Pray For The Dead

Fuck.

Nothing ever works out or goes smoothly for her does it? She can never just see an old best friend once and never see him again, seeing as he really didn’t seem to want to find her once he was famous, now did he?

Julie ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head. She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything she would regret later on, questions and accusations that desperately wanted to fall from her lips. Apparently getting laid didn’t help, or maybe it would have if she hadn’t have been on the same bus as Oliver.

“Fuck, I need a drink,” She muttered, taking a long, much needed drag from her cigarette. Those pills Mallory said she could get from Frank sounded really good right about now. Julie bit her lower lip, finally glancing up to see Oliver watching her. “What?” She asked, her voice a bit bitchier than she actually meant for it to be.

“You’ve really changed, Julie,” he stated, taking a drag of his own cigarette.

Julie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “People change, Oliver, you simply cannot think that people are going to stay the same their entire life. If that were the case then you’d still have that horrid screaming voice you started out with and those first tattoos you got would still look horrible.” She shrugged lightly. “Where are we?”

“Still in town, love. No, I mean, you’ve... changed,” he groaned, shaking his head out of frustration. “Julie,” he groaned yet again, almost whining.

This time, Julie did roll her eyes. “What Oliver? What could you possible want that you don’t already have? Fuck, you have prostitutes on your bus, a load of liquor, quite possible a bit of weed, and me leaving soon, what else could you want?” She took another long drag from the cigarette before putting it out.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, looking at her.

Julie shook his head at him, standing up and stretching, her shirt riding up slightly. “I would’ve thought you’d know the drill by now,” she stated looking at him. “Most prostitutes leave in the morning after collecting their money.”

Who would’ve thought that Oliver Scott Sykes, practically a sex god, wouldn’t know how things like this went. Or maybe he was just playing stupid. It had to have been the latter, there was no doubt about it. Oliver didn’t bother to stand and stop Julie from finding Jona’s wallet and pulling out the money he owed. Hell, he didn’t even bother to say goodbye to her as she walked off the bus, throwing her hair up into a messy ponytail.

“Fuck, Julie, Mallory was right, he’s famous and doesn’t have the time to be around you and your fucked-up world, and you, you’re just a prostitute,” Julie said to herself, walking down the block. She turned the corner before she let the tears fall from her eyes. She missed Oliver, missed hanging out with him after school and getting drunk together when either of their parents were home. She missed everything there was to do with Oliver.

Julie stuffed the money from Jona’s wallet into her bra, pulling out a cigarette and trying to find a lighter only to come out short. “Fuck!” she groaned, aggravated. “Fuck me.” She shook her head, sitting down on the curb.

Julie knew well she looked like a mess, but quite frankly she couldn’t care right now. She didn’t care about anything. Hell, she couldn’t care less even if the Queen died right this instant.

“Mallory’s always right isn’t she?” She asked herself, wrapping her arms around her, trying to get warm. She didn’t want to go home just yet. “He’s famous and I’m just a fucking whore,” she said annoyed, her voice loud.

Julie was the one in school that actually had a dream, but when she found out it couldn’t happen and Oliver left her for dead, she met up with Mallory, who was already a whore. Needless to say, she found that she liked the profession.

“Just a fucking whore,” she repeated to herself, shaking her head.