20th century WW1 jack (and maybe meg... heheheh) rather than modern au. let me know if you guys would be interested in seeing more of this <3
warnings: mild language use, alcoholism, grief, emotional trauma, hallucinations, canon-compliant angst + my own headcanons, RDR1 SPOILERS MENTIONED AHEAD. TREAD CAREFULLY.
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beecher’s hope, 1917.
the morning is quiet. not peaceful—just the kind of quiet that settles over a place that hasn’t seen joy in a long time. the wind moves through dry grass like a ghost. a storm’s gathering somewhere, but it hasn’t broken yet. just hangs there, heavy in the sky, waiting to break.
jack’s out by the chopping block, sleeves rolled up, sweat clinging to the back of his neck despite the chill. the wood splits clean under the weight of the axe, over and over. he likes the rhythm of it. the simplicity. it’s one of the only things left that makes sense.
crack.
crack.
in the distance, wheels crunch gravel. he doesn’t look up.
crack.
"jack marston?"
his name lands like a stone in his gut.
he wipes a hand over his face, turns toward the mail wagon. the young courier doesn’t meet his eye as he hands over the envelope—plain, cream-colored, with a thick red seal and his full name typed neat across the front.
mr. john 'jack' marston. beecher’s hope, blackwater.
he stares at it for a long time.
something about seeing the name he inherited in ink makes his stomach churn.
the woodsmoke from the chimney makes his eyes sting, but he doesn’t blink. doesn’t speak.
the wagon rattles off towards the main road.
he opens the envelope with a slow tear, like he’s hoping the world might stop before he finishes. it doesn’t.
the letter reads:
"greetings: you have been selected for induction into the armed forces of the united states…"
his breath leaves him in one sharp exhale, like he’s just taken a hit to the ribs.
he doesn’t finish reading.
he doesn’t need to.
-----------------------------------------------
inside the house, the floorboards groan under his boots. everything’s too still. the table hasn’t moved since his mother last set it for dinner. the fireplace is cold. his father’s rifle still hangs on the wall above it, dusty, untouched. like some kind of shrine.
jack drops the letter on the table without looking at it. his hands hang at his sides. limp. lost.
he stands there for a long time.
then, like something in him finally breaks, he kicks the nearest chair—hard. it crashes to the floor. a plate tips off the counter and shatters. their family portrait swings softly on the wall. he doesn’t flinch. doesn't dare make eye contact with their photo.
he grips the edge of the table with both hands, shoulders shaking.
"guess i really ain’t meant to have nothin', huh?" he mutters, half-laughing. the sound is cracked down the middle. bitter.
his voice echoes in the emptiness.
the ghosts of this place don’t answer.
-----------------------------------------------
armadillo. upstairs in the saloon, later that evening.
the bottle’s half-empty. or half-full, depending on how bitter you feel that night.
jack doesn’t even bother with a glass anymore. the whiskey burns the whole way down, but he likes it that way. it means he can still feel something. that he's still real.
he sits slouched on the edge of the bed, the same one his father used to sleep in whenever he wasn't home. same dusty room above the saloon, same oil lamp flickering against cracked wallpaper. the window’s open just enough to let in the desert wind and the sound of some poor, drunken bastard getting thrown out onto the street below.
jack barely notices.
the draft letter lies crumpled on the nightstand, stained with spilled liquor and maybe something else.
"you'd be real proud, pa," jack mutters, voice thick, wet with drink and something darker. his smile curls up the wrong way. it doesn't reach his eyes. "yeah. look at me now. all grown up."
he raises the bottle in a mock toast, letting the whiskey slosh. "bein' forced to go god knows where to die for the damn military of all things. 'serve my country,' my ass. country didn’t do shit when you got gunned down like a dog. didn’t do shit when ma was coughin' her lungs out, slowly witherin' away like she was nothin', all while i'm holdin' her hand the whole damn time."
he laughs, but there’s no humor in it. just emptiness, scraped raw.
"and what, now they want me to play the good little soldier for 'em?" he spits the words out as if they tasted like rot on his tongue. "to carry a gun and march off to die for a place that’s done nothin’ but take from me? fuck that."
" 'you’re a man now, jack,' " he mutters, mocking. " 'take care of the ranch, jack. be strong.' "
he takes another drink. the bottle’s already lighter in his hand.
"i did all that. i did everything i was s’posed to. and for what? no one left to see it. no one left to care."
his voice trails off.
silence, except for the storm beginning to build outside.
and then–
"that how you see it?"
the voice comes soft. gravelly. familiar.
jack’s eyes snap to the corner of the room.
and there he is.
john marston.
leaning against the wall, arms crossed, hat low over his brow. dressed in the clothes he was buried in—just like jack remembers. just like the last time.
jack blinks. shakes his head once, hard. but the figure stays.
"i ain’t drunk enough for this," jack whispers.
john tilts his head. "ain’t about the drink, boy. never was."
jack scoffs and rubs at his eyes. "you’re not real."
"maybe not. but i’m here, ain’t i?"
a long silence stretches between them.
jack downs another mouthful of cheap, rotgut whiskey, hoping that maybe the figure would dissolve in the amber. he doesn’t dare meet his father’s eyes.
"why didn’t you tell me it’d be like this?" he mumbles. "you made it look so easy. like it meant somethin'. like dyin' for somethin' made it all worth it."
john’s voice softens. "it wasn’t easy, jack. and it sure as hell wasn’t worth it."
jack looks up. and for a second—just a second—he’s a boy again. lost, scared, aching for a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"i don’t wanna go," he says, voice barely there. "i don’t wanna be like you."
john walks over. sits on the edge of the bed beside him. his presence doesn’t creak or dip the mattress. he doesn’t smell like sweat or whiskey or blood—just dust. just memory.
"then don’t be," john says gently. "you got the chance to be more than i ever was. you still got time. use it wisely, son."
jack laughs again. bitter, hoarse.
"what time?"
john doesn’t answer. he just looks at him—really looks at him—and says:
"you’re allowed to want more than survival, jack."
it all started with an ad megan harper posted on the internet in a fit of financial desperation, looking for someone—anyone—to split rent with.
what she got in return was jack marston: a stubborn, oddly charming, walking disaster in flannel with baggage and a sardonic sense of humor.
now they’re stuck sharing an apartment and figuring out how to coexist without killing each other while tiptoeing around something neither of them is ready to name.
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:
⚝ chapter 1: damn the economy!
⚝ chapter 2: social calls
⚝ chapter 3: thirty seconds to sunday
⚝ chapter 4: connections
⚝ chapter 5: you said costumes, not consequences
⚝ more to come! :)
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬/𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬:
roommates to lovers, friends to lovers, slowburn, mutual pining, modern!au, college!au, jack marston, jack marston x oc, oc x canon, original characters, red dead redemption, jack is an idiot, meg is oblivious
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞:
hello my loves! first of all, thank you so much to anybody taking their time to check out my fic <3 i’m so excited to share this messy, slowburn story about two idiots who are too dumb to see what’s right in front of them (and, of course, all the chaos surrounding them). just a quick note: liza and ben are original characters i’ve created for this little world! be nice to them. i love them dearly.
updates may be a bit slow because i’m a perfectionist, but i promise i’ll make it worth the wait! i hope you enjoy reading as much as i’ve enjoyed writing—please feel free to leave comments, reblogs, or any thoughts/critiques, i’d love to hear from you! 💕
warnings: mild language use, use & mention of alcohol and marijuana, intoxication, disorientation/briefly implied dissociation
⚝ return to masterlist ⚝
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬
it's been a couple days since i've last seen or spoken to jack. not like i was keeping score. i kept replaying the apartment tour in my head—picking at every little thing i could have possibly done or said that would have made him hesitate to make a decision.
did i speak too much? too little? was i too forward? did i really throw that round by getting juggernaut?
well, great going, meg. kiss that beautiful, split rent goodbye.
...he does suck at zombies though.
ugh, get over yourself already.
when friday came and i convinced myself that i didn't care (no, really, i don't), i found myself in the cafeteria with liza, finishing up a group project before our next class that was due in—shit, twenty minutes. there was a comfortable silence between us, broken up by the sound of distant keyboard clacking and the light hum of background conversations and old fluorescent lights. liza looked up at me, grinning.
i sighed. "oh, god. what?"
"i have a question." she said, a little too sweetly for my taste. i looked up from my laptop and there it was—that grin. the one that's gotten us in shit way too many times.
i raised a brow, prompting her to go on.
"well, there's a halloween party this weekend... and i reaalllyyy don't wanna go by myself..." she said, tilting her head like she was just the picture of innocence and not like she was already circling her prey.
"a party?" i echoed. "uh, i don't think so, liz. i mean, i gotta finish up those research papers, and i wouldn't even have a costume–"
"don't worry about it!" she interrupted, her voice bright. "babe,i have it covered. just trust me. i think i got something in mind just for us."
"you're making me match with you." i replied flatly. god knows what she has up in that brain of hers.
"alright, maybe," i continued, "but only if you can promise me we're not gonna do the stupid 'angel and devil' thing, and that there will be copious amounts of candy and booze at this party."
parties aren't for me. too crowded. too loud. way too many conversations happening at once. but then again, for some reason, being there with liza made it seem... bearable, at least. however, the chances of me ending up alone in the corner, looking absolutely ridiculous with whatever costume she had in mind for me? quite high.
she giggled. "meg, it's halloweekend, of course there's gonna be candy and booze."
"so, what kinda costumes are we thinking here?" i asked warily.
"i can't tell you yet, that spoils the fun." she pouted. "just trust me, girl. i'll make sure we're looking good."
"tomorrow night," she continued, flipping open her phone. "starts at about 8:30. come over to my place and we can get ready together. maybe pregame, if you wanna."
i sighed dramatically. "alright, fine. just... don't leave me alone. please."
"meg, hon, i'm not gonna ditch you. we'll be attached at the hip." she said, looping her pinky with mine.
"promise?"
"promise."
liza and i took the rest of our lunch to discuss tonight's plans and finished our project. the rest of the school day flew by—probably because for half of it i was thinking about what sickness i could fake to get out of the damn thing.
flu's overdone. appendicitis is too dramatic.
lupus? well, you know what they say about lupus.
i drove back to my apartment building, the radio playing something light and acoustic—the goo goo dolls, maybe—as i tried to push down my second thoughts and fold them away for later.
she's your best friend. you can do this one thing for her. you'll survive a few hours. probably.
the weight of another bustling day at school made me want nothing more than to just crash on the couch and disappear. i fumbled with my keys, mumbling a small "fuck" when i dropped them on the ground before i got to swing the door open and take a deep breath as i finally entered the quiet solace of my apartment. i locked the door behind me before i threw my bag onto the floor, making a beeline to my kitchen.
i grabbed an energy drink from my fridge, closing the door with a swing of my hip before walking towards my couch, plopping into my corner. a couple of hours passed and i was sat on my couch, watching tv. in the middle of an ad break, my phone buzzed.
[1 new message from: liza :)]
💬🎀: hey bitch! just picked out our costumes. gonna keep it a surprise til you come over tho. prepare to be WOWED ;)
i clicked on the notification and began typing.
💬: oh dear, lol. i'm sure you went all out.
💬🎀: duhhh, of course i did. i'm sososooo happy you're joining me meg, i think it's about time you got out of that lil shell of yours anywayy ;p
💬: i knoww, i know. idk, i'm not really a party person. i always end up feeling out of place and like maybe i'm being a huge buzzkill
💬🎀: gurl believe me. you belong, and you are most definitely NOT a buzzkill!!! it'll be fun!! i'll stick by your side to make sure you feel as comfy as possible, promise
💬: what would i ever do without you, liz? :')
💬🎀: probably stay cooped up in ur lil apartment all the time, poor thing :( lucky u have meee ;p
💬: i am!! luv u tons!!!
💬🎀: xoxoo
i smiled at my phone screen before turning it off and putting it in my back pocket. liza always had this weird way of grounding me—always giving me a little push when needed. i'm not sure if she knows it, but her reassurance truly means the world to me. always.
the next day passed by quickly, a mix of boring errands and work keeping me busy. by the time i clocked out and headed home, my mind was buzzing with thoughts of what liza had in store for me that evening. despite my earlier nerves and doubt, there was something a little exciting about being able to let loose, even if just for a night.
i swung the door open, locking it behind me and i felt the weight of another long shift deep in my bones. i should really get better shoes. i quickly scrounged for a simple outfit to hang out at liza's in before the party started, and i bee lined for the shower.
the hot water definitely helped wake me up, and for a moment, i allowed myself to just feel. i redirected my focus on the running water. the smell of soap. the gentle scrub of my exfoliator. by the time i stepped out and wrapped myself in a towel, i could surprisingly feel a bit of excitement creeping up, of course accompanied by a sense of unease. but, liza had promised a fun night, and who was i to doubt my best friend?
a few minutes later, i pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a comfortable hoodie, figuring it'd be easy enough to change out of to put on this mystery costume liza had picked out for me. i grabbed my bag, and my car keys, shooting liza a quick text to let her know i was on the way before leaving.
the drive was no longer than five minutes. i pulled into the parking lot of liza's apartment building, cutting the engine as i sat there for a moment in silence. was i really about to do this tonight? my stomach did flips as i stepped out of my car, making my way up a small flight of stairs before entering an elevator.
ding.
as i walked up the hall to stand in front of her door, the unmistakable sound of kesha's voice came through loud & clear.
"—hot & dangerous, if you're one of us then roll with us—"
well, noise complaints aren't valid until midnight anyway. i respect it. wonder if her neighbours do, too.
the sound of my knock was greeted by the door flinging open, and liza standing there, grinning. "babe!" she squealed, the unmistakable smell of vodka on her breath. she yanked my wrist, pulling me inside. "come on! we have work to do!"
"oh– well, i missed you too," i laughed as i let her drag me toward her room.
"missed you more, sexy."
she twirled dramatically before plopping onto her bed, reaching for a drink that had been sitting on her nightstand. she took a sip, before pointing to me with manicured fingers. "now! time for the big reveal." she said before standing up and walking with grace toward her closet, practically bouncing on her heels.
she looked over her shoulder. "now, close your eyesss..." she sang out enthusiastically. i shrugged it off and complied.
i stood there for a moment in silence, my arms crossed, my eyes closed as music and the sound of fabric ruffling filled the room. "...can i open my eyes now?"
"yeah, open up!"
i looked at liza, who was holding what was supposed to be my costume in her arms. i couldn't help but do a double take when i saw how... tiny it was. she presented to me a navy bodysuit accompanied with a few garters too many—one that was meant to wrap around the torso, one for each leg. the bodysuit itself had short sleeves and even shorter shorts. god, help me.
i narrowed my eyes at the lump of fabric. "liz.. that's your costume, right?" i asked hesitantly, not entirely sure if i wanted to really hear the answer. "oh, no babe. this is all you." she said, dangling a pair of silver plastic handcuffs in my face before placing it atop of the costume bundle, followed by a matching navy hat, a plastic badge, and black aviators.
i blinked at her incredulously, the room silent for a moment save for the sound of some akon song playing in the background. "...there's not even pants." i muttered.
liza shrugged. "they were optional."
"oh. was my self respect and dignity also optional or...?"
she snorted. "you're being ridiculous."
"it's just... that thing looks so revealing. it's practically covering nothing," i said, gesturing to the costume in her hands. "girl, that's the fun of it. trust me, you'll be fine." she chirped, playfully nudging my arm at me and winking.
i hesitated, eyeing the bodysuit like it was some alien artifact. "i don't know liza, i just... this is a little out of my league, don't you think?"
liza, ever the motivator, held out the costume bundle and passed me a wine cooler. "girl, you're gonna rock it. just trust me."
"but what if-"
"nope."
i sighed as she shoved the costume into my hands, giving her an utterly unimpressed look. "alright, fine. just know that i'm doing this for you. you owe me big time."
liza gave me a supportive thumbs up, grinning as i walked towards her bathroom with a drink in one hand, costume in another. "you're lucky i like you." i mumbled, mostly to myself rather than her.
i looked at myself in the mirror, then the costume in my hands. this isn't me—this daring, revealing thing? not me at all. but then, i remembered liza's words, repeating in my head like a mantra: you're gonna rock it.
i took a deep breath as i undressed, slipping into the bodysuit and zipping up the front completely. i eyed the garters on the counter, debating on whether or not they were really necessary. i reluctantly put them on, reminding myself that it was for liza's sake throughout my five minute struggle—untangling, unclipping, untangling, unclipping.
as i saw myself in the mirror, i froze. the reflection looking back at me was a complete stranger. the costume hugged me in unfamiliar ways i didn't even know fabric could, and i couldn't help but think that i looked absolutely and utterly ridiculous. my restless overthinking was interrupted by liza's voice. "you alive in there?"
i ran my hands down the sides of the bodysuit, tugging at the hem like it would magically grow two more inches. it didn’t.
i tried adjusting the garters, then gave up and just crossed my arms over my chest. maybe if i stood still enough, i’d become invisible. yeah. that felt more realistic than whatever the hell this was.
"spandex is evil and should be banned in all 50 states." i muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. liza practically skipped over to the bathroom, opening the door and freezing in place as she saw me standing there all dressed up.
her eyes widened. "holy shit," she whispered, hands going over her mouth like she had just witnessed a miracle—or a crime. "you look..."
"...like i'm gonna to be arrested for indecent exposure? yeah. i know. your fault, by the way."
"like a smokeshow, actually." she corrected, her hands on her hips as she assessed me, smiling like a kid at christmas.
she then stepped further into the bathroom, murmuring a small, "here, stay still," as she ran her fingers through my hair before carefully placing the hat on my head. she then clipped the flimsy handcuffs to my hip, and pinned the shiny plastic badge to my chest.
her eyes then darted to the zipper, then to me. she reached up and tugged the zipper down juuuust enough to expose the lace of my bra.
"oho, absolutely not." i said, immediately zipping it back up again.
she tugged it back down.
i tugged it back up.
zip.
unzip.
zip.
unzip.
i narrowed my eyes at her, slowly zipping it at the halfway point between scandalous and sensible. "there. happy? medium sluttiness."
she just giggled, sliding the aviators over the mock-neckline, letting the sunglasses dangle at the low point. "peachy."
i gave myself a once-over in the mirror, tugging at a garter that sat crooked on my thigh, frowning all the while. "i guess i don't look that bad,"
"babe, you're the cutest cop i've ever seen. honestly? i think i'd let you pull me over whenever you wanted if it meant i'd get to see you like this." she said with a small wink.
we both laughed for a moment before liza turned around, her blonde, black streaked hair whipping around the corner as she pranced toward her room. "gonna change into my costume!" she called out. "alright!" i called back.
i kept sipping on the liquor liza gave me. the second the laughter faded from my chest, i felt it again—that low simmer of anxiety crawling up my spine like a snake. everyone’s gonna see me like this. i took another sip. yeah, no big deal. just me in a glorified swimsuit, surrounded by drunk strangers. totally cool. you're cool, meg.
after a beat, she dramatically opened her bedroom door, walking out with her hand on her hip. she wore a bright orange mini dress with a thick black belt around her waist, another pair of plastic handcuffs clipped to her side. she had one heel on, briefly placing her hand on the door frame as she put the other on—black and pointy.
"you really did go all out, didn't you?" i mused, still sucking on my straw. she strutted over to me, her eyes flicking from my face to my costume.
"when do i not go all out? life is way too short to not be extra, meg. remember that." she replied, gently poking the tip of my nose. her hands then moved down to her waist, briefly adjusting her belt as the cuffs lightly clinked with each movement. "so, we ready to rock this bitch or what?"
"probably," i shrugged, trying to ignore the voice in my head that said go home. liza cheered before clinking her bottle to mine. we both finished our drinks, setting the empty bottles on a nearby table before we walked to her front door.
as i reached for my sneakers, liza tsked. "ah-ah, those don't match. here, one sec," she said before zooming toward her bedroom. from the other room, i heard her closet doors open, signalling the beginning of her rummage.
moments later, she emerged from her room, a pair of black boots in hand. "here, these will fit you just fine." she smiled, handing them out to me. i looked at the shoes, then liza. "you just have something for every occasion, don't you?"
i leaned against the wall as i pulled them on. they were heavy and made of a thick pleather that hugged my calves way too tightly, but they looked good.
damn it, they looked good.
"what's a girl to do other than prepare?" liza smiled. "now, let's go! let's have fun!" her hand closed around my wrist—warm and steady—and pulled. then, we were set on-foot towards wherever liza was taking me. liza clearly had no plans of looking back.
even with the boots on and liza's laughter still buzzing in my chest, there was still this little part of me begging to turn around and go home. to be invisible.
but i didn't.
i followed her out the door instead.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
"okay, but like... where even is this place, anyway?" i asked as i tightly wrapped my arms around myself, shivering thanks to the cold autumn air and my exposed skin—two things that don't mix in the midwest.
liza didn't even seem to notice the cold. "that big grey house on the corner of pine and kirkwood. y'know the one."
"ohhh—wait. you mean the one with all of those flamingoes in the front yard? i thought it was blue."
"nope, grey. but,yeah– those guys are like... weirdly obsessed with them. i think they're some kind of sacred frat mascot now. has to be tradition or something."
i let out a soft, disbelieving laugh as i glanced over at her. she was balancing on the curb like it was a tightrope, arms out for balance, teetering in her heels like it was nothing.
"i gotta say, those guys have an... interesting taste in decor, to say the least." i commented dryly. "nothing says brotherhood like... plastic lawn birds, apparently."
liza just grinned, enjoying the absurdity of it all. "i mean, come on. it's a frat house. subtlety kinda left the building behind a long, long time ago."
flamingoes: 1, me: 0. touché.
as we rounded yet another street corner, the familiar sight of a large grey house that i'd seen in passing came into view. the sound of overlapping conversation and obnoxious groups of laughter alongside loud, thumping music leaking from the windows that practically echoed around the entire block. lights strobed inside and out of the house, flashing red, orange, pink, blue and purple. it looked like a carnival of tipsy disaster. i desperately tugged my shorts down.
liza just giggled, throwing me a wink before she tugged me up the front steps.
"ugh, thank god they have good music. c'mon meg!" she chimed, grinning like a kid at the county fair as she threw the doors open. she tugged me deeper into the house, the party's chaos only intensifying the further we went. people were dancing and shouting along to the lyrics, not a single person sober enough to care that their moves were more disorderly than rhythmic.
"okay, we're definitely in for some trouble tonight, aren't we?" i laughed, looking around the drunken chaos surrounding us. liza looked whipped her head around, the ends of her hair brushing against my cheek. "trouble is half of the fun, babe. let's just focus on having a good time, mkay?"
as liza tugged me toward the kitchen, i looked at the people around me, studying their costumes. angels, devils, a group of girls who looked maybe a year or two older than i was were dressed as the main cast of mean girls—some guy was dressed as mclovin. ghostface was making out with catwoman in the corner. god, this place was grimy.
as i was fighting the urge to quickly walk home and change, liza shoved a drink in my hands. "cheer up, hon! you ready to let loose?"
i took in greedy gulps of the mystery liquor in the solo cup she handed me, quickly wincing at the burning sensation of cheap raspberry vodka down my throat. "ready as i'll ever be," i said, trying my hardest to mirror liza's confidence. i licked my lips before downing the rest of my drink quickly. liza was right—maybe everything would be fine. i just needed to relax.
the walls vibrated from the bass of large speakers bought with daddy's money, the rhythm rumbling deeply within my bones. the aroma of sweat, spilled liquor and a heavy mixture of colognes and perfumes filled my nostrils.
liza tugged me to the the dance floor. in that moment, i was just another girl in the crowd, dancing and having a good time. our hips swayed with each other, hands flying in every direction, reaching up to tug at our hair and brushing across torsos and hips as we jumped and spun with the beat.
liza's laughter rang out—loud and unrestrained, like it could shake the glitter off the walls as she swirled around, one hand flinging her hair over her shoulder, the other running down her body like she was in a music video.
i tried my best to match her energy—albeit a little stiffer. in that moment, i almost didn't feel the weight of eyes on me. i almost didn't care if people were looking. like it was just me and her.
a loud, male voice rang out from the kitchen, cutting through the music: "SHOTS ARE UP!"
liza's head snapped in the direction of the voice like a hawk spotting prey. she gasped dramatically before grabbing my wrist. "oh we HAVE to go."
and before i could open my mouth, i was being tugged through the crowd of people and directly toward the kitchen, our heels clacking against the sticky floor. the room was packed, the air was hot and thick.
at the centre of it all stood a random frat brother behind the marble kitchen island, adorned with a backwards red hat and sunglasses, rapidly pouring shots of tequila in a ridiculous amount of small plastic cups as the crowd cheered him on. huh. i wonder if he meant to dress like fred durst on purpose.
liza temporarily dropped my wrist, leaning over the counter and grabbing two shot glasses. she shoved one in my hand and grinned. "for confidence."
i raised a brow. "that's what you said two drinks ago."
"exactly. and now, we're unstoppable." she declared before clinking her glass against mine.
and with that, everyone in the kitchen had a shot in hand. the crowd broke out in a symphony of cheers, glasses raised in the air. i barely had time to brace myself before the tequila burned down my throat. the warmth that followed afterward, however, felt soothing.
i shook my head at the aftertaste, wincing. "god, that shit is strong– eugh,"
liza patted me on the back. "you'll be alright babe."
she then retreated to the dancefloor again without warning or a goodbye, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen. maybe i was supposed to follow her, but i just sighed and watched her walk away. i looked around the room, past the kitchen counter to see a familiar face.
wait... ben?
i studied the tall, gangly figure 20 feet away from me, recognizing the curly ginger locks and more importantly... his work uniform. yep. i knew that line cook from anywhere. ben stood awkwardly against the wall, cup in hand, swirling the drink around and seemingly just people-watching.
"ben!" i called, walking over to him. "i didn't think i'd see you here. how are you?" he looked up at me, relief flooding his face the moment he spotted a familiar face in the crowd. i could see how his shoulders visibly relaxed.
"oh– meg, thank god. yeah, my friend brought me here wanting to just get out of my place for a little bit and i figured to just relax, have some fun tonight while i'm here, you know? especially after that hellish dinner rush today."
"oh god, don't even get me started. we were understaffed on a saturday of all days—we were fucked as soon as the schedule was printed. and of course pat called off again, right?"
ben groaned, his head falling back against the wall with a faint thud. "he's always calling off for some bullshit reason. i don't even know why don puts up with it anymore!" he ranted. "not to mention, when he does clock in, he barely does his job. i mean, he's been here longer than most of us! he should know how to do his job, it's ridiculous."
"also, you look.. different, from work." he added. i shook my head, huffing out a small laugh. "yeah, i know. trust me, it wasn't my choice."
i looked him up and down, analyzing his choice of costume—or lack thereof. "so, you couldn't find a costume huh?"
"excuse you. i'm a master chef." he defended, pointing to his chef hat, then adjusting it on his head.
"yeah, i kind of gathered. you know, you kind of look like that guy from-"
"do not even say it." he cut me off, "i've been told the same thing by so many people since i got here. not hearing it from you, too."
"oh, please. did you seriously expect people not to make that connection? especially with that... outrageous hat."
"hey, i got this at walmart for like 10 bucks! i think it was a pretty convenient find for someone who was in need," he insisted.
i couldn't help but chuckle at his defense. "desperate times call for desperate measures, i suppose." i shrugged. "my friend liza, she practically dressed me herself, so now i'm stuck in... well, whatever this is." i adjusted the harness that was strapped across my torso. why was this thing so damn tight?
ben raised an eyebrow, clearly suppressing a grin. "it isn't that bad. at least you look like you're actually trying. i might just have to steal some costume tips from you next year."
"hah! be my guest," i replied, crossing my arms. "but i don't think this is exactly the look you're going for."
"i don't know, maybe i could pull it off."
the two of us stood there for a few moments, casually chatting and watching the other fellow guests—a guy tripping over a fake spiderweb, another taking great interest in the anatomy of a plastic skeleton—i know a science major when i see one.
even in the middle of all this noise, i found myself surprisingly at ease. maybe it was the tequila, or maybe it was the fact that ben is just... being ben, but something about tonight felt different. for once, i felt like i wasn't avoiding the chaos; i was just... letting it happen.
i looked over and noticed how relaxed he now seemed. he was leaning more casually against the wall—a stark contrast from how out of place he seemed earlier, awkwardly standing alone in his work uniform. and yet, here he was, now fitting right into the flow of the party. i could only hope that i looked to be doing the same.
i clinked my empty plastic cup to ben's. "wanna grab another drink?" i asked, nodding back towards the main kitchen area. he then pushed himself off of the wall, smiling at me. "lead the way."
i turned on my heel, making my way through the crowd of people. the music was louder now, the bass vibrating through my chest, but somehow, with ben behind me, it felt like we were in our own seperate bubble. it felt safe.
when we reached the kitchen, i grabbed a bottle of what vaguely looked to be vodka and poured a rather generous amount into my cup. ben followed suit, pouring his own drink, though his was a lot more restrained than mine.
"cheers?" i raised my cup toward him with a grin. "cheers," ben replied, clinking his cup with mine before taking a sip.
i leaned against the counter, letting the cool edge of the marble ground me as i tried to steady my breath, which was unreasonably erratic for someone who'd only had a few drinks.
"so," i began, swirling my drink, "how's the night been treating you?"
ben leaned against the counter next to me, glancing over me with a small smile. "it's been... interesting i guess. it's been fun so far, i'll admit. my friend kinda threw me to the wolves, though." he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "we both kinda came here for the liquor rather than people, and... here we are."
"damn. dick move, man." i mused. "although, i'm in a similar boat. my prisoner over there jail broke for the dancefloor." i added dryly, nodding in liza's general direction. she was dancing with a couple of girls i've never seen before, laughing and having a good time. ben followed my gaze, his eyes locked onto liza. "that's your friend?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
"yeah, that's liza." i smiled. "we met at school last year , and we've been really good friends since. i don't know what i'd do without her, in all honesty."
ben nodded, his eyes never leaving liza. "she... seems like fun." he commented, almost in awe as his gaze lingered on her. the corners of his lips twitched upward into a sheepish smile. "yeah, she is," i replied. "she's the kind of person who's just down for everything. it can be contagious sometimes. if it weren't for her dragging me along, i wouldn't be here right now."
ben snapped out of his trance, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. "yeah, i didn't really peg you for the party type. ...no offense."
"nah, none taken. i only came for the candy and booze, anyway." i replied before promptly taking a gulp of my drink. "i mean, don't get me wrong, i'm down for a good time, but i'm not usually the type to seek out... this." i added, vaguely gesturing to the large group of people on the makeshift dancefloor.
ben let out a small laugh. "yeah, i get that. i was kind of the same way at first, but here i am, getting shoved into the middle of all of this."
i grinned. "well, i think you're handling it well. you said you came with your friend, right? where'd he run off to?"
as if almost on cue, a masculine voice called out: "ben! there you are, buddy!"
i took a swig of my drink before turning around, and oh, i needed it. turns out, i'd need the whole damn bottle. i looked towards the source, greeted by a face that's become all too familar. there stood jack, half-smiling at ben as he made his way through the crowd.
jack didn't dress up in costume. he wore faded blue jeans that were a baggier fit, accompanied by a simple black hoodie worn open with the zipper down and a tool tee underneath.
i tried hard not to stare too obviously, but my eyes lingered anyway. he looked.. different. not in a bad way, just more real, i guess. more grounded. for a moment, i couldn't really place exactly why.
ben seemed to pick up on my slight shift in demeanor, his eyes darting between me and jack on his way over with a raised eyebrow. he cleared his throat before speaking up again. "that's the guy i came with. you know jack—didn't you gave him that apartment tour last week?"
oh, i knew jack alright. "i.. uh, yeah. yeah, i showed him my place, but we haven't went over lease agreements or anything yet."
jack finally reached us, clapping ben's shoulder with his free hand, beer in the other, with a lopsided grin. "man, i've been lookin' for you everywhere. thought you got sacrificed to the jungle juice or somethin'. where'd you run off to?"
ben rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his drink. "nowhere, really. just catching up with people," he said, nodding over to me. i couldn't help but tense up as soon as i was brought into the conversation. my hand clenched the cup, just hard enough for the plastic to dip and crinkle under my grip. "you two know each other, right?"
jack barely even looked at me at first, too busy bringing his beer to his lips. "huh?" he swallowed, glancing in my direction—only for him to do a double take, brows furrowing.
god, his face would have been hilarious if it weren't for my instant hyper-awareness of each millimetre of exposed skin on my body, scrutinized under his gaze. i crossed my arms over my chest, silently praying for the ground to swallow me whole.
his eyes flicked over me, starting at my face, then down to my outfit. lord, strike me down now. the bodysuit, the badge, the garters, these stupid boots with an even stupider hat. his gaze then snapped back up, with a look of sheer disbelief.
he blinked once. then twice. then, his brows furrowed further in confusion. "no. no way." he muttered, shaking his head like he was trying to reset his brain. "the hell are you doin' here?"
i raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of my drink. "nice seeing you too, jack."
jack slowly turned to ben, eyes narrowing like he was trying to solve a crime. he shook his head. "wait. wait." he pointed between the two of us. "you," he jabbed a finger in ben's direction. "and her," now at me. "what's goin' on here?"
ben just shrugged. "we're coworkers, dude."
jack blinked. "...what?"
"at the diner?" ben reminded him. "we work together. you know this."
jack was still standing there, beer in hand, staring at ben and i like we’d just shattered some fundamental truth of the universe. i could practically see the gears in his head turning, trying to process the fact that i was even at this party in the first place, and that i was standing here talking to ben, of all people—his best friend.
ben, ever the opportunist, grinned. "dude," he murmured, nudging jack's arm again. "this shouldn't be that surprising. you did ask me, like, a million questions about her when i mentioned we worked together 2 weeks ago."
jack's head snapped towards ben so fast and with such force, i thought he'd give himself whiplash. "the fuck are you talking about, linguini?"
ben just shrugged, ignoring his comment and sipping his drink with the most casual expression in the world. "oh, you know... 'ben, what's she like at work? is she funny? is she always that sarcastic? does she ever talk about me?'" he ticked each one off with his fingers like he was listing grocery items before he looked up at jack, smirking.
jack's jaw tightened. "that never happened. i dunno what you're talkin' about."
"oh, it definitely did," ben countered, looking over at me. "right, meg?"
i took another swig from my cup, looking between the both of them and settling on some shitty decoration that was falling off the wall behind them. "i'm not getting involved in this."
jack shot me a sharp look before clicking his tongue against his teeth and shaking his head before taking another sip of his beer. "you two are so full of shit."
before i could bite back, a new voice chimed in, cutting through the new found tension like a knife.
"well, well, well."
i didn't even have to turn around. liza.
she slid between ben and i, her eyes never leaving him and his chef ensemble like she'd just spotted her next meal. "what's cookin', good lookin'?"
ben, bless his heart, nearly choked to death on his drink.
liza, entirely unbothered by how poor ben was currently hacking up a lung, tilted her head with a smirk. "oh... was i too forward?" she purred, her hand reaching for his shoulder. "liza kennedy, and.. you are?"
ben's face was bright red at this point as he struggled to form a sentence, liza's ghosting touch seeming to render him speechless. "i.. uh– i'm..." jack then cut in with a shit-eating grin, saving the poor, trembling boy the embarrassment. "he's ben."
"ben." liza repeated as she looked him in the eyes like a fox cornering meek vermin, his name rolling off of her tongue like pure sugar. her fingers trailed lazily down his arm before she finally pulled away, leaving him frozen in place and blinking rapidly like a deer in headlights.
ben snapped his mouth shut, finally finding his words as his gaze nervously darted to jack, then back to liza, who was still watching him with that calculating look. "uh... yeah, i'm ben. ben miller." his hand awkwardly sprung out. "i work with meg."
liza glanced at me, looking for approval to continue. of course, this doesn't go unnoticed by jack, of course, who stifled a laugh as i nodded, giving her silent permission to keep going.
liza's smirk widened as she turned her attention back to ben, clearly emboldened by my silent approval. "oh, ben miller," she smirked, his full name rolling off of her tongue like she was testing the weight of it. "and here i was, thinking you were some random, wandering chef."
ben, still visibly flustered, cleared his throat and shifted his position, awkwardly adjusting his shirt collar. "yeah... uh, nope. just.. a guy. who works. ...at a diner." he chuckled awkwardly, the sound weak and broken.
jack snorted. "a guy who works at a diner, wow, real smooth, miller."
ben shot him a glare, but liza's grin grew wider, leaning in just slightly. "i do love a man with a humble profession," she teased, her eyes flickering down to his uniform before meeting his gaze again. "are you any good in the kitchen, or is the chef hat just for show?"
ben gulped, his mouth opening and closing like his brain was buffering. "i mean, yeah, i can cook. it's... literally my job."
jack leaned down, our arms briefly brushing. gag. back up. "god, this is painful," he muttered in my ear, just loud enough for me to hear.
i bit my lip. "oh, believe me, i know. liza's over here playing with her food and poor ben is her victim. i gotta say, he's taking it pretty well though."
jack, still grinning like an idiot, leaned over and clapped ben on the back. "careful, buddy. you look like you're about 2 seconds away from passin' out."
ben scowled, clearing his throat aggressively. "i–i'm fine."
"sure you are," i mused, taking another sip of my drink.
liza, still unbothered and just revelling in the fact that she has ben on the verge of system failure within the first 10 minutes of knowing him, just giggled. "i tend to have that effect on people."
ben muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like no kidding.
jack just sighed, dramatically dragging a hand down his face. "lord, help me– i can't do this. this is like turnin' on the discovery channel at the worst time possible. i'm outta here."
he then turned around and walked away, murmuring a small "'scuse me," as he carefully slid past me and toward god knows where. i watched him disappear into the crowd, giving me one more glance over his shoulder before quickly looking away when our eyes met.
i turned back around to see liza dragging ben halfway to the mock dancefloor. "c'mon benjamin, i know you have it in you!" she grinned, shouting over the music. ben let out a small laugh, only for it to crack down the middle. liza winked at me and i gave her a thumbs up in response. poor guy never stood a chance.
alone again.
here i was, presented with two choices: be a third wheel, or go hang out jack—someone i've only met once.
i decided on the secret third option—camp out in the bathroom until liza's done torturing ben with her merciless flirting.
i slid through the crowd murmuring a series of pardons and quiet apologies to get to my destination, being careful to cover the top of my cup as i weaved through bodies upon bodies. i didn't even know where the bathroom was—all i knew was that i was alone at a party, and i needed to take a breather from the sticky air and all the noise. i've only been here for an hour, and i can already feel the life draining out of me. great.
i finally found myself in a hallway, the music distant now save for the vibration of the beat shaking the floor under my boots. i opened a few doors—a pantry (note: come back later), a bedroom, an even bigger bedroom, and then i came to stand in front of one of the last doors that sat closed at the end of the hallway. i gently knocked against the door with my knuckle.
"come iiinnn!" a feminine voice called out, the sound high pitched and the words slurred. there was a beat of silence before the same voice called out again. "actuallyyy... maybe don't. i'm kinda havin' a... a situation here."
"no worries," i replied. "take your time."
i could hear her hiccup on the other side of the door.
i quietly chuckled to myself, shaking my head in amusement before i leaned against the wall behind me. i took great interest in picking at the black polish on my nails to pass the time.
moments later, the girl finally came out. she was a brunette who was tiny in stature, and she was dressed like a cheerleader for some football team—dallas cowboys, i think. she tripped on her go-go boots as she crossed the door's threshold and i instinctively caught her by the elbow, almost spilling my half empty drink all over myself in the process.
"oh–! are you okay?" i asked, helping her stand up properly. she then looked up at me, her face lighting up.
she placed a hand on my shoulder, the smell of vodka on her breath evident. "ohh my god– you are so pretty. like, you're literally stunning. what eyeliner do you use? i need to know."
"oh. well, i use this eye pencil from wet n wild, i think.. it's waterproof, too. i got it at walmart for like, three bucks, i think."
she gasped again. "ohh my god, shut up. are you serious?! it looks so good! like... how do you get it so sharp?!"
"all you need is a lighter, some q-tips and a lot of patience."
"ohhh–! i'm anna, by the way! i love your costume!"
"aw, thanks hon." i replied with a small smile, my chest warming from the compliment—it was small and stupid; just me and a girl who had too much vodka and too much love to give, yet it was probably the most seen i've felt all night. "i'm megan."
she gasped before slowly shaking her head as she squeezed my shoulder. "megan, you're an angel. a beautiful, lawful angel." she said, eyeing my fake badge. "you look so good in blue. like... it's actually unfair."
"so do you," i replied, enthusiastically gesturing to her costume. "brings out your eyes."
"stoppp, i'm gonna cry."
just then, somebody called anna's name in the near distance. she looked at me and grinned. "okay— i gotta go, but i want you to have an amazing night, okay? you're a sweetheart. have fun, and— and stay safe, okay?"
i nodded, giving her a small smile. "i will. thanks, anna. have a good night."
and just like that, she was stumbling out of the hallway, yelling something incoherent to her friends that i couldn't decipher over the music as she got further and further away. oh, anna.
i finally stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me with a small sigh, sliding down the wood and onto the floor. i brought my knees to my chest and let my head fall back against the door as i came to the realization that i am deeply regretting not wearing my sneakers.
it was quiet here. safe. enclosed. not drenched in sweat and spilled liquor. i didn't want to be a buzzkill—for liza's sake—but maybe i should have stayed home. especially with jack being here of all places, and me being in this stupid outfit. i'm not the law—just a girl in pleather boots and a plastic badge trying not to have a breakdown in some stranger's bathroom. how sad was that?
i pushed myself off of the floor and stepped towards the sink, looking at myself in the mirror. i wiped a small smudge of mascara away from the bottom of my eye before i took off the hat and placed it on the counter. i ran my fingers through my hair, noticing how my roots were finally showing. maybe the obnoxious strobe lights and this stupid hat were doing me some justice tonight.
i reached into my bra, pulling out my pack of cigarettes and my lighter—pall mall reds—smooth. cheap. mine.
i took two steps and reached forward to crank the window open. the cool autumn breeze filtered through the bathroom, the moon full and climbing high into the dusky, star littered sky.
i bit the inside of my cheek as i opened the pack. i only had 6 left. i carefully picked one and let it dangle from my teeth before i leaned out of the window just enough to light it, shielding the flame from the wind with one hand. the lighter clicked twice before it caught. i inhaled deeply and let the smoke fill my lungs like it was something sacred—exhaling and watching the smoke slowly curl upward into the air like a prayer i wasn't sure i meant.
i didn’t want to be here. not really. not dressed like this, not surrounded by people i didn’t know, not pretending to have fun because it made me look normal.
but liza was having the time of her life, and she deserved that. she deserved a best friend who could suck it up for a few hours, who could be fun and carefree and laugh at bad jokes from drunk guys and dance like nothing mattered.
so, here i was. pretending. again.
i flicked ash out the window, watching it disappear into the breeze. i was trying to be better. trying to be present. trying to smile when people talked to me. trying to keep liza from worrying. trying to stop looking for validation in strangers’ compliments and cheap liquor and the way jack marston looked at me like i was something hard to pin down.
dad would just love this, i thought.
the makeup. the costume. the cheap drink in one hand, the cigarette in the other. he'd have a field day, really. i took in a gulp. then another. this is my blood, poured out for you.
i then took a drag of my cigarette, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke sit in my lungs for a beat. this is my body, broken and burned.
do this in remembrance of me.
i exhaled slowly, the smoke curling past my lips like incense in a sanctuary. for a second, i imagined the scent catching in the rafters of my father's church in kokomo, curling around the wooden beams like a ghost.
i could almost hear his voice behind the pulpit.
'you are not your body.'
but tonight, i was nothing but body. a girl in a costume. a girl just trying to make it through the night.
he'd call it blasphemy; that i was mocking something sacred.
but i wasn't mocking. not really.
i just wasn't that little girl anymore. the little girl with sandy blonde curls who wore white and smiled for sunday school photos. the little girl who kneeled in pews with her hands clasped, listening to daddy's sermons every sunday morning.
the end of the cigarette flared red, like a little altar flame.
amen.
then, there was a loud banging on the bathroom door. i flinched and scrambled to stub out my cigarette on the sill and tossed it out the window.
"hey! some people need to piss here!" a masculine voice called out.
i let out an annoyed huff before i cleared my throat. "yeah, just give me a sec." i called back begrudgingly, quickly closing the window and placing the hat back on my head, giving myself a once over in the mirror before dragging a hand down my face. wake up, meg. get back out there.
i turned the door knob, opening the door and pushing past the guy who had interrupted my confessional. he muttered something that i couldn't quite make out besides the last two words: mrs. officer.
"douchebag." i muttered back, heading further down the hallway. i paused outside of the last door at the hallway, the skunky smell of weed drifting through the cracks of the door mixing with the faint sounds of casual conversation, laughter, and the sound of a wii starting up.
"yo, load up guitar hero!" i heard someone say on the other side of the door.
oh, hell yeah. this is where i belong.
i hesitated for a moment before twisting the doorknob and opening the door. the room was a decent size with a couple of beanbags scattered throughout the room, a big plasma tv mounted to a wall accompanied by maybe 6 or 7 dudes gathered around, passing a joint amongst themselves like it was a commune of their own. there was a box of pizza sitting open and half-eaten on a table in the corner next to a bright green lava lamp.
posters of different bands and classic movies were scattered along the walls of the room, along with one playboy poster with pamela anderson posed with hugh hefner plasted close to the corner like it wasn't meant for multiple sets of eyes to see, half-hidden in both shame and irony. oh. how tasteful.
their heads snapped around at the sound of the door opening, except for one guy on the farthest beanbag who was seemingly too focused on choosing the game to even bother—which i respected.
"sorry. thought this was the bathroom." i lied, taking a half-step backward.
"nah, it's cool– that's like, two doors down. you can come in if you want, though." one of them piped up, the blunt bouncing between his lips as he spoke. he was dressed in a yellow coverall suit, blue latex gloves and had a respirator mask strapped to the top of his head.
and it alllll goes according to plan.
i pretended to hesitate for a moment, thinking it over before replying. "sure, why not?" i shrugged, stepping into the room and closing the door behind me, the space significantly quieter now save for the diluted thump of music in the walls.
the guy who was picking out the game for the group then looked over his shoulder at me. i looked at him, and... oh.
there he was. jack. sitting there with a hoodie string in his mouth, wiimote in hand, a beer in the other. a brief moment of surprise flickered across his face before he quickly looked away, focusing on the tv screen again as he flicked through the library of games that seemed to just never end.
i sauntered over to the table and took a slice of pizza. it was cold and stiff, but i needed something to do with my hands and i took a few bites anyway. i leaned against the table and looked over at jack who was only a couple feet away. "so," i began, swallowing my bite. "funny seeing you here."
"i don't talk to cops." he mumbled, his eyes still laser-focused on the screen before he finally picked out a game—guitar hero: world tour.
"you'll be provided with an attorney if you can't afford one." i replied dryly, tossing my crust into a nearby garbage can that was stogged to the brim before i crossed my arms, my gaze flicking all over the room before settling on him again. "ben and liza are out doing their own thing right now. looks like it's just us, and... whoever your buddies are."
he shrugged. "honestly? i only know like, 2 dudes here. crashed their couches a few times."
"ah, so that's what it is."
he finally looked over at me. "that's what what is?"
"you're couchsurfing. that's why you're looking at apartments right now. let me guess, you think campus housing is a scam, therefore it's easier to just crash at people's places every now and then to keep yourself afloat. but now you're sick of always being on the move, and here we are. am i on the right track here?"
he paused for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. "what, that a crime or something?"
i snorted. "no. just makes me a little curious, is all. didn't know you were the vagabond type."
i walked over to him and just stood next to the beanbag he was sitting on. he was still chewing on the string of his hoodie like it had personally wronged him.
"you still didn't answer my question, by the way." he said suddenly, swirling his beer around in his hand and watching the liquid slosh through the brown glass.
i raised a brow. "what question?"
"where's home for you?"
oh. right. the apartment tour. i ended up totally dodging his question, like a jackass.
"oh, home?" i echoed lamely. "ah, well... i come from kokomo. about 2 hours away from here."
he nodded slowly. "kokomo," he murmured under his breath, almost like he was trying to commit it to memory. "so what, you were just one of those kids in the suburbs? white picket fences and all that?"
i huffed a laugh through my nose. "yeah. all that."
"sounds... pretty normal."
"...yep."
there was a beat of silence between us, the only sound in the room being the game soundtrack and a couple of stoners arguing over the next setlist a few feet away.
"what about you, then?" i asked, my eyes flicking to the screen in front of us. green, yellow, red and blue notes flashed across the screen in time with the melody.
"new albany," he replied before raising the bottle to his lips and swallowing. "about... two-ish hours away from here, give or take."
"oh. that's right next to the kentucky border, isn't it?"
"yeah. why?"
i shrugged. "no reason. just explains the... the little southern thing you got going on."
he let out a dry laugh at that before one of the stoners came over to us, eyeing jack and i curiously.
"yo." he said. wow. what an opener.
jack and i looked at each other before looking back at him. he wasn't dressed in a costume either—just JNCO jeans and an adidas sweatshirt.
"...hey." i replied for the sake of not making things weirder, stepping off to the side slightly.
wordlessly, he just went up to jack and held out a joint to him. jack looked up at me again and i shrugged. he then took it, murmuring a small, "thanks, marty."
the guy—or, i guess marty—just gave him a thumbs up and walked away like some stoned messenger pigeon. one and done. jack scooted over on the beanbag—an invitation, maybe? was i supposed to sit?
oh, fuck it. i hesitated for a moment but i ultimately ended up taking his offer and sat with him, crossing one leg over the other.
i couldn't find it within myself to look at him for too long. there he sat next to me, watching on as the group across the room laughed and talked to each other like they've been like that for years. realistically, they probably have.
sometimes i wonder if i'm able to make connections like that—the ones that you carry for life, through the ups and downs and whatever bullshit is thrown at you.
god, i hope i'm not making him uncomfortable.
i scooted a couple of extra inches away to give him more room. he didn't seem to mind the extra space.
i watched from the corner of my eye as he brought the joint to his lips, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he inhaled for a beat. the tv speakers crackled out something cheerful and light in contrast to the muggy air and half-said thoughts.
...and there's no windows in here. great.
that sleazy bassline kicked in, the sound bouncing through the stale party air while jack held the smoke in. modest mouse, i realized. float on. perfect.
"—i backed my car into a cop car the other day... / well, he just drove off, sometimes life's okay—"
was i supposed to be saying something right now?
"—i ran my mouth off a bit too much, oh, what did i say? / well, you just laughed it off, it was all okay...—"
my lips parted, yet i couldn't seem to get the words out of my throat.
he exhaled, his eyes fixed on the ceiling the smoke curling up into the air from the corners of his mouth as he slumped further into the beanbag. he coughed once or twice before attempting to clear his throat.
"jesus christ," he muttered hoarsely, his head lolling to the side as he raised his voice: "MARTY!"
"YO!"
"WHAT THE HELL AM I SMOKIN' RIGHT NOW?"
"SATIVA, MAN! PURPLE HAZE!"
"...OH."
he shifted again, arm falling lazily over the back of the chair, a coors bottle dangling from his fingers while he took another quick drag. then another.
"—no, don't you worry, we'll all float on / alright, already, we'll all float on / alright, don't worry we'll all float on...—"
he quietly mouthed along to the lyrics as he exhaled before turning towards me, holding the joint out to me with a small, "hm?"
well, here i go again: fuck it. how many more times am i gonna say that tonight?
our fingers brushed as i carefully took the joint from him, inspecting it for a moment between my index and my thumb. i could feel his gaze on me—curious and a little heavy. i didn't look back.
"it's fine," he reassured me. "just kinda harsh on the throat. you got somethin' to drink?"
"uhh..." i looked into my cup, swishing around the mysterious red liquid. where did this even come from? "like, a sip. if that."
he hummed. "you like beer?"
"it's alright, i guess."
"there should be a case with a few left over there," he said, nodding toward the corner where the group of stoners were standing and lowly laughing, currently in their own little world. "if you're... i dunno, interested."
"sounds fine to me." i replied with a half-shrug, pushing myself up from my seat. i stretched as i stood up before i held out the joint to him. "you mind holding this for me?"
"mhm."
his eyes were already a little red and dazed as he looked up at me, a lazy smile slowly spreading across his face as our fingers brushed again. i murmured a small 'thanks' before wandering over towards the alleged beer case.
next thing i knew, i blinked and i was crouched in the corner with my hands rummaging through a cardboard box.
okay, maybe i did need to slow down on my drinks—let's see... i had 3 shots. i think. a drink at liza's place, two or three drinks here... so, 4? 5? let's just say four and a half. for fun.
i snorted to myself at the thought, meanwhile my hand wrapped around a cold bottle, sweating from the condensation. i slowly stood up, my legs trembling for a moment before i was upright. jesus.
i returned with a beer in hand, plopping down on the opposite side of the beanbag. jack glanced over at me, who was currently wrestling with the table to pop this damn cap off.
he wheezed. "what– what the fuck are you doin'?"
"trying to open it, duh."
he slumped over laughing, his head in his hands with his elbows on his knees.
unfortunately, i joined in with him. "what?!" i gasped out between laughs.
"you're just– jesus, lady, here." he said, still laughing as he held his hand out. i passed him the bottle.
our laughter died down to the occasional snicker while he pulled out his keyring, sticking his car key beneath the cap with trembling hands. the key went around the cap twice, then thrice, before the bottle relented and the cap popped off, clattering onto the hardwood floor. jack picked it up and shoved it in his pocket before passing the bottle back to me with a victorious grin.
"okay, where's the... the thingy at?" i said, my gaze flicking all over our little corner before landing on his hands. i looked back up at him. "you don't have it?"
he raised a brow. "you already smoked it."
i blinked at him. "...no i didn't."
"...yes, you did."
"swear to god, i didn't."
he snorted. "you turned around when you were halfway across the room, took it from my damn hand and smoked the rest right in front of me. saw it with my own eyes, megan, swear to god."
"okay– yeah, but you're high."
"so are you."
i narrowed my eyes at him. "allegedly."
then he nodded to the ashtray on the table. "roach is in there. good luck findin' it, though."
i slumped back into the beanbag, dragging a hand down my face with a groan.
"what, you don't remember?" he said, taking in another gulp from his bottle and letting it sit on his knee.
"no." i mumbled, looking up at the ceiling.
he sank back as well, looking up at the ceiling with me. there was a small lull in the conversation, a silence shared save for the sound of ozzy osbourne ringing out through the speakers. maybe i'm going off the rails on the crazy train tonight.
okay, now i feel like i definitely should be saying something.
think. think. think.
"so," i began, and i could already feel a small smirk twitching at the corners of my lips. "let me get this straight. you're a criminal justice major... yet you don't talk to cops. kinda contradictory, don't you think?"
he laughed dryly through his nose, glancing up at the tv screen and watching the notes flash by. "wrong kind of justice."
i took in another gulp of my beer, licking the excess off my lips. i raised a brow, glancing over at him. "oh?"
"not interested in the cop bullshit. if you ask me, those fuckers are just assholes with badges." he said, his foot absently tapping along to the rhythm in the background. "i think i wanna be a public defender. my mom wanted me to go into law school right after high school, become some big shot lawyer, but..."
he trailed off, then shrugged. "i dunno. wasn't ready to fully commit. so, i figured i'd start with criminal justice. maybe become a paralegal first so i got a steady job, then work my way up."
i blinked at him for a moment, letting his words process in my head. alright, meg. chew. swallow. respond. "well, what changed?"
he was quiet for a moment, taking in the last gulp of his drink before placing the empty bottle on the table with a small clink. "well.. nothin'. that's the point. system's fucked. always been fucked. it's been built on keepin' people in cages. i figured if i'm gonna be stuck in this shitstorm, might as well try and clean some of it up, right?"
oh, here we go. i softly hummed in response, processing his words and letting the silence just sit. maybe i'll just let him do the work here—seems like he has a lot to say on the matter, anyway.
"so," he said after a short beat, "tell me somethin', freud."
i blinked at him. "...huh?"
"psych major, right? go on and explain... humanity to me."
i let out a laugh and leaned back into the beanbag again, stretching my legs out in front of me while i picked at the label on my bottle. "oh, right. just humanity? yeah, let me get right on that, just for you."
"you'll manage," he shrugged, leaning back and closing his eyes. "i wanna hear what the people-studiers think of us hopeless little apes."
i tilted my head toward him, watching the lazy rise and fall of his chest. "alright. fine. you want my honest answer?"
his eyes cracked open and he turned his head towards me, just barely. "hit me."
"i think people wanna be good," i said. "or at least... they wanna feel like they're good. most people do whatever makes them feel justified. like they're the hero of their own story."
"even the assholes?"
"especially the assholes."
he let out a breath that was half a scoff, half a laugh, shaking his head. "jesus christ."
"i'm serious!" i insisted, smiling now, warming up to the topic. "everyone wants their choices to make sense. like they're right. no one wakes up in the morning thinking, 'yeah, i'm the villain today'."
jack raised his brows at that, looking at me like he couldn't decide if he wanted to roll his eyes or clap. "okay, alright. i'll give you that. but, i think you're missin' one piece."
"oh yeah?"
"you're not accounting for survival."
"survival?"
"yeah. like instinct. people get scared, they stop bein' all good and noble awful quick. empathy and logic goes out the fuckin' window when rent's overdue or there's a gun in your face."
i raised a brow. "you think everyone's just... inherently bad? deep down?"
"nah," he replied, "i think people deep down are scared. and the system? it knows that. uses it. builds everything on it."
there it was again—that flicker of passion behind all the snark. i tilted my head. "so what, the government is just some boogeyman waiting to pounce the moment you slip up?"
"yeah," he said bluntly. "pretty much."
"jesus," i muttered, half-laughing. "you sound like you're like... this close to just going off the grid and fucking off to make some bunker in the woods."
jack smirked. "i'm just sayin'—for example—that patriot act bullshit? that wasn't about safety, that was about control. you give people enough fear, they'll hand over their rights wrapped in a damn bow."
"okay, but that's because people were scared," i argued. "it wasn't about some evil, moustache-twirling plot, it was—i don't know, damage control. you can't just expect people to shrug off 9/11 like it was nothing."
"i don't expect 'em to shrug it off," he replied, sitting up a little more. "i expect 'em to ask who benefits when we stay scared. and it sure as hell ain't regular people like you and me."
i leaned forward a little, way too captivated to back out now.
wait. we're debating. oh, fuck yes.
i took another swig, looking at my bottle. half-full. "so, you don't think laws and regulations help anybody?"
jack let out a dry laugh. "you think the law has ever helped anyone who wasn't rich, white, or important to the government?"
things seemed to slow down a little when he said that. his gaze flicked down to his bottle, his hands occupied with picking at the label. "y'know, my dad said somethin' to me once when i was... probably about 12. always stuck with me. he said to me, if you're poor and loud, you're dangerous. but if you're rich and loud? you're a leader."
he said it casually—too casually, almost. like it was just a funny little quote. like it hadn't been sitting in his chest for years, gathering weight.
i didn't say anything. just took another slow slip from my beer.
jack let the silence hang for a moment before sitting up straighter like something in him had reengaged. i followed suit, sitting up with him.
"the whole damn thing's a racket," he said, voice more firm and focused now. "the courts, the prisons, all of it. it ain't about justice. it's about numbers. always has been."
i raised a brow. "numbers?"
he nodded, eyes flicking toward the ceiling again like he could see the whole machine playing out in his head. "they need bodies. you ever looked at how many private prisons have popped up in the last 15 years? it's a fuckin' business, megan, and it's booming. and guess who's filling alllll those little cells?"
i didn't answer. i didn't need to.
"people who grew up in places with no lawyers. no money. no way out. you fuck up once, you're done—there goes your job, your right to vote... your entire life gone to shit over even the smallest mistake. as far as they're concerned, you're just another file in a cabinet. another pair of wrists in cuffs."
he said it like he'd seen it happen. like maybe it almost happened to him. i couldn't help the thought in the back of my mind that maybe this wasn't just a debate to jack, but something much more complex and personal. did i hit a nerve?
jack slightly leaned forward, his lips parting like he was going to keep talking, until–
SLAM.
the door flies open, and in walks some guy in an inflatable dinosaur costume. he's practically trembling, looking over his shoulder before he quickly paced into the room. the sound of the soft whirring of the costume's ventilator hummed.
jack pauses, glances over and snorts. "oh, look at this. here comes potosaurus rex."
"MARTY." the dino whispered loudly, clearly panicked, "MARTY, THE WEED. YOU GOTTA TOSS IT. COPS."
marty practically flinched, suddenly standing stiff as a board. "COPS?!" he repeated, sputtering: "wha- what the fuck do you mean cops?! i thought your cousin was cool, man!"
potosaurus sounded like he was on the brink of tears, hands wild as the fabric crinkled with his movements. "he was cool! and then he joined ROTC!"
all of the humor in jack's face drained, his head whipping around to the group, then back to me. his bloodshot eyes were wide like saucers. "COPS?!"
oh, fuck my life. i was mid-sip, proceeding to choke on my beer. "WH-AT?!" i gasped out between coughs and hacks.
jack was already up while i was gasping for air, yeast attacking my sinuses. "fuckin' hell. megan, c'mon, we gotta go. now."
he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet. the bottle clattered to the floor, my last sip spilling onto the hardwood. "fucking– okay! okay, jesus christ–!" i replied as i frantically stumbled to my feet.
marty was in full blown panic across the room. "what the fuck am i supposed to do with this, greg?!" he shouts, wildly waving around a ziploc bag full of pre-rolls in the dino's face.
"i don't know–! just– FUCK! GO FLUSH IT, MAN!" greg shouted back, his hands tugging at the inflatable head like it'd give him some kind of saving grace.
marty rushed out the room, and after i nearly tripped over the beanbag, so did we. i miscalculated the angle of the door and cracked my shoulder against the frame. ouch.
jack tugged me down the hall, sliding to a stop in front of the door. i blinked, and i was in the middle of the master bedroom. jack let go of my wrist and immediately jogged to the large window. i followed suit.
i could hear the chaos outside from the other side of the door we left open a crack. i could hear sirens wailing outside in the distance. a girl shrieking. someone yelling "SCATTER!" like a feral raccoon caught in a bin. my ears were ringing and my body felt hot and high alert yet so, so exhausted all at the same time. i could feel myself sway in place, my head buzzing.
jack was struggling with the latch, which was currently stuck due to years of fraternal neglect. he was muttering curses as he continued struggling. the sirens got louder.
my eyes went wide—all this chaos, all this noise—i could get arrested to sexyback. i refuse to go down in such a way.
"jack, we don't have much time-"
"damn it, i know! just– just give me some time!"
his hands were shaking. his shoulders rose and fell harshly, and then... creak. the latch finally gave, and jack opened the window with a loud grunt which i couldn't be too sure was more from effort or drama.
jack let out a small laugh, the sound broken and frenzied. "oh, thank god," i breathed, the relief only being temporary when we both came to the realization that there was a mesh screen.
jack let out a frustrated grunt, scowling at the window. "what's with this mesh bullshit?" he muttered to himself, "some people are tryna jump outta damn window here."
i swallowed thickly, clamping my eyes shut as i tried to use my head properly. "fuck. okay, well maybe we could–"
"get back." he barked, studying the window for a moment before taking a step back. i felt my back of my knees hit the mattress, my body practically going limp and sitting down on the bed. the mattress creaked in protest.
jack braced himself, placing a hand on the window frame as he lifted his boot. he kicked the screen once. then twice. the screen gave way on the third kick with a loud CRACK, falling onto the ground below.
breathless, his chest heaving, he turns to me and gestures to the window with a dramatic bow. "ladies first."
i rolled my eyes, pushing myself off the mattress with great effort and quickly stepping toward the window. "not the time, jack."
he gave me a pointed look that said 'go on', so i did. i placed my hand on the window frame, swinging my leg over the sill before pausing. jack was right behind me—i could almost feel his chest against my back as i looked down, squinting at the ground.
"jack, it's– that's like a ten foot drop!"
"and? you got knees, don't you?" he muttered.
i huffed. "i can't believe i'm doing this. can't fucking believe it. never going to a party with liza again-"
"you waiting to grow wings or somethin'? just fuckin' jump already!"
"fine- jesus christ!"
i closed my eyes and took a deep breath. then, i hooked my other leg over the sill and jumped. the drop was over in no longer than a second, but my brain managed to stretch it into three years. i curled into a ball on the way down and was greeted harshly by the cold, wet ground.
my shoulder first made contact, then i rolled over to my side like a sad, tipped cow punted by god himself with a low groan. nothing felt broken. let's just hope nothing looks broken. i could distinctively hear jack muttering to himself from the window sill.
"stupid fuckin' sweatshirt," he mumbled. i heard the sound of fabric ripping followed by a frustrated grunt.
i couldn't tell what was going on. i had rolled over onto my stomach, hoping that maybe if i chose a more comfortable position, it would ease my ache. even if it meant getting a mouthful of mulch. my ass was wet, and i couldn't feel anything besides the cool mud seeping into my clothes and the pain that radiated all throughout my body—even moreso on my right side.
and then— WHUMP.
there he was. roughly 180 pounds of jack marston directly on top of me. an ugly, strangled noise—somewhere between a squeaky toy and a dying bird—was ripped from my throat as all of the air left my lungs violently. this is what near death feels like, i'm sure.
"OHMYGOD—" i wheezed, my voice going up two octaves. "JACK– JACKWHATTHEFUCK—"
jack groaned into the back of my neck like he was the one that got crushed by a human fucking anvil. "shit– shit– sorry, sorry, i slipped–"
"YOU– ARE– ON ME." i gasped out, my fist weakly hammering into whatever part of him i could reach. "get the fuck OFF, you asshole–"
"i'm trying!" he hissed, shifting his weight, his elbow jabbing into my kidney as he struggled to fumble into a roll. "stop– movin'– you're makin' it worse!"
"worse?! YOU LANDED ON MY FUCKING SPINE!"
"i did not–! i was aimin' for the mud! honest!"
"WELL, CONGRATS. YOU HIT BOTH."
jack groaned again. this time, more in shame rather than pain. "fuck, m'sorry– i wasn't tryin' to– i just slipped on the–"
"do not finish that sentence," i snapped, still winded, still face down in the stupid mulch. "you have done more than enough damage for one night, jack marston."
he pushed himself up onto one knee beside me, squinting as he checked over my limbs like he was making sure i still had all of them. "okay, but like… can you move?"
"i think so," i wheezed.
jack reached out a hand, dirt-streaked and trembling slightly. i stared at it, still panting.
"you crushed me."
"i said i was sorry!"
i took his hand anyway. he hoisted me up with one clean tug. my legs wobbled beneath me as i stood like a newborn deer, my whole side soaked through and squelching.
"god," i muttered, looking down at myself. "i look like a fucking science fair volcano."
jack stifled a laugh beside me. "well, good news is you broke your fall with your ass. so... y’know. high five for that."
i slapped his arm instead.
"ow– okay! alright! no more jokes, damn."
just then, a new noise broke through the ringing in my ears—faint chatter.
jack and i both turned, still huffing, toward the back of the house. just beyond a string of flickering patio lights was a small bench, tucked under a pergola.
and there they were: ben and liza.
liza sat sideways, one leg draped over the other, sipping a syrupy pink drink from a bottle. ben was leaned forward, animatedly pointing at something in his wallet.
we limped closer, wide-eyed and disheveled, covered in mud, grass stains, and sweat—only to find them looking like they were on a date at a backyard wedding.
"…and in this one," ben was saying, grinning from ear to ear, "he’s got this tiny little raincoat on. hates about anything cold and wet. kinda looks like a pissed off jellybean."
liza’s expression melted into the most sincere smile i’d ever seen.
"i would die for sheriff."
ben nodded, proud like a father showing off his firstborn. "he just turned six months old. he’s learning how to sit and stay—sort of. still working on the stairs thing, though. he’s got the legs for it, he just—"
"GUYS," jack barked, his voice cracking on the word. we stumbled into the light like fugitives. "NOT THE TIME. WE HAVE TO GET A MOVE ON BEFORE–"
ben blinked, confused but delighted. "oh. funny seeing you guys here."
jack was still frantically pointing at the window behind us like it might grow legs and chase him, sputtering: "BEN. COPS."
liza narrowed her eyes, looking between the both of us suspiciously.
"wait, like… cop-cops? or stripper cops?"
i wheezed out a cough, doubling over while i pretended my lungs weren't currently screaming at me. "COP-COPS. BADGES. TASERS. AUTHORITY. WE HAVE TO FUCKING MOVE."
jack was still flailing a hand toward the busted window like it might bite. "guys– they’re IN the house."
ben, finally catching on, looked toward the string of lights leading back to the patio door. "o-okay. okay, uh… do we know where they are exactly?"
"INSIDE." jack hissed. "I JUST FUCKIN' SAID THAT, YOU FOOL."
"where do we go?" liza asked, setting her bottle down on the bench with a soft clink. "front’s blocked, right?"
"yeah," i said, still panting, my lungs tight and my ribs sore. "they’re coming in from the front, i think—i heard the—someone screamed, and then—fuck, my shoulder hurts—"
"we could try the alley," ben offered, pulling off his stupid chef hat and looking genuinely alarmed for the first time all night. "or—wait. the fence. there’s a fence at the back, behind the hedge—like, chain-link, a good six feet, maybe taller."
liza was already moving. "THEN WE CLIMB IT!"
"wait," i croaked, "climb?"
too late. she was already gone.
jack grabbed my arm, then hesitated, switching to my wrist like he wasn’t sure which one would hurt less. "megan– megan, c'mon. we gotta get the hell outta dodge."
"i’m fine." i nodded, blinking hard. "fine."
we ran. my calves burned. my boots felt like they were cutting off circulation.
the yard behind the house was uneven and the lights blurred as i moved, string bulbs swinging above us in frantic little arcs. i felt my foot catch on a divot in the grass and stumbled, jack catching my arm just in time. or maybe it was ben. i muttered something i couldn’t hear over the pounding in my ears.
we were almost to the hedge when i heard it, booming from the front yard:
"BLOOMINGTON POLICE—LET ME SEE YOUR HANDS."
sirens wailed. dogs barked. someone shrieked. voices in the house screamed:
"IT’S NOT MINE!"
"DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME—"
red and blue lights pulsed over the yard like some fucked-up dance floor, flickering through the trees and the mesh of the fence as we approached it. a chorus of sirens and shouting swelled behind us, slurred voices slamming against the night like bricks through glass.
i turned to look.
too bright. too loud.
too much.
ben was helping liza over the fence—she made it look easy, the plastic cuffs on her belt jangling as she swung a leg over. jack looked back, teeth gritted. "megan– go. go. climb. i’ll boost you."
"okay." i said. "okay."
i grabbed the metal and it bit into my palm. my fingers curled. i started to climb.
i don’t know when my hands started shaking.
jack was saying something behind me—i think he was swearing, but everything felt like it was coming through a busted speaker. like the tv was stuck between channels.
i got halfway up. my arms were useless. my legs burned.
i blinked, and the world skipped.
the air pressed down heavy. my breath caught like a stone in my chest.
"meg, you okay?" ben said. or maybe it was liza. or maybe nobody said anything at all.
i blinked again.
too bright. too many people. too much noise. too many lights. that gnome's looking at me weird.
i was over the fence.
no—under it?
i was—
wait.
???
____ grabs my wrist.
or is it my waist?
my _____ sting.
did i fall?
i can’t hear jack. i can see his mouth move.
words like—
“you okay?” or “stay—”
i don’t know.
like cotton–
no, water.
my feet. where are my ___.
wait– my _____.
the lights flash.
blue. red. blue. red.
like a pulse.
can’t breathe.
no.
not can’t. forgot.
i blink. or maybe i don’t.
i just…
something.
a voice—
j_ck?
___?
no, no it’s my mom
she’s saying—
"don’t be dramatic."
no. that’s not it.
??
grass in my hands.
or mud?
it smells like pennies.
“meg.”
“meg.”
“megan, c’mon.”
everything itches.
everything is loud.
but also nothing?
nothing and everything at once
it doesn't make any—
no _____.
i’m not standing anymore.
am i standing?
____ is pulling me up.
don’t want up.
want flat.
want slow.
i blink again and it tastes like battery acid.
my ______ burns.
“—okay? megan, can you—”
skip
skip
my body folds down. like a puppet.
the string—
no string.
just—
–––———–––
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
WHAT'S UP FUCKERS. I AM SO BACK. i've been stuck in a rut on and off since like may so hopefully this FREAKING MONSTER of a chapter quenches my babies thirst <3 THIS FIC IS LITERALLY MY FRICKIN MAGNUM OPUS SO FAR pls feel free to share your thoughts and comments. perhaps prayers. also one of my friends compared meg and liza to house and wilson and i haven't been the same since LMFAOAOOOO ANYYWAYYYSS this was A LOT. i'm kind of scared that some of this is gonna come off as fan service and i SWEAR TO GODDDD that isn't the intention so pls pls pls give me criticism where it might be helpful. feel free to unpack in the comments/tags/etc. had so much fun writing thisss and i'm so happy i finally get to share this with you guys <33
warnings: mild language use, light overthinking, briefly implied past familial conflict
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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲
sunday was coming at me like a freight train. full speed, no brakes. in less than 48 hours, jack marston would be stepping into my apartment, and somehow, that single, miniscule factoid has completely hijacked my brain.
i tried to drown it out with music—a bad idea, because every song made me wonder if he was a fan of whoever sang it. i tried to focus on schoolwork—even worse idea. not even ten minutes in, i caught myself pathetically googling conversation starters to use around new people. i wish i was kidding.
it was fine. i'm fine. it'll all be fine. i'm not thinking about it. i am NOT nervous. and i was NOT picturing scenarios where i make a total fool of myself in front of jack, like tripping over air or forgetting how to speak when i open the door. nope. i was calm, and rational. totally normal. so i got out of bed like i do everyday and made myself a tea.
as i lounged in my kitchen, sipping my tea, i checked my phone. no new notifications. part of me is relieved, and the other part? i don't think i want to even bother describing it. i had one hour to get ready and get to class.
i carried my tea into my room and rummaged through my closet for something to wear. i ended up throwing on my favorite pair of baggy, faded blue jeans that were cuffed just right and a vintage smashing pumpkins tee i’d thrifted last spring—the one i chopped the neck off of so it slung off my shoulder just right. so crafty of me, i know.
i left my hair down, 'intentionally' messy because i simply didn't have the patience to style it right this morning. i did my makeup as i normally did, and i took a large, final gulp of my tea as i finished. i looked over to the little digital clock that sat alone on one of my shelves to realize i still had 30 minutes. i took my time as i packed my bag, unplugging my fully charged laptop and carefully placing it inside.
i took my notebooks, a textbook, and of course, a various selection of pencils, pens, and highlighters. my hands itched to take my phone out of my back pocket to re-read jack and i's texts.
i resisted. barely. what the hell is wrong with me? he’s just a potential roommate. not a friend. not anything important. just a guy with decent grammar and a job at a record store.
okay, fine, maybe that last part was kind of cool. but still... it's not a big deal, meg. get it together, i thought to myself as i approached my car—a little dark gray 2005 honda accord that has treated me well since i was freshly 17. i slid into the driver's seat and made my way to campus.
the lecture hall was a blur as i finally stepped into the building. as i walked through the crowds of people, i couldn't help but wonder where jack was right now. indiana university has a pretty big campus, so i couldn't really see myself bumping into him anytime soon. i mentally slapped myself, trying to keep focused on getting to my own classes. if i'm late again, liza is gonna kick my ass.
psych 201: foundations of human behaviour.
it’s supposed to be interesting—psychology is my thing after all. usually, i’d be 100% invested in what my professor is saying, but today, his lesson was just background noise to the mess inside my head.
“attachment theory,” he droned, pacing in front of the projector as his hands narrated each word, “suggests that early relationships with caregivers influence how we form relationships later on in life. there are secure attachments, and insecure attachments—anxious, and avoidant.”
right.
attachment. caregivers.
funny how the universe loves to taunt me in the form of a syllabus.
my fingers tapped restlessly against the desk. i wasn’t really listening anymore—not to him, anyway. i was thinking about how i haven’t called my mom in weeks. months? and how, somehow, i still miss her every goddamn day. how i never meant to push her away, but the reminder of him makes everything feel so fucking heavy.
so, what would that make me?
anxious? avoidant? some tragic little cocktail mix of both?
god, i hate when the textbook’s right.
my pen paused mid-sentence, hovering just above my notebook. i realized how little thought i’d actually given to attachment theory lately, and how much it reminded me of… whatever situation i was in with jack. not that it’s even a situation. we barely even talked.
it’s just the excitement, right? the whole “a stranger’s gonna live with me” thing. a fun, casual stranger. a tolerable stranger, sure, but still. it’s probably nothing. i’ll just live with the guy. like a normal person. normally. casually. like it’s not a big deal at all.
"meg?" i heard liza's voice, immediately snapping me out of my mindless trance. "are you doing alright, doll? you seem.. off." she said, gently placing her hand on my shoulder, her touch almost reassuring. almost. "oh, uh.. yeah," i smiled, emphasizing a head nod for good measure. "i'm doing alright."
"alright, if you say so," liza says, her voice gentle yet doubting at the very same time. "so, how's the hunt for a new roomie going?" she smiled. i could feel my stomach doing angered flips as i remembered the ad.
"i had a couple of creepy responses," i said, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly. "but only one genuine one. i'm having him over on sunday to give him a tour, you know, get to know him a little more." i continued.
"a him?" liza grinned, raising her eyebrows in amusement as her tone grew to be more sly by the second. "do you know if he's cute or not?"
"i... don't know what he looks like, actually." i lied. jesus, i'm lying right to her face. this whole situation is a damn trainwreck. "and don't say it like that. it's nothing like what you're thinking of."
liza's eyes narrowed at my comment, taking it in before shaking her head in amusement. "so like, you're telling me you don't even know what the guy looks like?" she chuckled, almost in disbelief. "you're telling me you're just letting some random into your apartment before checking if he's, i don't know, an axe murderer or something?"
i let out a laugh that came off a little more exaggerated than i initially intended. "well, he goes here and majors in criminal justice. and, apparently he works down at that record shop downtown," i shrugged. "he seems alright. we've texted a little." correction: not since he messaged me about the stupid posting, 4 days ago. i was lying through my damn teeth, and i could feel the pit in my stomach grow as the seemingly casual conversation continued.
liza didn't look convinced in the slightest. "you seem... nervous. you know, if he's making you feel uncomfortable, you don't have to let him in your apartment right?" she half-joked.
"i'm not nervous." i said, hastily. she chuckled at how fast the words came out. "uh-huh." she said, taking in a slow sip of her coffee that i'm not sure if i want to know the price of.
after a beat, she sighs dramatically. "fine, be mysterious then. but if he turns out to be some weirdo, call me, let me say 'i told you so' and then i'll call the cops for you." she said, her sarcasm wrapped with soft laughter.
i rolled my eyes as she grinned. "wow liza, you're just so generous and kind. you should get an award." i quipped, sarcastically. "oh, i know. and you love me." she smiled, playfully nudging me in the arm.
moments later, the lecture ended and i snapped my notebook shut, packing my things and saying goodbye to liza. as the bell rang, i mentally moved on. i had work in a couple hours anyway, so i've got no time to dwell on my life decisions. i slip through the crowd in the halls, before noticing my phone buzz in my pocket. i looked at my phone screen.
[1 new message from: jack]
💬🎱: I managed to not get cold feet, hope you did the same. We're still on for the tour on Sunday, yeah?
fuck. that message was like a backhand slap from life itself, wrapped in a pretty little bow. my hands tightened around my phone and with hesitant fingers, i began typing a response. then i deleted it. typed another. oh, fuck it.
💬: lol, yeah we're still on. cya then!
i shut my phone off with a click, gripping it tightly in my palm as i put it away in my back pocket. i let out a small sigh as i slipped into my next class. my jaw clenched as i felt another buzz in my pocket. i decided to ignore it, trying to shake off the weird nervous energy coiling in my stomach. it was probably just liza checking in.
the rest of my classes dragged, each tick of the clock growing louder as i anticipated going to work. i enjoyed the dinner rushes whenever i'd go into spirals like this for whatever reason my brain could conjure. they kept me occupied, and in the moment—out of my thoughts, even if only for a couple of hours. it sounds like bliss right now. i've retained nothing all day.
as the final bell rang out, i gingerly packed my things into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder and making my way outside. the crisp afternoon air hit me as i stepped outside, and i exhaled, finally letting out a breath i wasn't aware i was holding. i clicked the start button of my car keys, to allow the car to warm up as i made my way into the parking lot.
i stepped into my car, turning the keys in the ignition and reluctantly gripping the wheel. i took a deep breath as i pulled out of the parking lot, driving downtown in order to reach my apartment. i couldn't help but notice the record store as i drove by, remembering how jack claimed that he worked there.
the vinyl vault's neon sign flickered as i passed, the bright purple hue dying for a mere moment before coming back seemingly brighter than before, disappearing from sight in my rearview mirror. after the short 5 minute drive from school to my apartment, i quickly fumbled with my keys and unlocked my door.
i rushed myself into my bedroom, scouring my closet for my uniform. i put it on, adjusting the fabric to sit just right and decided to put my hair in a braid for work today. after i decided that i was happy with my appearance, i quickly packed a waterbottle and some small snacks into my work bag, then rushed back into my car.
the engine roared back to life once again, and drove to work as chino moreno's vocals filled the small space of my car. that shift was a blur that i couldn't even try to remember if i wanted to. to my disappointment, we weren't as busy as i'd like for the diner to be. i only recieved $70 in tips that night.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
saturday evening came quick. too quick. yesterday's shift was fine, so i'm sure today will be just the same. as i was riding downtown on my way to the diner, i noticed the record store—more importantly, who i saw working behind the counter at the record store. tall, shaggy hair, scruffy facial hair... check, check, and check. i quickly redirected my attention to the road in front of me, trying to push down the nervous lilt in my stomach as i pulled into the staff parking section of the diner just up the road. he's coming over tomorrow. i took deep breaths as i walked to the staff door.
the bell above the door jingles as i stepped into the diner, and i am greeted by the usual symphony of our dinner-time rushes on saturdays: sounds of conversation and silverware clanking fill the air, all set on top of a jukebox playing some old 60s blues song.
i settled myself in the staff room, putting my belongings in their usual spot before i narrowed my eyes at the schedule posted on the wall—tonight, i was working with ben. thank god. i took a deep breaths through my nose and exhaled as i made my way through the dining room, making conversation with customers, taking orders, and wiping down tables.
after another table clears, i took their plates and silverware and made my way to the kitchen. i placed them on the shelf next to the sink, proceeding to wash them as my other coworker, brandy, took care of the tables.
the warm water ran over my hands, bubbles and suds clinging to my wrists as the sound of clinking dishes filled the room. the clatter of silverware and conversation served as background noise for a task that was merely muscle memory for me: wash, rinse, stack, repeat. mindless.
"jesus meg, you look like you're ready to snap those plates in half," ben chuckled, pulling me out of my trance. i blinked, looking over my shoulder to see ben, crookedly smiling at me in his white line-cook uniform. "you doing alright? you seem like something's on your mind." he said lightheartedly but beneath the surface i knew it was coming from a place of both genuine curiosity and concern. it always was.
i huffed a small laugh at his comment. "nah, i'm alright man. thanks for asking though." i said, my tone one of feigned relaxation as i continued. "just mentally preparing myself for the next wave of customers, i guess." i added with a shrug, rinsing off a plate and stacking it in the pile. ben grabbed a dry cloth and stood next to me, drying my stack of clean plates and silverware as we spoke.
"yeah, right... the customers are why you look like you're having a total crisis. you've been weirdly quiet tonight."
i rolled my eyes, flicking suds in his direction. "since when did you become a mind reader, huh? hey, maybe you should become a medium as a side scam gig."
unfortunately, he dodged the suds, chuckling at my half-assed attempt, and continued drying the dishes by my side as i washed them.
we shared a comfortable, friendly silence for a moment, the noise of background chatter between the kitchen staff, the hum of the kitchen lights and sizzles of the grill filling the space. after a beat, ben spoke up again. "so, i heard that you're showing one of my buddies your apartment on sunday. jack marston?"
i nearly dropped the glass in my hand, my grip tightening around it. "oh, yeah. you... know jack, huh?" i asked casually. stay cool, meg. stay cool. i swallowed dryly, trying to will my pulse to rest. "how did you know about that?"
i made sure to remain focused on the dishes like my life depended on it.
"well, he will not shut up about it, for one." he chuckled like it was the smallest thing in the world, meanwhile, i could feel my heartrate pick up. i felt so stupidly nervous for no reason.
i turned to him with a raised eyebrow, trying to appear more indifferent than i actually felt. "oh, yeah?"
"yeah, man. he told me about it, and ever since i told him you and i worked together, he's been pestering me about you non-stop." he said, a trace of laughter in his voice as he spoke. "told him that you were cool, if not a little scary."
i looked at him and let out a small laugh, trying to ignore my mind racing as he said the words 'non-stop'. "scary, huh?" i questioned, playfully narrowing my eyes at him. "dude, you like never smile at work." he teased.
"what? now that's just a lie," i said, flicking water at him, successfully this time. "right." he drawled, folding his arms comfortably across his chest. "anyway, i don't know what his deal is, but i think he's interested in the place."
i let out a small noncommittal sound of acknowledgment. i went back to washing the dishes, desperately trying to pry jack out of my brain. "damn, you really are scary," ben chuckled, "i thought you were gonna break that glass for a second." he joked, lightly nudging my arm before walking away when another cook called him over for help.
the rest of my shift drags on slowly. i lose myself in the usual rhythm of the diner—taking orders, wiping down tables, and giving good customer service for some good tips. i've been telling myself that what ben said didn't mean anything. jack is probably just curious, and is looking for a place to stay for cheap. that's all it boils down to. but, there's this nagging feeling deep down inside of me that's incredibly overwhelming and i hate that i even care enough to feel something like this so early on for someone i hardly know.
by the time i'm clocking out, the diner is quiet and the rush is long over. the kitchen and dining area is clean, chairs are stacked, and yet my brain still feels cluttered. i sling my bag over my shoulder and step out into the night, allowing the cool air to bite my skin. i take a deep breath, inhaling the smell of the rain hitting the pavement. i fish out my phone and peer at my notifications—nothing new. not that i was expecting any, anyway.
i shake my head, unlocking my car and sliding into the drivers seat. i crank up the stereo as i pull out the lot, hoping that the music will drown out my thoughts.
tomorrow, jack marston will be walking through my front door. and for some reason, that feels a lot bigger than it should.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
HI EVERYONEEE!! i'm finally back with the third chapter and i'd like to apologize for taking so long to release this one. i've kinda hit a little slump in school lately so i've been focusing on getting my assignments in mainly. i hope you all are enjoying this so far bc i def am!! ^_^
chapter 4 is currently in the works! coming soon, xoxo <3
warnings: mild language use, smoking/nicotine cravings
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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬
i found myself wiping down any tables, shelves or counters in my apartment for what seems to be the third or fourth time today, as anybody does on a sunday morning, right? from the second i woke up, i couldn't stop thinking about how my place just couldn't seem to get clean enough.
my brain has gone completely haywire knowing that in mere hours, jack would be inspecting my apartment to see if it's to his liking. i even organized the books on my shelves, and alphabetized all of my cds. neat freak, much?
i had no clue why i was acting like this—i was honestly beginning to get second hand embarrassment from myself. i was doing all of this for what? i had no reason for perfection. i barely know this guy. i don't owe him anything...
what should i even wear?
no, snap out of it. i don't care about that. i shouldn't care about that. by 1:30, every chore i could possibly think of was done, some done multiple times over. sweeping, mopping, organizing, repeating. the trash was taken out, the dishes were cleaned thoroughly, dried, and organized. my room was perfection. the guest room was cleaned too, even though it was already barren and devoid of personality—a blank canvas for whoever decided to inhabit the small space.
i showered, and came out smelling like strawberries. i noticed how the aroma radiated off of my own skin as i got dressed—not too strong, not too soft. my outfit was simple, yet presentable: a simple black long sleeve, the hem slightly tattered around the edges from years of tough love and a random pair of jeans i found at the bottom of my closet. i wonder if i'm trying too hard.
after inhaling an ungodly amount of hairspray while i was doing my hair, i touched up my makeup that looked... lived-in, to say the least. my eyeliner from last night's shift was smudged and smokey, and i'll probably end up brushing it off as intentional even though it definitely wasn't. i looked at myself in the mirror as my fingers gently combed through my hair one last time in an attempt to tame any tangles.
i stood up from my floor, taking one final glance to make sure i looked half-decent in the mirror before walking into my kitchen to light a candle—one of those big, bulky yankee ones in the glass jars that liza swears by. the scent of cinnamon filled my apartment, and i felt like i could finally relax, even if it was for a only for a fleeting moment. i looked at the time displayed on the wall, the clock reading 2:35. i swallowed dryly, and for the first time in months, i felt like i needed a cigarette. i anxiously peered at the clock again: 2:37.
time was passing by slowly. the apartment was very still—too quiet for my liking. i decided to scour through my cds before landing on one of my favourite albums: jar of flies. the opening riff of "rotten apple" echoed through the speakers as i fluffed the couch pillows for the umpteenth time today.
the sudden craving of nicotine continuously played in my mind on repeat alongside the music, my mouth went dry as i remembered the pack of cigarettes i had that remained unopened, tucked away in my bottom drawer from when i quit all those months ago.
should i? no. but, will i? ...maybe. just one for my nerves, and that's it. i deserve it after this week, damn it. just one. i mean it.
i walked toward my bedroom door with the same caution a kid would have trying not to get caught out of bed past their bedtime. i huffed as my hand touched the door, and i turned around. i knew my hand was about to get caught in the jar of my old habits, but i simply did not care enough to stop myself. just one cigarette never hurt anyone.
after pacing around the hallway for just a little while, i opened my door, quietly stepping towards my dresser. the hardwood drawers were cold beneath my touch as i kneeled down, my fingers lingering on the knobs as i thoroughly questioned my self-control. i can quit whenever the hell i want. who are you, my father?
my fingers gently sorted through fabrics until i reached the very bottom of my drawer, the feeling of cardboard and plastic all too familiar.
i cautiously took out the box of cigarettes and closed my drawer again. i left the door ajar as i made my way to the window at the end of the hallway. my hand worked on unlatching the sashes of the window before pushing up on the frame, the crisp autumn air hitting me all at once. i stepped out of the window, sitting on the sill as my shoes scraped against the rugged, rusted metal floor of the fire escape.
as i observed the quaint little town of bloomington beneath my feet, my fingers drummed against the neat little red box of carcinogens rhythmically, impatiently. i took a deep breath, yet again questioning if i really wanted to do this. i've been smoke-free for the past 3 months. did i really wanna fuck that up?
i sighed, ripping away the plastic wrap before gently opening the box. i felt like a dog under the table, begging for scraps. i took one of the dainty cylinders from the box, the light weight of it between my fingers feeling completive like a final puzzle piece. with almost trembling, hesitant hands, i placed the cigarette between my teeth as i fished out my little black zippo lighter from my pocket.
the metal clinked as i flipped the lighter's lid open. the familiar smell of lighter fluid hit my nostrils and i peered at the lighter, inspecting it in my hands. this lighter wasn't just any lighter you'd find at your local dollar store. her name was monette.
monette and i have been very well acquainted for years, an ode to an old memory of shoplifting with a friend when i was 15. that friend and i eventually drifted apart as anybody else does in highschool, but hey, that's just what happens. monette and i however, have quite the beautiful dependency—a symbiotic relationship. i fuel her, and in a way, she's fuelled me.
i lifted monette in front of the cigarette, allowing them to meet briefly before lowering her again. i shook my head, scolding myself for doing this after three whole months of progress. god damn it.
i lifted the lighter up yet again before striking the flint wheel, the metal warming against my touch. i cupped my hand around her, gently coaxing a flame from her flint like a secret only her and i shared. as i finally lit the cigarette, i inhaled. almost too quickly. i was letting my myself enjoy this a little too much, and i knew it.
i let out a long, audible sigh of relief, my head falling back against the frame of the window as the smoke swirled out of my lips gracefully. i took another long drag, watching the cars below pass by.
this tranquil moment went on for a while, and i could finally feel my mind silence, even if just for a few minutes, with each inhale i took. i lost track of time as i continued observing the life beneath my feet, until something different caught my eye; some old, black, beat-up muscle car i've never seen before pulling up in front of my apartment building. the driver side door creaked open, a veil of smoke clouding my face as i looked down to see him briefly staring up at me.
as we made eye contact, i could feel my stomach form tight triple knots. i turned my head, peering into my apartment and looking at the time: 3:30. as i looked back down to the ground, jack was gone, presumably making his way to my apartment right now.
i took a couple more long drags, flicking the cigarette to the ground before stepping back into my apartment, closing the window behind me. i coughed as i felt my phone buzz in my pocket, quickly retreating into my room before finding perfume in order to cover up the smell of cigarette smoke. how embarrassing. i reached into my phone pocket, curiously peering at the screen.
[1 unread message from: jack]
💬🎱: Hey, I'm at your building. Where do I go? :P
i tapped away at the keyboard, casually replying as to detain any inkling that i was, in fact, an anxious wreck right now.
💬: take the shitty elevator to the fourth floor. apartment 404. :p
i took a deep breath as i sent it, placing my phone into my back pocket before looking myself over in the mirror again to make sure i didn't look as gross as i felt, thanks to jack catching me in the act. i jumped as i heard a knock at my door a few moments later. there he was.
i cleared my throat as i made my way to my front door, taking a deep breath before twisting the knob and opening it. i craned my neck to look up at him, and he looked down at me with a lazy half-grin.
"hey, jack." i said softly, my voice still low from smoking moments before. i cleared my throat again.
"well, if it isn't miss megan harper," he chuckled. "may i come in?"
if he doesn't wipe off that smug grin i think i'm gonna slam the door in his face. i noticed his voice was a little rough with a soft southern tinge. i'd be lying if i didn't admit that a part of me wondered where he was from, and what his life was like before going to IU.
i nodded, fully opening the door for him. "yeah, come on in." i gave him a lopsided smile, still looking up at him.
he let out a low whistle as he gave the place a general glance over. "real clean place you got here," he commented. "smells pretty good too."
"thanks," i nodded, keeping a cool exterior as i was internally praying to whatever higher power there was that he wouldn't notice the smell of smoke on my clothes. "uh... you in the mood for a coffee or tea?" i asked, folding my arms across my chest as i studied him.
i noticed that jack's style was almost just a more masculine version of mine—he wore a faded grey flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows that had definitely seen better days, a white tshirt and baggy, dull blue jeans that had a silver chain dangling from his belt loops on his side. "hm, coffee sounds good." he replied.
"alright, sure. i'll show you the kitchen first then." i said, nodding my head in the direction of the kitchen as we stood near the front door.
as jack and i made our way to the kitchen, the cd i had put into my stereo earlier continued playing.
"—find me sittin' by myself, no excuses, then i know...—"
jack softly nodded along as he listened to the music before his gaze flicked to me, his head tilting slightly. "you like alice in chains?"
"yeah, they're great." i replied, a sheepish smile tugging on my lips. "jar of flies is probably one of my favourite albums." i added as i reached into my cupboard for two mugs.
jack nodded as if he was going to keep that in mind. "good choice. if i had to choose a favourite, i'd probably go with dirt."
i hummed in response, pretending like i didn't already assume that from the shirt he wore in his profile picture. this whole time i was worried that jack would just be another creep, but what if i was the creep for knowing that?
"great choice." i replied casually, my electric kettle humming to life before turning to face him, letting the water boil.
"if you wanted to take a peek at my little collection over there, you totally could." i added, pointing in the direction of the stereo in the open doorway leading to my living room. jack looked at me, then to the stereo. "well, i'd be lying if i said i wasn't curious about what else you listen to." he shrugged, then proceeding to turn around and walk over to my shelf holding my extensive collection of albums.
he first admired the stereo, taking in how it looked; every button, every crevice, every curve. he then knelt down, scouring through my cds. "hm, let's see..." he murmured to himself, "alice in chains, deftones, linkin park, pantera, korn, slipknot..." he listed. "very good choices."
"well i appreciate it, i guess." i replied gruffly, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly as his back was still turned to me. then, i heard him chuckle. i blinked at him as he held up an album by the used. "you're into emo shit, too?
"oh, you know.. on occasion, i suppose." i shrugged. please don't judge me. PLEASE don't judge me.
he turned back to the shelf again, naming off more bands that were featured in my collection. "brand new, pierce the veil, paramore.." he listed again. "not bad."
there was a beat of silence between the both of us, save for the hum of layne staley and the sound of water boiling in my kettle. "hmm, looks like you got some custom ones here too. you burn cds?"
"yeah, i like making little mixes for my friends as gifts sometimes, you know?" i chuckled. "my friend taught me how when i was young back home."
jack hummed in response before standing up, his gaze flicking all over the humble living room. "and where's back home?"
i opened my mouth to respond before i heard the small click of the kettle, signifying the water was hot and ready to use. i turned to the counter immediately at the sound, pouring the hot water into two mugs: my tea, and jack's coffee. i was practically moving on auto pilot.
"so, how do you like your coffee?" i asked instead, allowing the flavours to steep a little as i fiddled with the mugs on the counter. "ahh, a shit ton of creamer and only a little bit of sugar." he replied, matter-of-factly.
i heard jack shift somewhere behind me, something about the casual way he moved made my shoulders tense. i turned around just in time to see him holding my small red carton of cigarettes, thumb brushing over the edge like he was inspecting some rare artifact.
"you know, i saw a ‘no smoking within 10 feet’ sign out there," he teased, raising a brow. "mind if i take one?"
"uhm… sure. yeah. go ahead."
i swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my heart jumped. i watched as he plucked a cigarette from the box—didn’t light it, didn’t even bring it to his mouth. instead, he tucked it neatly into the front pocket of his flannel like it was a keepsake rather than something to use.
"so, you were the girl i saw up there on the fire escape."
i let out a small, awkward laugh, brushing a hand through my hair. "oh, you saw that, huh? i don’t… i don’t smoke often. i promise."
"even if you did, i wouldn't care." he shrugged, too nonchalant for the way my pulse spiked. "besides, you kinda pull it off anyway, y'know?"
"i 'pull it off', huh?" i chuckled, grabbing sugar from the cupboard above me with a death grip before making my way to the fridge to grab milk, hoping that maybe the cold air would knock some sense into me. "i didn't think it was possible for somebody to pull off such a bad habit."
"i mean, it’s not that bad," he said. "i smoke occasionally. cigarettes, pot… just not any of that hard shit, obviously."
"well, i’d hope not," i laughed, the edge of my voice finally softening. "you smoke pot too, huh?"
"yeah," he nodded. "not too often. usually just when i’m anxious, or if someone offers."
i paused with my hand on the fridge door, turning to look at him over my shoulder. "makes sense."
after a moment of shared silence except for the sound of me preparing our drinks, jack stepped beside me in the kitchen and took the mug of coffee i made for him. i sipped on my tea, trying to focus on my breathing instead of worrying about whether or not i'm fucking up this first impression. i hate how just his presence next to me made me feel so small.
jack looked down at me over the rim of his mug—smug, even mid-sip. i hated that, too. "alright, pop quiz." he said after a beat. "shoot." i replied simply, taking in another gulp of tea.
his eyes flickered to the stereo, and then to me. "jar of flies. what year?"
i didn't even hesitate. "1994."
jack smirked. "alright, alright, that was an easy one."
he was quiet for a moment before pushing himself up off of the counter and making his way back to my collection of cds. "well, since we're talking alice in chains," he said, pulling out a cd, flashing the cover at me. dirt. he looked over his shoulder to me, giving me another lazy grin. "who are the lead singers?"
i snorted. "layne staley, obviously, and jerry cantrell."
he chuckled, sliding the album back into place, his fingers gliding across the rows of discs until one caught his attention—white pony. "not to be that kinda guy," he said, "but name three songs?"
i let out a mock-exasperated sigh. "seriously? back to school, knife party, and digital bath."
jack let out a dramatic sigh as he put the album back, then standing up to face me. i was still leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping my tea casually.
"fine. nirvana's debut album?"
"pfft, bleach. 1989."
jack dragged a hand down his face like i was wearing him out, but i could see how the corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile whenever i answered. he was enjoying this just as much as i was. "alright, fine. pantera. first album with phil anselmo?"
"cowboys from hell, duh. 1990. come on, give me something hard already."
jack shook his head in amusement. "you're seriously starting to piss me off." he muttered, smiling anyway.
"what? oh, don't tell me you're mad that i'm beating you at your own game." i smiled, pushing myself off of the counter and walking over to him.
"i just wanted to make sure my new potential roommate wasn't a poser. is that such a terrible thing?"
"a poser? wow," i laughed. "you're thinking awfully low of me for our first time meeting." i folded my arms and tilting my head as i stood in front of him.
"you can never be too cautious." he quipped.
i scoffed. "i'm anything but a poser, thank you very much." i said, feigning offense. "been listening to this stuff since i was like, 12."
"didn't think 12 year olds were capable of having good taste." he teased.
"sure they can," i chuckled. "it's damn good music. can you blame me?"
jack's fingers tapped rhythmically against his mug. "alright, last one, i promise. this one's important."
i raised an eyebrow. "go on."
he leaned forward slightly. did he always have that smug look on his face? "you have front row tickets to any band you'd want to see—dead or alive—who are you seeing?"
"ah, the age old question." i replied, dryly. "well, if i had to choose i'd say probably go with pantera when dime was still alive. i'd kill to see floods live."
"great choice. nothing beats a good solo written by dimebag. floods would be killer. really a shame he died." he commented, his thumb idly tracing over the warmed ceramic in his hand.
"if it were me," he went on, "i'd be tempted to say the same. but maybe... nirvana, around 1993. a little before in utero was released."
i blinked. "before in utero? that album is so good, i have no clue why you'd wanna miss out on that. in utero is arguably the best nirvana album, besides bleach being a very close second place, of course."
jack tilted his head. "so, bleach and in utero. interesting."
i squinted at him. "why do you sound like you're about to psychoanalyze me?"
he smirked, taking a slow sip of his coffee. "i'm just saying—early nirvana, their raw, angsty stuff? that tells me everything i need to know."
i crossed my arms. "oh yeah? enlighten me, freud—or should i say, fraud?"
jack rolled his eyes, before letting out a thoughtful hum, drumming his finger against his mug. "mm... emotionally guarded. stubborn. maybe a little hyper independent? probably overthinks everything-"
my jaw ticked and i cut him off with a scoff. "oh, what a groundbreaking analysis. what's next? you gonna tell me i have trust issues?" i tried to keep my voice light, even though he wasn’t exactly wrong—which annoyed the hell out of me. who does this guy he think he is?
he grinned. "looks like i hit a nerve. did i get that right?"
i rolled my eyes. "yeah, nice try. you made all that shit up."
"yeah, you're probably right," he admitted, putting his hands up in mock-surrender. "but, considering how defensive you're getting? i'm assuming at least one of those landed."
"you're something else, jack." i said, shaking my head. "now do you wanna get a tour of my shitty apartment or what?"
"lead the way, ma'am." he smirked.
"ma'am? do i look like your mother?"
"nope. just the boss lady in charge."
i rolled my eyes. "alright, alright. follow me then." i said, motioning him to walk with me. jack and i turned to the hallway in the apartment, and i slowly walked ahead of him. i twisted the knob of the first door on the left, opening it for jack to see. "this is the bathroom. duh." i said, gesturing toward the room. jack peered inside.
"huh, no weird flickering lights, no rusty hacksaw, no mysterious stains or puppets on trikes. almost disappointing." he joked.
"sorry you missed out, i just cleaned up the crime scene before you came in."
"aw, man. you're telling me i missed out on a blood bath? lame."
"deeply lame. but hey, maybe you'll catch the next one."
he huffed out a laugh. "killer pitch. have you ever considered a career in real estate?"
i rolled my eyes and we both stepped out of the bathroom, walking further down the hall. "this room to the right here is the bedroom. it's pretty empty right now, but if someone were to move in of course they could decorate it however they'd want, obviously." i shrugged, opening the door and allowing jack to step inside.
jack leaned against the door frame, giving me a knowing look. "so, you're telling me this empty room isn't some kind of trap?" he gestured vaguely around the room. "because if the door mysteriously shuts behind me, i'm assuming that i'm stuck in some kind of low budget horror flick."
i laughed. "i'll walk in with you to show you i'm not jigsaw. no traps, no games."
"alright then. hands up, missy." he said, gesturing for me to walk in first like he was making an arrest.
i sighed as i put my hands up, reluctantly playing along as i walked into the room and turning back to face him. "there. happy?"
jack squinted at me. "alright, but if i get a whiff any funny business, i'm tackling you first."
"bold of you to assume you'd win that fight."
he grinned. "guess there's only one way to find out, huh?"
and with that, he stepped inside the room, slow and deliberate, almost like he was testing the air. his presence made the room feel a lot smaller than it should have.
i crossed my arms. "well? do i pass the test, detective?" i tilted my head and met his gaze.
jack hummed, almost as though he was debating. "well, i suppose i'll let you off the hook for now. i'm feeling kind today."
"kind, huh?" i chuckled. "interesting choice of words coming from someone who accused me of being a poser maybe 20 minutes ago."
jack laughed. "trust me, for me that is kind." i rolled my eyes before making my way over to the door again, gesturing for him to come along.
jack followed behind me as we entered the short hallway once again. "now, there's only 2 doors left. that one at the end of the hall is just a storage closet. this one here—across from the guest room—is my room. you can take a peek if you want, but no snooping."
jack smirked at me, shrugging. "no promises. if i see something interesting, i'm gonna ask."
"yeah, yeah, whatever," i said, as i turned the knob and opened the door, allowing him to look inside. "just don't go through my drawers or anything."
jack grinned as he stepped inside. the room was all me—every inch of it. cluttered, cozy, and unapologetically mine. i was proud of my space. no wall was empty: movie posters of many genres coated my walls, alongside many band posters and polaroids of my friends and i, both old and recent. shelves lined my walls with little trinkets, and books of many genres.
opposite of my bed sat a little tv hooked up to my xbox 360. multiple game discs lined the shelves of the tv stand, accompanied by little figurines from my favourite video games. in the corner stood 2 guitars; one acoustic, one electric. the guitars were on either side of a medium sized amp, wires and pedals running rampant on the floor surrounding it.
jack's eyes flickered around the room, not even sure of where to start. i noticed how he fixed his gaze on the movie posters. movies like pulp fiction, silence of the lambs, fight club, and american psycho lined my walls.
he let out a thoughtful hum. "alright, i gotta ask—out of these movies, who's your favourite character?"
i chuckled. "that's like asking me to pick my favourite child."
he smiled. "humor me."
i pretended to think for a moment. "well, let's see... hannibal lecter is a classic. jules has the best one liners. but honestly? bateman takes first place here."
jack barked out a laugh. "jesus, no hesitation? that's mildly concerning."
"oh come on," i scoffed. "you gotta admit that his theatrics are hilarious. it's impossible not to laugh at him."
jack grinned. "sure. but you're telling me out of all of these dudes, you're choosing the guy who throws tantrums over business cards?"
"and murders people," i said dryly, "but sure, let's focus on the real crime, being insecure over stationery."
jack chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "so, what is it? the suits? oh, don't tell me you're one of those bateman defenders just because he's played by a conventionally attractive guy."
i scoffed, folding my arms. "first of all, defender is quite the strong word, don't you think? secondly," i pointed at him, "you can't sit here and tell me christian bale wasn't carrying that movie."
jack chuckled. "so it is the suits."
i rolled my eyes. "it's the satire."
he gave me an exaggerated look of skepticism. "sure. just remind me to never let you pick a movie."
i placed my hand over my heart, feigning offense. "oh, jack, you're killing me here. here i thought we were getting along pretty well so far."
jack just scoffed. "so did i, until you totally just defended a psychopath because you think he's hot."
"i'm not defending anything!" i insisted, grinning. "i'm just saying, christian bale is a great actor. i loved him in the dark knight trilogy, too." i gestured to a batman poster next to my desk. jack rolled his eyes. "that's what they all say."
"whatever," i said, playfully shoving him in the arm before sitting on my bed, suddenly aware of how tense i really was. jack's eyes flickered from me, to my xbox and tv. "so, what games do you play, anyway?" he questioned, stepping closer to the tv stand.
"look through the games if you wanna." i said, gesturing the shelf filled with game discs. jack nodded, and knelt down to be level with the tv stand. the shelf was lined with games of various genres; first person shooters, horror, action, adventure...
"hmm, black ops 2," he said out loud. "you any good with these shooter games?" he looked back at me, flashing the cover of the case at me.
i shrugged. "well, not to brag or anything, but i'd like to think i'm pretty damn good."
"oh yeah?" jack smirked. "i bet i'd beat your ass and hand it to you."
i squinted at him, amused. "is that a challenge?"
he grinned. "zombies?"
"hell yeah. turn my shit on, i'll be right back." i said, standing up from my bed to stretch. "remember, no snooping." i said, giving him a mock-stern look and pointed.
he raised his hands in surrender. "alright, alright. you got me."
i left the room for a moment, walking down the hall to the bathroom and closing the door behind me. what. the. fuck. i was about to sit down and play a game with him. is this bonding? am i totally nailing this or what?
wait—nailing what? it's not like that. he's literally just some guy. maybe we'll become friends if he moves in. and just like that, i felt it—the hope. a stupid, naive, soft little thing, festering like a nasty wound. i hated it.
as i suppressed my internal celebration of not making myself look like an idiot in front of jack, i looked at myself in the mirror, gently combing my fingers through my hair. i took a deep breath, before running my wrists under cold water in an attempt to calm myself. it actually kind of worked, for the most part.
i dried off my hands, and beelined straight to my room. there he was—sitting on the edge of my bed, controller in hand as he squinted at the screen, messing around with the settings.
i leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as i studied him. there was a stupid little furrow in his brow—completely focused. he didn't even notice me watching.
after a beat, i finally spoke up. "you better not be fucking with my sensitivity." i said with a smirk.
he flinched slightly at my sudden appearance, but looked at me with a sheepish smile. "nah, i'd never be petty enough to throw a game like that. your audio was fucked up, so i ended up fixing it for you."
i blinked at him. "you did?"
"yeah, sorry. didn't mean to-"
"no, no. you just saved me like, 30 bucks. i thought my speakers were blown to shit, but i guess not. thanks."
jack rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze flicking from me down to the controller in his lap. "nah, don't thank me. you're talking to me like i'm some tech-saint."
"well, who knows? maybe you are."
shit. why did i say that? way to go, meg. good job, you just fucked it up. good luck on getting that cheaper rent, because you definitely just blew it.
he blinked at me for a second like a deer in headlights before a small half-smirk tugged on his lips. "well, if you say so, harper."
there was this most of silence between us as we just... looked at each other. the moment filled with something like reverence.
my gaze flicked down to my already-fidgeting hands before i broke the silence. "alright, let's just load up this damn game already," i said finally, crossing the room to grab another controller before sitting on the floor in front of the tv, knees tucked to my chest, sleeves pulled over my wrists.
"looks like you're already getting comfortable." he chuckled.
"big talk coming from someone who's gonna get downed in the first 5 rounds."
jack laughed, shaking his head. "you really think i'm gonna be the first one down?"
i gave him a slow, smug nod. "oh, absolutely." and with that, the round started.
as the round started, i ran around the map knifing zombies and putting up barriers. jack, on the other hand, used the starting pistol like a fool.
"ah, i see," i said, raising an eyebrow at the screen as i heard gunshots. "you're a bullet waster."
"bullet waster?" he echoed, offended.
"yeah. you're using your bullets on the first round when the zombies are literally one hit." i said, running and jumping around the map to kill the time and continuing to knife zombies as they spawned.
jack laughed as he fired a bullet in a zombie's head. "i think you're just jealous. is your aim that shitty that you gotta hate on mine?"
i snorted. "and i think you're just trigger happy."
jack smirked as he reloaded his pistol without taking his eyes off the screen. "maybe. but at least i'm not running around with a knife like a lunatic."
i scoffed, knifing another 2 zombies with ease. "lunatic? i'll have you know it's called strategy. something you clearly don't have because you're already down to half of your ammo on the first round."
three more rounds of zombies were mowed down by jack and i, and i sprinted to a set of doors. "alright, wait, i need to get to the box. jack, get over here."
jack blinked, his character slowly turning towards mine. "i'm not buying the door. you are."
"i just did most of the work for 4 whole rounds. you are opening this door." i said, matter-of-factly.
"and you have more points than i do, it only makes sense for the person with the most points to buy the first door."
"you have just enough to open it too, don't play the broke card."
jack shrugged. "i just think its fair that the person with the most points contributes to the to the team. and right now? that's you."
my character knifed the door, signalling my growing impatience as i waited for jack to open it. "if you want to upgrade from shitty wall guns and spin that box, you gotta buy the door."
jack's character paced in a small circle and he sighed dramatically. "wow. so that's how it's gonna be, huh? i thought we were in this together. i thought we were a team, megan."
"we are. teammates share the responsibilities, and considering that you've been doing nothing besides waste your ammo so far? it's your duty to open this damn door." i said, fighting back a grin.
jack groaned, stepping towards the door. "fine. but just know that if you get the bear i will not let you live it down."
i laughed as i stepped through the newly opened door. "oh, please. i'll have you know that i have the best box luck. bet you can't say the same though, huh?"
jack scoffed. "that's rich. you owe me the next door purchase."
"i don't owe you shit," i laughed as i put up another barrier, then making my way up a set of stairs to the mystery box.
i smirked as i spun the box confidently. "watch and learn, rookie. i'm calling it—ray gun, and you're gonna eat your words."
different weapons flickered across the screen before landing on a final verdict with a thud. i stared at the weapon in disbelief.
jack squinted and barked out a laugh. "aw, no way. the dual pistols? those are like, one of the worst guns in the game."
i groaned as i reluctantly took the weapon from the box. "it's fine. i'll just save up to hit the box again." i grumbled.
10 minutes later of trash talk and multiple waves of zombies, we were on round 20.
barricades were practically useless at this point, zombies were sprinting like olympic athletes, and we were both praying for a max ammo to drop.
"jack! JACK! get me up!" i shouted at the screen as the red ring forming around the corners signifying my character's nearing death mocked me. "i have a damn ray gun!"
jack was weaving through the large group of zombies, barely staying alive himself. "ohh i see... so now you wanna suck up to me, huh?" he teased, his character running around the map, hoarding zombies, containing them in a nice line. "where was this energy when i bought the last three doors?"
after he shot down the line of zombies, he looped back around the map and began to revive me. "say it," he smirked.
"say what?" i frowned.
"say, 'jack, you're the best zombies player i've ever played with, and i owe you my life'."
i scoffed. "absolutely not."
he let go of the button as the revive bar was almost full. "JACK—"
he burst into laughter. "alright, alright, relax. i got you." he held down the button again, as another group of zombies started to close in.
i sprang up, ray gun in hand, immediately blasting at a couple of zombies. "you're the worst,"
"remind me, who just saved your ass again?" he shot back, grinning.
i grumbled under my breath, firing another couple of shots. "whatever. we're so dead next round, by the way."
surprisingly, we made it to round 29. the screen fades to black as the game ends, signifying our defeat. jack leans back dramatically, groaning in frustration. "round 29? we were so close!"
i stared at the screen in disbelief, then turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "yeah, that's what i was telling you when you went down for the fifth time grabbing perks."
jack's eyes widened as he sat up, pointing an accusing finger at me. "hey, i wasn't the only one going down. you got cornered twice, remember?"
i laughed, shaking my head. "yeah. and that was because i was trying to save you. you were too busy diving for perks instead of, you know, staying alive?"
"i was getting perks for the greater good of the game!" jack threw his hands up. "it was the strategic move."
"a strategic move?" i said, raising an eyebrow. "jack, how is running straight into a room of zombies to get double tap of all things strategic?"
"double tap is a game changer!" jack defended, still grinning. "i thought i could handle it. but, i was caught off guard, i will admit."
"caught off guard?" i laughed. "you running straight into them because you saw the perk machine is being caught off guard?"
jack narrowed his eyes. "hey, i wasn't the only one going for perks, alright? you went for juggernaut too."
"juggernaut's a necessity. you can't survive without it." i said, matter-of-factly.
"alright, alright," jack chuckles, raising his hands in defeat. "maybe i got a little carried away... but hey, at least i wasn't the one that was scared to spin the box."
"ha! that's rich coming from you," i said, grinning. "i had a pack-a-punched ray gun and an RPD. you had an SMR and an uzi. who needed the box more?"
jack rolled his eyes. "you're just being toxic now. the SMR isn't even that bad." he defended.
"dude, you might just have the worst taste in guns. the SMR is literally one of the worst guns of the game and it handles like a gun manufactured in someone's shed."
"oh, c'mon. it really isn't that bad," jack chuckled. and as he opened his mouth to speak again, his phone buzzed in his pocket.
he peered at his phone screen, rolling his eyes before looking at me. "it's my work buddy, sorry." he chuckled, before picking up the phone. "hey man, what's up? ...oh, shit. ....right, i'll cover for you—yeah, i got it, don't worry man. ...right—oh, well i hope everything's alright. ...yeah, alright. see ya man, take care." the phone hung up with a click, and he let out a sigh before turning to me.
"looks like i just got roped into covering my buddy's shift. lucky me."
"ah, you poor soul." i said with a chuckle. "i should let you get going then, huh?"
"i guess so," jack shrugged. "i'm sorry that i gotta cut this short."
"nah, no worries. money's money." i smiled at him, reassuringly. "oh, and–i'm not gonna push you for any decisions right now or anything, but i'll remind you as your dutiful tour guide that you have a week to make a decision and get back to me."
jack nodded, a grin tugging on his lips. "yeah, i know. you'll hear from me."
and with that, jack stood up and walked to the front door. i sauntered behind him to send him on his way, mentally facepalming as my brain said 'wait'.
jack grabbed his jacket, pulling it on before turning to me. "we'll pick this up another time, yeah?"
"definitely," i replied with a soft smile as he walked towards the door.
before he left, he turned to offer me one last smile. "now, don't get too attached to living in this place alone. you just might be unlucky enough for me to move in." he joked.
i chuckled, waving bye to him as he walked out of the door, closing it behind him. there i stood in my hallway, the quietness of my empty apartment creeping in again. i never realized how lonely this place really was until now. no matter how much i pushed it down, i couldn't help but look forward to the next time jack and i would see each other.
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HEYYY!!! we're actually so back. thank you all so much for being so patient <3 i've been busy lately with my birthday + my new job and writing kind of just became an afterthought for a little while, but HERES CJAPTER 4!!!!! jack is here now and meg has some thoughts. there's like a shit ton of dialogue here so i'm kinda scared that it's too back and forth and ping-pongy and that it doesn't sound human enough but i'm just gonna suck it up and post this because i hate to keep my babies waiting 💔 anyway I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED!!! CHAPTER 5 IS IN THE WORKS <333
p.s: i know that jack reads as a cocky bastard here BUT ITS INTENTIONAL I PROMISE because here its like he's kind of trying to (for lack of a better word) impress meg by being 'confident' and whatnot but deep down bro is FREAKING OUT i promise he's still my socially awkward little guy but he's just kinda masking it here
warnings: mild language use, anxiety/overthinking, brief mention of past family conflict (light, implied)
⚝ return to masterlist ⚝
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬
i had just finished a lecture on the psychological effects of chronic stress, which felt a little too on-the-nose for a tuesday afternoon. by the time i left the classroom, my back hurt, my coffee had gone cold, and my social battery was in the negatives.
i had twenty minutes to kill before my next class, so i did what any normal person would do: i found the quietest corner on campus, sat on the cold stone ledge beneath the psychology department’s sad excuse for a tree, and stared at my phone like it owed me something. it's been a week by now. a little more than, actually. maybe it's time for me to just suck it up and maybe get a second job or something. my thumb hovered over the "delete post" button, and then...
that’s when i saw it.
a text.
from a number i didn’t recognize. which normally meant: scam, stalker, or maybe even an unsolicited dick pic if they so please. but this one?
this one was… weirdly normal.
[unknown contact]
2:23PM
💬❔: Hey, this is the number for that roommate posting, right?
💬: yeah, this is it. looking for a place, i assume?
💬❔: Yeah lol, your ad caught my eye. You seem fun to be around. Tolerable, even.
💬: tolerable? damn, that's high praise from a stranger, lol. if you wouldn't mind telling me a little about yourself, that'd be great. you know, just to make sure you're not gonna sacrifice me in some weird roommate ritual
💬❔: No promises. I'm Jack Marston. I'm 19, a major in Criminal Justice, and I work as a clerk at Vinyl Vault (Normal part-time hours). I'd make sure to pay rent on time, I mainly keep to myself but I also don't mind hanging out. Not a small-talker. And no, I'm not a serial killer, lol.
he texts back too fast. or maybe i read too much into it. god, he hasn’t even moved in yet and i’m already looking for signs—some hidden way he’s gonna disappoint me.
💬: hm, alright then jack. i'm megan harper. 19 as well, psych major. i'm a waitress at that old diner downtown, and i work part-time hours as well. we can set up an apartment tour sometime this week if you're available, and we could get to know each other a little more. i'm available tuesday, thursday, and sunday. whatever works for you, man.
💬❔: Huh, I think maybe Sunday could work best for me. About what time do you think?
💬: how does 3:30 sound? :p
💬❔: Works just fine for me. I'll see you Sunday, then.
💬: sure, sounds great. cya then.
immediately after this conversation, i found myself taking a deep breath. what the fuck am i doing? i was already starting to get cold feet at the idea of another person being in my space. i mean, i've been a hermit for so long, what's going to happen when a new person comes along and moves in? it's a disruption of peace. my peace. should i just block his number already? shit. shit. SHIT.
i mean, he doesn't seem that bad... at least not over text, anyway. let's just hope it stays that way.
later that day, i found myself alone in my apartment as usual. i decided to take out my laptop and chip away at the assignments my professor had posted at the beginning of this week. i took solace in my living room, on my favourite spot on the couch: right in my corner that i could nestle into just right.
i placed my laptop on the table in front of me before i put some music on, and proceeded to walk into my kitchen to make myself a mug of tea. as i waited for my electric kettle to boil the water, i drummed my fingers in rhythm to the music against the counter i was leaning on. i was lost in my thoughts as the soft acoustics of alice in chains' MTV unplugged performance played in the background.
"—down in a hole, and i don't know if i can be saved..—"
as layne staley's vocals reverberated through the room, the low hum of an acoustic guitar rattling my bones, i was deep in thought about the whole interaction with this jack guy, if that was even his real name. i've never heard of him around campus, or at least i've never noticed him, but that could also be on account of our different majors. was he real?
so, i did what any sane girl would do: pulled out my phone, and scoured the internet for him. i pulled up instagram and gingerly typed 'jack marston' in the search bar. 10 minutes and far too many dead ends later, i finally found something that matched: a private account under his name. the profile picture showed a group of guys my age in what looked to be some garage.
screenshot. zoom.
five men. three of whom i've seen around campus, one familiar face—ben. weird, they must be close. and then... one i didn't recognize.
tall. dark-eyed. long-haired. scruffy facial hair. a little unkempt, but not in a bad way. more like... the kind of messy that was intentional. wait, is that... is he wearing guy-liner? seriously?
of course he is.
he looks like the type who’d ask me to name three songs in the middle of a walmart because god forbid i decided to wear a band tee that day. the type who thinks he's all misunderstood and mysterious, all sarcasm and eye rolls.
ugh. no. here i am, already trying to psychoanalyze this guy i've texted once. one time. liza would say, "give him a chance, meg! you never know!" and give me those big blue puppy eyes she has that i hate to admit work every time because i love her too much.
this was a mistake. inviting some stranger into my home just because rent’s getting too hard to handle? letting a guy like that into my space? i've seen movies like this before. never liked the endings.
i just can't help but think that this whole thing feels so off. because letting someone in—really in—feels like setting the table for disappointment with your finest, fucked up china. it's like saying, “here’s everything i am, just so you can decide it’s not enough.”
at the end of the day, people really are disappointing, aren’t they?
and okay, yeah. maybe i do have some trust issues. maybe my gut reaction to connection is to run the other way. maybe i do still flinch at the thought of someone knowing me too well. maybe it’s easier to be alone than to be let down.
he had one arm around ben's shoulder, the other flipping off the camera. yeah, real charming. nothing screams "trustworthy roommate" more than a middle finger and a smirk. my eyes drifted over his outfit: an alice in chains band tee, and baggy black jeans that looked like they've seen far too many dive bars.
weird coincidence. i turned down the volume of my stereo just a little bit.
i caught myself wondering what music i’d play when he came over. something obscure but not pretentious. something to test the waters. maybe—
jesus, meg. get a grip.
you’ve texted him once. one time. you don’t know anything about this guy except that he owns a band tee and knows how to form a coherent sentence. that’s a low bar, even for you.
what if he smelled good?
fuck. what if he smelled good?
i bet he wears some woodsy cologne, something that lingers too long. no. stop it. you’re not doing this again.
i don’t care what he smells like. or what his voice sounds like. or whether he takes his coffee black or drowns it in cream. i don’t care. i'm not making it weird, you're making it weird.
after mentally facepalming myself for staring at the picture for 3 minutes, my kettle let out a small click to signify the water was done boiling. i put my phone down on the counter, reaching up to my cupboards and pulling out my favourite mug: a mug that was a gag gift from my childhood bestfriend, sarah, before i moved here for college.
it was a white mug with a black handle that said "cunt" in black text. i chuckled to myself as i remembered that day we were in my childhood home, sat on my bed, and she passed me a gift bag full of candy, snacks, and of course, this mug. sarah was actually the one who recommended i post an ad for a roommate in the first place. damn you.
i moved on autopilot, pouring the steaming water into my mug, watching as the tea leaves swirl and darken in the cup. my laptop remained open on the couch, schoolwork half-finished, the cursor blinking like it was waiting for me to snap out of my thoughts. instead, my eyes drifted back to my phone's screen.
jack marston. 62 followers. 1 post. no bio, no hints. just that blurry group photo and a username that looks like it hasn't been changed since highschool. i tapped the screen. the "follow" button stared back at me. my finger hovered over it. for one second. then another. i exhaled sharply and grabbed my tea, and closed my phone with a snap.
fuck— no, i'm not doing that.
i flopped back onto the couch, laptop on my lap, textbook open on the cushion beside me. i told myself i was going to focus—that this was just another ordinary night, nothing worth spiraling over. no reason to feel like the walls were caving in just because some guy with decent fashion choices and great music taste was coming over on sunday.
but my brain had other plans.
the cursor on my document blinked like it was judging me. a passive-aggressive little reminder that i hadn’t typed a single word of the reflection essay that was due in… shit. two days.
“analyze the psychological impact of chronic stress on the human nervous system,” i read aloud under my breath. i scoffed. oh, how cute. how poetic. maybe i should just turn in a picture of myself and call it a day.
i tried to write. i really did. i stared at the question. typed a sentence. deleted it. typed another. deleted that too. because all i could think about was him.
jack marston.
who the hell does he think he is, making me spiral like this? just some guy. not even in my life yet and already taking up real estate in my overworked brain. typical.
i closed my eyes and exhaled through my nose, the weight of everything pressing down on me like a stack of bricks labeled “responsibilities you’re currently failing at". i had school, bills, my job, deadlines, and now… this.
a stranger.
possibly moving into my apartment.
sharing my kitchen. my bathroom. my living room. my quiet. my peace.
and yeah, maybe i am being dramatic. maybe he’s totally normal. maybe he’ll move in and keep to himself and we’ll coexist peacefully, like two passing ships with rent payments and bad habits. but the thing is… i’ve been let down before. by people who were supposed to be safe. by people who should’ve known better.
thanks, dad.
god. what is wrong with me?
i leaned back into the couch and stared at the ceiling, letting the music and the steam from my tea blur everything at the edges.
this is fine. it’s totally fine. people get roommates all the time and they don’t have existential crises about it. they don’t spiral over a blurry instagram photo like it’s some bad omen.
besides, it’s not like i care. realistically, he’s probably an asshole. he looks like the kind of guy who plays devil’s advocate just to feel something. the type who listens to alice in chains and pretends it’s a personality trait.
…okay, that was harsh.
also, he does have good taste.
ugh.
this is exactly why i keep people at arm’s length—because the minute i let them in, i start trying to map out every possible way it could go wrong. and it always does.
i’m just being cautious. not cold, just… realistic. except it doesn’t feel like realism. it feels like fear.
i don’t want to care. i really don’t. but if i didn’t care, would i be sitting here trying to guess what kind of tea he’d like? or wondering if he’d recognize the song playing right now?
jesus christ. i’m so annoying.
it’s one guy, meg. he’s not special.
and even if he was, that would only make it worse.
he’s just a potential roommate. just someone to split rent with. someone who’ll leave his dishes in the sink and probably hog the bathroom.
not someone to get attached to.
not someone to lose sleep over.
…then why does it already feel like i’m bracing for something?
i rubbed my temples and took another sip of tea, scalding my tongue in the process. i tried to swallow the heat down anyway.
i let out a small sigh, trying my best to shake the thought of jack away before returning my attention to my neglected schoolwork. i had work to do. a life to live. a stranger to not obsess over.
the guitar riff of nutshell played solemnly, humming throughout the room as i took a sip of my tea, ignoring the way my mind kept drifting back to him anyway.
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i will preach and preach that jack marston is somewhat alt in modern au I DON'T CAREEE ARGUE WITH THE WALL!!!!!!!!!! anywayss thank you guys sm for the support on chapter 1! i'm so glad people are enjoying this as much as i am! chapter three is in the works as i type this.... mwahaha >:)
hi guys... i'm alive btw and back with a new oc for metalocalypse... this here is veronica darling!! i ship her with pickles and their ship name is snare trap :3
a brief-ish version of ronnie's backstory/character arc is under the cut <3
☆ born and raised in LA. her parents married young, and that spark of puppy love between the two would eventually calcify into routine and low-level bitterness. the darling household would always strive to be perfect—perfect jobs, perfect house, perfect cars, perfect daughter—yet it still couldn't fill that void of absent tv static in the living room and suffocatingly silent dinners. veronica would learn at a young age that the only person she could truly depend on was herself.
☆ the high expectations from veronica's mother would eventually shape her to be an overachiever and a perfectionist. she's incredibly intelligent—always strived for the highest marks in school, graduated as the top of her class and was valedictorian.
☆ of course, university was expensive. veronica had the brains and the ambition to excel, but not the funds. the one job that would truly stick—one that she'd swear would be temporary—would be in 1987, where she would go on to become a dancer at the praying mantis, a strip club in north hollywood. here, she'd go by vendetta while on stage: untouchable, poised, and entirely in control.
☆ when her parents would inevitably find out about what she was doing in the name of money, the reaction was nothing short of nuclear. harsh words, shattered glass, and a slammed door that was never reopened. veronica would move out that night and never contact her parents again. her routine would become nothing more than attending her day classes, dancing at night, then unwinding in her motel room by watching subpar cable tv to dull the hurt. rinse, repeat.
☆ veronica would continue stripping and eventually meet pickles in 1991, during his days as the frontman for snakes n barrels. the band would come into the club one evening after a successful gig and invade the vip section for drinks and the finest ladies available. when her boss sends ronnie up there, she expects the usual routine—flirt, smile, give him a lapdance, and go home. what she didn't expect, however, was to have a genuine spark of chemistry between her and a customer in the meantime that suddenly made the routine feel dangerous. after that night, though, the two would never see each other again. or so they thought.
☆ veronica would graduate as the top of her class, earning a degree in law. she would go on to become an intern at a local law firm for the next few years, finally feeling as though a weight has been lifted off of her shoulders. eventually she'd find herself at a high-profile networking event, surrounded by suits downing chardonnay and trying to impress each other. at this event was charles offdensen—who would overhear veronica politely, yet firmly correcting someone who had misunderstood a certain legal detail.
☆ charles notices, and frankly is impressed. impressed by the precision, confidence, and quiet authority she exudes. something about her calculates in a way that resonates with him. he introduces himself and they strike up easy conversation. veronica—cautious, yet intrigued—lets him thumb through her meticulously put together portfolio.
☆ he offers her a position: executive assistant/secretary for mordhaus. she hesitates for a beat—a tiny internal calculation—and accepts.
☆ the job at mordhaus allows her to reunite with pickles. this would then eventually spark an off-and-on relationship that'd continue in secrecy for years. the main conflicts within this relationship would be pickles' struggles with addiction and the exhausting thrill of secrecy. each reunion is electric. each argument is explosive. and yet... they just can't stay away.
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also heh have this lazy relationship chart i made like yesterday or the day before LMFAOOO
