Friday 12 June

Kea was over, for a bit.

We made coffee, talked, put on Netflix.

My Snapchat was quiet today. I was thankful. Usually it’s being bombarded with snaps from demented sluts I knew back in school. I didn’t want him to think me uncultured. He seems to have grown into such a sweet boy, I don’t want him to know too quickly that I’m ratchet, I still have lingering lusts for gossip, for keeping tabs on losers just so I can feel better about myself.

Most days, the losers are doing better than me. At least they are out, wasting money. At least they feel the air-conditioned inside of a car on a daily basis. They are going somewhere. Probably not very far, though.

Ro’s snores are reverberating. She is quite the sleeper. Has heavy duty dreams of running, sometimes making love.

I had a dream like that tonight. Except there’s a soreness between my legs that whispers to me, bitch, it actually happened. You were supine, he was milk, it happened quickly like a bandaid ripping and felt as slow as dandelions growing outside time.

I only pretended to be shocked. A secret part of me had wanted this for a long time.

He put a careful hand on the inside of my thigh. My mouth was full of Doritos. I glared at him, don’t you dare lean in for a kiss.

So that’s exactly what he did. I was furious, the whole time, in the frenzy of stripping our sticky layers, in the electric whoosh of our skins making random, beautiful contact, everywhere we were wounds, quick and sure and impossible, how is this happening, how could this not, how so soon, how could we ever wait so fucking long?

This is the right configuration, I thought, pressed against him in the after , although it felt very cutely like the beginning of something, I don’t know what, could be a period of intense lonely daydreaming, he doesn’t have to drown with me in this.

Feels right, no? He poured into my ear, and to maintain my cool bitch image I had to clench every possible muscle in my freshly consumed body, just so I won’t smile.