Sluts in Love

You want to know the truth? I'm lonely. Fucking lonely. The absolute truth is that most days Juliet is the only reason I get out of bed and make an effort in life. The only reason that I say 'fuck' in every other sentence is because it was the first word I learned growing up with Roger. I'd like to say that my poor circumstances make me even more determined to do something with my life but that's bullshit. I just don't care.

And Juliet. Juliet, my best friend I've ever and will ever have, is growing further away from me. I almost wish I was madly in love with her so she could never leave but I'm not and that's the damn tragedy. I wish this was some big cliche and we'd get together and live happily ever after but it's bullshit too. But she knows I love her like a friend and she feels the same about me. And now she has fucking Romeo who'll sweep her off her feet and leave her once he gets bored. Fucking Romeo. For every death homicidal thought I've had towards Juliet, I substitute Romeo. That dumbass fuckhead dickwad son of a bitch.

Being eaten alive by fire ants.

Dragging him slowly along a highway until he bleeds out.

Buying a human sized microwave and plopping him in and watching every internal organ plop against the door after sixty seconds.

I never cared too much for smoking. Just when I was really stressed out, like the night before going to court to see if I was able to be emancipated. But tonight I've burned through two packs within three hours. Not even Shilter, who's sleeping in the corner, loves me. Just as I'm about to go into the kitchen and drown the rest of my misery in rum the door opens. It's the fucking whore herself smelling like cheap sex and rotten sunflowers. I don't even know if flowers can rot but I don't fucking care.

Her eyes are shiny and big as they focus on me. I hate them. I hate her. She's high as fuck. She and her Romeo can fucking stab each other for all I care. They should both die. I should die.

"You haven't taken your medicine yet, have you?" her eyes are staring into my own like she's trying to find the fucking meaning of life.

"Fuck you. Get out of my house," I rasp. I clear my throat a few times. I bet she was with him before. He probably touched her. The fucking son of a bitch. I bet he placed his grimy hand on her knee. Does he know how she got those scars and burns that decorate her skin? No, he doesn't. Who the fuck does he think he is?

The very faintest of a smile lights up her whore-ish face. She comes to sit next to me and I blow a puff of smoke towards her. She waves it away.

"Darling, you're upset."

"I hate you."

"Are you using hate as a euphemism for love again? Babe, you don't have to put that act up around me, you know. You are forgiven for what happened earlier. You have a right to be angry."

"Get the fuck out or I'll call the cops."

She has the fucking nerve to smile. Full out smile. And she comes closer and I can't see right and it's dark. She comes to hug me but it's not like how she's hugged me before. It just feels... wrong. Different. Like I'm going to puke.

I think I must have taken my happy meds after all because the next thing I knew our clothes were on the floor and Juliet's sticky body was under mine.