Sluts in Love

It might be a good idea to start locking the door when I leave.

"What the fuck do you want?" I hiss. Shitler is a fucking traitor. He let this guy in without biting his dick off? The little shit.

"We have to talk, Paris," Roger says. He's sitting there smoking my cigarettes like he owns the motherfucking place.

"You need to get the fuck out."

"Happy late birthday, by the way," times like this I wish I actually cooked or shit so I'd have knives in the house. I don't own any guns. Maybe a fork is my best option.

"I think it's about time you knew. You're eighteen, after all," he takes another drag of my fucking smokes. I want to jam it into his eye.

"As much as I love and appreciate these late night heart to hearts, would you kindly get the fuck out? I'm fucking tired."

"Paris," stern voice. I hang my jacket up. "It's about that Carnegee girl."

Now I give him my attention. "Stay the fuck away from her, you fucking douche."

"Jesus, Paris," his old as fuck smokers voice yells. I nearly roll my eyes. "Just listen for a fucking second. Take a fucking seat, why don't you."

I sit on my chair opposite the couch. It's not because he told me to. I just felt like it. "What are you getting at, old man?"

He lights up another one. Shitler comes sits next to me probably to prevent me from lunging at his face. "You know your mother's dead. You don't know your father. And this may be our own fault," I am assuming he's talking about the estranged wife, "but we know who your father is."

I blink a few times. "So?"

"I tell you I know your dad, and you don't give a shit?"

"If that's it, could you kindly leave?"

"Listen here, boy. Your dad was one of Maura's students from high school. He knocked up a sixteen year old when he was, like, twenty five, and you weren't 'sposed to be born, but you were. And he dropped by in the middle of the night and handed you right on over to Maura," he looks at me with narrowed beady little eyes. I've always hated his eyes.

"This is fascinating, really. Maybe next we can talk about our feelings."

"I don't know why I bother," he looks all around the room. I don't like the feeling of his eyes on my possessions. It feels greasy and fucking sleazy. "Look, that shit doctor? The one who was 'sposed to get rid of you?" Why does he keep bringing that up? "His name's Carnegee. Robert Carnegee. Your broad's father."

This was getting weird.

"He's in prison now, if you can believe it."

I knew that.

"It wasn't for the bogus practice, if you can believe that. Apparently he liked his children a little uh, too much. You know she has a brother?"

"Had," I correct him. I didn't like him talking about Juliet. Only I could do that. "And if this is your way of letting me know that it's okay to beat the shit out of her or something now, then you should jump off a bridge. I've always hated her. Your words mean shit. And for the love of all that's holy, leave my fucking house now." He stubs out his cigarette in my ashtray. It's my motherfucking ashtray. I throw it at his head but he ducks just in time.

"Jesus, Paris-" he's halfway out the threshold and I slam the door shut in his face.