@hedgebtch (x)
“you’re insane.”
she’s insane. you always knew she was insane. (you’re not insane? come on, julia, how much shit have you eaten, drank— how many vaguely cultish groups? you’re insane, julia.)
panic spikes and curls inside your gut. it’s only tempered by a fluttering that’s a butterfly just flap flap flapping way up and into your throat. out your mouth. you don’t know. scary shit is normal when you’re a hedge.
she’s not asking you to take her hand. marina’s not a hand holder, not like that. this isn’t a sweet-voiced olive branch offering like her big blue eyes imply but do not let you infer. but she’s looking you in the face and saying fucking prove it. fucking prove it to me.
and you know what? you raise the glass, you look her in the face, you gulp it down, you drop the glass so it bounces but it doesn’t shatter. just lands hard and rolls against this plush leather booth. it tastes repulsive. you don’t even look away. it’s just blue on gold, all the way through.
she’s not a hand-holder. she’s not asking you to take her hand. she’s asking you to fight your way in. she’s asking you to prove it. prove it to her.
so you trust her. you do.
“do that again and i’m going to deck you right in the fucking face, marina.”