Sluts in Love

Friday rolls around without too many incidents (except for that fucking birthday shit). Catherine Pardee is trailing Juliet like a fucking lost puppy and it's so hilarious to watch. The other day she even bought her some of the nasty plastic looking cafeteria pizza at lunch. It was so. fucking. funny. I nearly pissed my pants when Pardee offered to carry Juliet's books because Juliet never carries books around which I thought was pretty fucking obvious.

"Looks like you hit gold with this one. She must be a lesbian," I tell her. My salad is practically moldy and Juliet only bought french fries. Smart bitch.

"I only had fun with her for one night. This wasn't supposed to happen," she rubs her temples. I almost feel sorry for her but I take a few fries instead.

"You should feel special. The only person who loves you is that little frosh who's looking this way," and it was true. For some fucked up reason my lunch period has people from grades nine, ten, and twelve. "Do you ever wonder if she watches some lesbian porn, and while they're getting it on and she starts touching herself, she's thinking of you?"

I guess that didn't even solicit an answer. "I guess it's all of this world," I fucking hate when she says that. "Are you driving tonight?"

Shit. I was hoping she would forget about that. "My car's in the shop," I lie.

"I guess we're walking, then," she smirks. I haven't seen her eat anything yet. It's really gross because she'd be pretty hot if she wasn't all skin and fucking bones.



I killed my mother.

You can judge me. Everyone else does. But the saddest part is I never really gave a shit. She was going to kill me first, if you understand. But she was sixteen and stupid and it was too late for a professional to get rid of me so her boyfriend drove her someplace in some ghetto neighborhood which was so fucking intelligent on their part. Nobody really knows what went wrong. Either the doctor was an incompetent fucktard or shit but everything went wrong because I lived and my mother died. Fucking ironic, right? At least my father had the decency to stick me on some random doorstep with a post it about what had happened and he was off the hook because he only dated my mother in secret since he was seven years older than her.

And Juliet, the stupid slut, thinks her problems are so damn superior in comparison to mine. Because her dad's in jail and her mom drinks a lot and cries and watches the shopping network because she has nothing else to do. And when Juliet was eleven she was the first one to find her brother hanging from their ceiling fan because their father couldn't keep his dick in his pants and that's why he's in jail.

"What was your brother's name again? John? George?" I ask because I'm an asshole and her perfume is stinking up my car. If you were to bottle the scent of crying babies, dying roses, and the crushed hopes and dreams of children, that's what Juliet's perfume smells like. It's intoxicating and I fucking hate it.

"I think it was Paul. Maybe even Ringo," she shrugs. She's wearing these ridiculous big white sunglasses because she thinks she's cool because her eyes are so damn sensitive. My car slides a little bit from the ice and my knuckles turn white from gripping the wheel so damn hard but Juliet hardly even flinches. She's one of those stars and planets people who thinks everything happens for a reason like a fucking hippie. She even wears jeans and cuffs the bottoms with these hideous shoes that stank of third world country sweat. For Christmas she bought me one of those fucking air fresheners for your car from the local dollar store. It's called 'Stargazer's Delight.' I'm dead fucking serous.

"And everything was quiet when the day met the night," she mumbles. I think she's on crack.

So we finally get to the Shag Shack. Let me tell you, the night was ruined from the very beginning. Getting a parking spot was a bitch. The band was late and they sucked anyway. The place was filled with fourteen year old fucktards who think they're cool and a beer cost seven bucks. There's no fucking way in hell I'd pay for that. We left right as the band was done because I would shoot myself if we stayed any longer.

"That was the worst fucking thing I've ever seen in my life," I light up a cigarette. My skin and clothes are damp with sweat and it's fucking disgusting because a good portion of it isn't mine.

Juliet lights one of her one. "It wasn't that bad."

"It was fucking terrible," I take another drag. We cut through the back exit because it's closer to where I parked which is about four streets away.

"Oh, man, I'm so sorry!" some voice suddenly says. I turn towards the source of it. If this is one of Juliet's old toys I'm going without her. I'm fucking tired and Shitler probably needs to go out.

Sometimes I wonder if it's unhealthy how much more I care about my dog than people but then I remember I don't give a fuck.

It seems like some curly haired douchebag hit Juliet with his guitar case. It's the same guy from the band who can't play the guitar to save his fucking life.

"It's of this world," she shrugs. Jesus. I fucking hate when she says that.

"I-I really am sorry, you know," he grins and I puke a little bit. I fucking hate pretty guys.

"Don't worry about it, doll," she gives me a look that says 'can we just get the fuck out of here?' and I want nothing more than to do that.

"Hey- let me make it up to you," I gag some more. Pretty boy shoots me a look. I know that look. I wrap my arm around her waist and she does the same to me. His expression changes dramatically and I nearly laugh.

"It's getting late, babe," I say. The guy's still looking at me. What a dick face. I rub it in his face a little bit more. "Cigarette kiss?" That's when we fill our mouths with smoke and exhale as we kiss. It's kind of nasty because she smells like red gummy bears most of the time. I hate gummy bears. All things gummy. They're disgusting and should be shot down.

"Well, here," he has the fucking nerve to say. The dumbass is fucking persistent I must say. He fucking grabs her hand and writes something down.

"Jesus," I mutter. I wonder if there's any possible way this kid get piss me off anymore.

"I'm Dylan, by the way. Dylan Romeo."

Jesus.