Status: entry for mibba's first annual big bang.
Azalea
heart shaped sunglasses
I don't see Azalea for a week or so after that.
When I finally do, it's foggy and cold and she's sitting on the steps of the museum Phillip and I work at - okay, really it's like a paid internship with more donuts - without an umbrella, soaking in the rain as she stares blankly at the passing traffic and people milling in and out of the doors. She's wearing another 't-shirt-that-used-to-be-a-shirt-until-she-found-a-pair-of-scissors' and black pants and combat boots. I pull on my hat because it's starting to drizzle and I don't want to get sick - again - and walk down the steps cautiously, like she's going to turn around any minute and try to kill me or something.
Approach with caution.
She's got an unlit cigarette between her fingers and a big pair of - you guessed it - black sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose. She's still and silent.
Thinking.
"Cigarettes are really bad for you." That's my brilliant line. Cigarettes are really bad for you. She turned her head to look at me before facing forward again.
"Okay." I was silent for a second, unsure what to say. Who wears sunglasses in the fog? There's no sun. I should have seen it, I should have said something, but I didn't because I was young and stupid and reckless and infatuated with my best friend's girl, too infatuated to see that something was wrong (yet).
"Are you okay?"
"Do I look okay?" She stood up, throwing away the cigarette she still hadn't lit.
We just stood there and looked at each other awkwardly - I wasn't sure what to say and I didn't think she was in a rush to say anything either. And then Phillip comes out and kisses her again and she looks so uncomfortable and I want to say something but I don't know what I so I don't and just watch as he tries to shove his tongue down her throat.
And then they're walking down the steps, his arm around her waist too tight, and I don't know if I'm imagining her wincing or not.
When I finally do, it's foggy and cold and she's sitting on the steps of the museum Phillip and I work at - okay, really it's like a paid internship with more donuts - without an umbrella, soaking in the rain as she stares blankly at the passing traffic and people milling in and out of the doors. She's wearing another 't-shirt-that-used-to-be-a-shirt-until-she-found-a-pair-of-scissors' and black pants and combat boots. I pull on my hat because it's starting to drizzle and I don't want to get sick - again - and walk down the steps cautiously, like she's going to turn around any minute and try to kill me or something.
Approach with caution.
She's got an unlit cigarette between her fingers and a big pair of - you guessed it - black sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose. She's still and silent.
Thinking.
"Cigarettes are really bad for you." That's my brilliant line. Cigarettes are really bad for you. She turned her head to look at me before facing forward again.
"Okay." I was silent for a second, unsure what to say. Who wears sunglasses in the fog? There's no sun. I should have seen it, I should have said something, but I didn't because I was young and stupid and reckless and infatuated with my best friend's girl, too infatuated to see that something was wrong (yet).
"Are you okay?"
"Do I look okay?" She stood up, throwing away the cigarette she still hadn't lit.
We just stood there and looked at each other awkwardly - I wasn't sure what to say and I didn't think she was in a rush to say anything either. And then Phillip comes out and kisses her again and she looks so uncomfortable and I want to say something but I don't know what I so I don't and just watch as he tries to shove his tongue down her throat.
And then they're walking down the steps, his arm around her waist too tight, and I don't know if I'm imagining her wincing or not.