Sluts in Love

It's kind of disgusting if you really think about. It's fucked up and nasty and totally unsurprising.

I like to think of myself as a masochist in some scenarios. Like whenever Rosaline and I get together. She could stick a six foot pole down my throat and beat me with a crowbar and it would still turn me on. But Juliet, Jesus, she takes the fucking cake. It's not like she's suicidal by any means. I think she just likes blood. She likes to push her body to the limit.

You think she'd be all, "Oh, poor me I hate my life and no one loves me so I'll take this razor to my wrist and someone will pity me." She's not a fucking priss like that. And thank God because that thing gets really old and life sucks for everyone so I don't know why they think they're special.

You know those pin things that you stick on a bulletin board? That's her poison. I think she likes it because they sting more than actually cutting the skin. Sometimes I'll come home from school or something and she'll be laying on my couch with her fucking shirt over her head and a cigarette dangling between her lips and her stomach all red. One time she carved my fucking initials and even spelt out Shitler using the blood as her ink.

"Would you be a dear and get me your lighter? It seems mine has lost its juice," she might say and I would give mine to her. She might light it under the bottom of her foot or flick it under her ear. I keep telling her that if she sets my house on fire she better fucking buy me a new one.

"You only live once, darling," she says now. Rosaline is sitting in between us on my couch and keeps shooting me a look. I think she feels intimidated by Juliet sometimes and I have no fucking idea why. But then it hits me that carving a spider web down your leg isn't the most normal everyday sight. I'm trying to telepathically tell her to fuck off and leave Rosaline and me alone.

She must sense this or something because of course she's a fucking genius who can feel the tension in the air. "I should let my dog out," she doesn't have any fucking dog. "I'll be back in twenty minutes," she smirks. She would just leave if it were just us but for Rosaline's sake she has to be a bitch.

As soon as she leaves Rosaline turns to me. "I don't understand why-"

"Just leave it," and I'm already cutting her off with my lips. Juliet's fucking psychic or something because she waltzes right back eighteen minutes later when we're putting our clothes back on.