Sluts in Love

Do you ever see someone and think, "holy fuck, we're going to get married and have two beautiful kids named Jack and Sally?" Well, I did. And I'm ashamed to say I first thought that when I first met Juliet about ten years ago. Thank God that passed pretty quickly right? Jesus. I pity whoever she might sucker into marrying her. She'll probably be a terrible mother because her mother is a terrible mother and it's bound to be a vicious cycle. I tell her this sometimes and she just looks at me with those big wide eyes that indicate that she has no soul.

"It's been three weeks, D'Angelo," she now says. It always sounds like she has a sore throat because she's been chain smoking since she was thirteen. "This cat and mouse game is getting a little tiring," her voice sounds like nails on a fucking chalkboard.

I know we can speak safely in her bedroom because the bastards in school can't hear us. So with my head in her lap because she plays with my hair and I hate it so much I say, "Fuck that. You can have as much pretend sex as you want, but these ten inches of gold are going nowhere near you."

"I wasn't aware ten is the new four."

Her room is really fucking depressing because it's just white with a mattress in the middle. She has a closet but that only holds clothes that reek of second hand shops. It looks like a room in a mental hospital and I think that's why she likes it; because she belongs in the fucking loony bin.

"You're a skank," is the best retort I can come up with.

"I love you as well."

"I hope you fall into a pit of flesh eating lions and they slowly tear your limbs off."

"How are things going with Rosaline?" she knows all about my fantasies because I tell her everything. I almost tell her I was going to ask Rosaline to be my girlfriend but then I remembered I don't care enough about her to want anything else besides sex.

"She's not clingy at all and is slowly restoring my faith in humanity."

"One girl is restoring that because your sex is supposedly fantastic?"

"Why are you such a bitch?"

"Do you think I'd look good with a tramp stamp?" and her hands leave my hair and she folds up her shirt like a fucking whore. Juliet is skinny in the way that she forgets to eat like how sometimes I gasp for air because sometimes I forget to breathe.

"I think you'd be overplaying the slut thing a little too much," I actually tell her the truth.

She hardly looks fazed. "Bummer." It's hardly thirty degrees and she's got her jeans rolled up like a fucking douche. "I hear there's some local boy band covering Deep Purple at the Shag Shack."

Juliet likes any rock band from the seventies and eighties but Deep Purple is her one true love. All she listens to is that generic shit and one hit wonders. The Shag Shack is also a nickname for one of the slummiest coffee joints in town because whenever teenagers get too high or wasted to go home they chill there. A man with oily ginger hair who we're all pretty sure is a pedophile practically encourages the coitus that goes on. It's pretty fucking sleazy, I know.

"Fine. But it's your turn to pay."

"The wife and kids coerced me into a fancy french restaurant last night," I don't know if she even knows what 'coerce' means. "They totally drained my wallet. Cover for me this time, Jack?"

She calls me Jack sometimes and I'm afraid it's because she knows about my brief fantasy when I first met her.

"Fuck you," I say because I know I'll end up paying.

"If anyone asks, I already have."