Miss Vengeance

After work the next afternoon, Missy sighed, flopping down on her bed, looking into her closet.

“What’s you’re issue?” Omen asked, sauntering in and sitting down on the bed next to Missy’s shoulder.

“Nothing much. I’m just… confused. Zacky seems hell-bent on me not getting felt up by his buddies.”

Omen nodded once. “He’s overprotective. He thinks since you’re out here without him, he needs to keep you safe and the only way he can do that is be an overbearing jackass when you’re around him. Or, it could be slight separation anxiety. You guys were apart, you didn’t talk, he knows where you are, you know where he is, you can see each other. Maybe he doesn’t want one of his friends to get in the way of spending time with you since he hasn’t seen you in ages. Either way, it’ll simmer down. Or, it should. Get up, we’re going out.”

Missy gazed at Omen. It was quite useful having a friend who had studied psychology. All though, Omen couldn’t practice, having a major mood disorder and all.

“Yeah, thanks, Omen. Why are we going out?”

“Jimmy and Brian talked to KC and they got to talking a lot and now they want to hangout. They’re dragging us and those other two and your brother with them. We’re going to the bar. I wouldn’t recommend dressing like a slut because of the reaction it may invoke in your brother. Or his friends. But you should wear that pair of shoes KC hates,” Omen said, patting her shoulder and standing up.

Missy rolled her eyes. Omen could fucking talk once she got going.

Missy dragged herself up off her bed, practically falling into her closet. Since Omen had told her oh-so-kindly not to dress like a slut, it ruled out about half the things in her wardrobe. Not that she was a slut or anything. She just had a wild taste in clothes, and most wild clothes were… not much cloth. She did, however, pull out the shoes that KC had a professed hatred for.

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting with her feet up, phone in her hands, checking her facebook. KC had poked her again. Goddamit.

“Jesus fucking god,” he was pacing back and forth, “Why in god’s unholy forsaken name does it take her so damn long to get dressed? It’s clothes! Put them on! By the way, I really, really hate those shoes. They’re god-awful. You look like you should be following the yellow brick road to a stripper pole.”

Missy rolled her head to look up at him, “Sit down, you’re making me nervous. And she does her hair and wears more makeup than you and I put together on a weekly basis. And I like these shoes. They’re pretty and all princess-like.”

KC was known for wearing eyeliner and the occasional small amount of eye shadow, but tonight he had opted for just they eyeliner. He elbow-length blonde hair was jerked into a messy ponytail and he’d put lime green balls on the barbells in his cheeks. She thought he looked rather cute, like a tiger in a baby bonnet.

“Missy if you’re a princess, I’m a motherfucking---omph!”

“I’m ready, KC, keep your panties on,” Omen told him as she came down the stairs, cutting him off and heading out the door, but not before her open palm landed in the middle of his chest.

Missy laughed at the almost-instant replay of the night before.

Again, the three of them piled into KC’s truck, KC driving, Omen by the window, Missy between them, and they were heading to the bar, five minutes away from their farm

Brian and Jimmy where already there, occupying barstools near the end of the bar. Matt stood next to them, leaning on the bar itself, Zacky stood in front of Matt, Johnny next to him.

“Hey, looks like it’s gonna be a party,” KC said under his breath, as he escorted Missy and Omen toward the end of the bar.

“Hey!” Jimmy yelled when he saw them.

“We need shots!” Brian said, turning to the bartender.

“Aw, shit,” Omen stated.