Sluts in Love

As much as I told myself not to think about it I did. God damn it I did. Call me when you figure it out. What a bitch.

Here's what I know about Juliet. She remembers every day of her life since age nine. I guess that was after the special daddy-Juliet time ended. Maybe that's why her brain is so fucked up. I guess I should have mentioned this earlier but whatever. You know I'm lazy as fuck.

"Jules," I remember I'd call her that in middle school. What God awful years those were. "What was the homework for English?" I'd ask. She would fire off the exact pages we had to read or the problems we had to do; she remembered exactly what the teachers would write on the board she's just that good. In fifth grade when she told me I'd try to fuck her up. I'd ask exactly what she was wearing/feeling on insert date here. I picked the days in particular when we had school photos so I could always check if she lied.

She never did.

I fucking hate the Internet. I really do. It depresses me that there's so much shit to spend time on and forget about reality. But I did a search for her. Bitches love search engines, right?

super memory I typed in. A bunch of shit popped up that I didn't care to read about. Then my screen froze. "Fucking piece of shit," I mumbled. I held the power button until the screen went black. God damn it. I needed to know more about the shit that goes on in the brain. I called the one- well, one of them- number I never fucking thought I'd dial again.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Montague?"



"You have an enlarged temporal lobe. Is that it? It's either that, or you were born fucking nuts."

She puts a hand over her heart. "Oh, Paris. You're quite correct, darling." I take a bite of a french fry but grimace. They taste like shitty cardboard. Ugh. "My mother thought it was just obsessive compulsive disorder when I was young, but they ran a whole bunch of tests on me. Among other things, that's what they found."

That doesn't surprise me. "So you basically are loony, then?"

She shrugs like nothing in the world bothers her. "I always thought loonies were birds. I'd like to be a bird. Wouldn't you?"

Sure. Whatever. From across the cafeteria I see Cat Pardee. She looks both confused and horrified and I'm not sure how that's possible. She catches my eye and I give her a small salute. She looks even more pissed off. I look back to Juliet and see her scribbling something fervently. "Read this if you get a minute, would you?" she passes it to me. "I'm quite afraid our little kitty Cat is angry at me."

I began reading her small loopy writing. Nothing registers. "What does this even mean, you whore?"

If she wasn't so dumb she'd probably look graceful standing up. "Well, I'm off to write that short story for French. I think mine will be about a young man who never believed in unicorns until he finally sees one in his garden. You think Madame will like it?"

"I think they'll hang it in the psychiatric ward's hall of fame."

"Wonderful!"