Two Way Street

I heard Wet Mop talking to Louis quietly through the bedroom wall. I didn’t catch the entire conversation. I heard my name a few times and the word ‘bitch’ thrown in there too. I hated to admit it, but it hurt. It really did. When your name and that word are together in the same sentence, you can’t help but feel like you truly are that word.

I never wanted to be the person I am, but it wasn’t my fault.

Liam stormed out of the flat, angry as hell.

Before I could say something nice to him, a stupid sarcastic comment came out. “Wet Mop on PMS?”

Harry snickered, “Maybe.”

Loner Boy rolled his eyes, “Ever thought about taking the sarcasm easy? Huh?”

I shrugged, “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. Why? Am I too much to handle? Can you not keep up with my witty comebacks and my sassy attitude?”

“Actually,” Louis came out of the bedroom, rubbing his face, “apparently Liam can’t. You know, he’s really kind of upset about the whole thing really. He feels a bit attacked.”

I sighed, “That’s not my fault. If he can’t understand my humor, that’s fine. It’s his problem, not mine.”

“Mar, can I talk to you for a bit?”

I nodded, “Sure. Go ahead?”

Louis closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, “Privately.”

I huffed and pushed myself up off Harry’s body on the couch. I trudged after Louis with my shoulders slumped. I knew what was coming. It hadn’t happened with Lou before, but had happened with other people. I was pushing them away and then that was the end of it. Louis didn’t want me around anymore because of his new friends. His boys.

“Listen, Lou, if it’s about Liam, I’m sorry. But it’s just my humor and my personality. I didn’t mean to upset him or offend him,” I started off, sitting down on the corner of Lou’s perfectly made bed.

He held up his hand, “Stop, please.”

I nodded and closed my mouth.

“I get that it’s your sense of humor, but it’s really harsh sometimes. He said you were being rude to the other boys, but their too nice to say it’s bugging them too. Liam...he’s a bit sensitive sometimes, but you’re the only person he dislikes, Mar. He said that if you’re around, he’s not to be. And that really bugs me.”

I licked my lips, “I’m sorry, Lou.”

“Think you can tone it down a bit? I’m going on tour with them and I don’t want them hating me.”

I nodded. I felt tears pricking at me eyes, “I’m sorry, Lou.”

He frowned, “You’re not going to cry are you?”

I shook my head, trying not to cry. “Fuck.”

Louis sat down beside me, hugging me tightly. “I don’t mean it in a bad way, Mar. I think your humor and your biting sarcasm are hilarious. But to other people, it might seem a little stand offish. I don’t want the boys to hate you. I don’t want them to think you’re a bitch or anything. I want them to like you like I like you. Like family.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, “I’m still sorry. I didn’t know it was hurting them. I had a feeling Liam didn’t like me.”

“He wants to like you, it’s just hard when you seem...when you seem to have a prickly disposition.” Louis kissed my forehead. “So I want you to march back out there and take them down. Stun them with your brilliant sense of humor that doesn’t hurt people.”

I nodded and grinned, “That wasn’t so bad. I didn’t actually cry.”

He smiled, “Good. I always feel awkward when people cry.”

“You’re just awkward in general boobear,” I poked his cheek and stood up, straightening my clothes. I walked outside and sat down on the couch by Harry. He scooted closer to me. “Your hair smells like daisies, Curly.”

He grinned, “Your hair smells lavenders.”

“Thanks.”

Irish popped the movie in and the opening credits played, the music filling the tiny apartment.

“Why are we watching this again?” I leaned over and whispered in Curly’s ear. I knew that Lou would get mad if I talked during the film, so whispering seemed the best idea.

He laughed lightly, “Because majority ruled, sweetheart. And you happen to be the minority in this case.”

“Is it because I’m black?” I asked, horrified.

He raised an eyebrow and looked me up and down. “You? Black? No way. There’s no way.”

I stifled my laughing, “I was joking, hon. Completely joking.”

“Hun?”

I nodded, “A term of endearment. Much like ‘love’ or ‘sweetheart.’ I like hon. My mom used to say it all the time.”

“Ah, well. Then I guess it’s alright.”

“Oy, shut up!” Irish turned around, his face stern but adorable at the same time. “We’re trying to watch the film!”

I bit my tongue, “You realize that by telling us to shut up, you’re instigating a conversation and we’re forced to respond? So, oy! Shut up!”

He frowned and turned around again.