Sluts in Love

Maybe you should know why I hate Sean O'Comb's guts so fucking much. We used to be cool when we were young, right? Then middle school came and he thought he was the shit because- I don't know, he just did and it pissed me off so I stopped talking to him. Then high school came and maybe he pissed me off too much one day because as we were changing in the locker room I sort of drew attention to his, well, Sean Jr., which wasn't exactly on par with the rest of us. And so a few other guys started wailing on him too, but come on. We're guys. We're supposed to be dicks about well, our dicks.

So that happened freshman year, right? And so O'Combs waited until now, three years later, to show any attempt at payback. Long story short, he gave my car a hot pinkish makeover so I punched him in the face and since it was on school grounds they had to give me punishment which included a week of detention and you probably guessed it, court ordered therapy. If that sounds extreme for just a punch it's because fuckbag led the principal to believe I had something stored in my glove compartment (which I did, but it was just weed). So sue me for hating that kid so fucking much.

But you want to know what takes that fucking cake? It's because dickhead Sean is friends with even bigger dickhead Romeo who just so happened to have nearly killed me.



"How many fingers am I holding up, Paris?"

"Two."

"... Close enough. Now I'm going to ask you some questions and I need you to be one hundred percent honest, okay?"

"Lady, 'honesty' is my middle name."

"Excellent. Now, have you ever used, or currently use, cocaine?"

Oh Jesus. "What's this for, again?"

"We just need some background on your medical history. It's all routine, don't worry. Now can you please answer the question?"

"Yes, I have."

"Heroin?"

"Yes."

"Ecstasy?"

"Yeah."

"Marijuana?"

I sigh. "Yeah."

"Methamphetamine?"

Finally. "No, no meth for this guy."

"That's it for now, thank you Paris. You have a visitor. Would you like to see her?"

Her. "Fine, fine. Thank you doll face," I smirk at her. My nurse is smokin' hot, what can I say? She rolls her eyes and leaves. Juliet comes in a short while later.

She doesn't look concerned or worried or anything really. That same look of indifference is all she wears. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"Your mother."

"You look like shit."

"You smell like shit." All right, so that's not actually true.

She sits by my side and picks up some of the bottles of meds they put there. I bet she's thinking of swiping some. "Diamorphine? Jesus. Do you know how strong this shit is?" She shakes some into her hand and dump them into her coat pocket. Ha, I told you.

"It's your fucking boyfriend's fault," I tell her. She wrinkles her nose at my IV bag.

"My darling Romeo? What of him?"

"It was him who side swept me. Docs think I have a concussion. And have you seen these stitches? Look at them! I'll never be pretty again," my boyish vanity dictates that my face be clear at all times. This stream of stitches across my forehead just fucked it all up. "And fuckhead didn't even get hurt. Not a bump on his head or a cut or anything."

I swear she can see two things at once. The blue eye focuses in on my forehead and the green one seems to meet my eyes. "Battle scars. Is the food here even that bad?"

"It's really good, actually. They brought me up a slice of chocolate cake that was better than any orgasm I ever got from Rosaline."

She scrunches up her nose again. I don't know if it's because of the concussion but she looks really cutre when she does that. "Wiggy. It's too bad you didn't die, but I'm gonna go. There's a marathon of Hitchcock movies that I'm already late for."

"Fine. Leave me all alone and don't be here in case I die in my sleep from your fucking boyfriend." She lets out a short ha and kisses my cheek. I grimace. She pats my head and turns towards the door.

"Bitch," I call after her.