Status: entry for mibba's first annual big bang.
Azalea
at the office
It was a Friday. Phillip, Azalea, Rooney, Willow, Hope and me were all going out to a new bar that had opened up near Rooney's brownstone. He said it looked pretty cool and he wanted to check it out. It wasn't like I had plans anyway, so I agreed. Willow and Hope were friends - Phillip and Willow are in cahoots to get me to start dating again, but I don't want to date anyone (but Azalea with her pretty eyes and sad smiles) - and Hope kind of ended up inviting herself. Not that I really minded, because we were kind of friends, sort of, and we talked sort of, but I kind of wanted to spend the night watching Phillip and Azalea.
I had a sinking feeling that something wasn't right, and I didn't want to point fingers but it seemed like Phillip wasn't treating Azalea the way he should have been. And I was raised in one of those super traditional respectful homes where my parents never fought (at least, not when I was around) and where women (my mother and grandmother and cousins - almost all my cousins were girls and they spent their summer vacations at our house because my mother always wanted daughters and lived vicariously through her sisters) were treated like gold. I mean, I know girls are pretty awesome because, you know, they're pretty and tend to be smarter and generally better people and stuff, but still. My family took it to a whole other level. I remember raising my voice to one of my cousins because she broke one of my model planes - I still don't know how - and getting grounded for two weeks because girls her age are sensitive and you should know better and you don't raise your voice to the opposite sex ever, Kibum. I don't know. Maybe that's why I'm super chivalric and try to defend the honor of women everywhere (though most girls I know seem to be defending their own honor just fine, I don't know). Anyway, I just wanted to play spy - okay mostly watch Azalea be adorable without trying - and I wouldn't be able to do that with Hope hanging on me and being all clingy.
She seemed like the clingy type.
I was sitting at my desk, trying not to fall asleep while I read a memo on the new art exhibit - yay, more groups of pretentious teenage wannabe art critics with dirty hair and shirts with bands they don't even listen to analyzing the metaphorical significance of a bunch of weird lines on a canvas encased in protective glass - when the door chimed. It always did that when someone opened it, much to my annoyance, because we were in and out all day and we couldn't sneak out of the office without someone noticing. I looked up and it was Azalea, standing in front of Phillip's desk. Phillip's desk was in front of mine, so of course I watched them over my unread memo, wondering what was going on.
The office was empty. Rooney was in the bathroom - he had some really bad burritos for lunch (I told him not to get food from the lunch truck, but no, he just had to) - and Willow was making copies in the small copy room next to the office. It was just us three.
He tried to kiss her but she turned her head, looking away. She looked at me briefly before glancing out the window. Hm. They whispered quietly - Azalea softly and calmly and Phillip all angrily and tense - about something, and since they were both turned away from me, I couldn't tell what it was. He took hold of her arms harshly and she winced, looking down.
I scowled. I was going to say something - be all valiant and Prince Charming-y - and then my kind-of boss, Pedro, walked into the office with a stack of folders - more boring reading material about completely irrelevant things, how lovely - and sort of stole my thunder. Phillip and Azalea stopped and he let her go roughly. She looked at him with a solemnly angry glare, the kind that threatened someone to sleep with one eye open if they knew what was good for them.
I didn't think she'd ever been more beautiful.
"Hey..." Pedro said awkwardly, looking between Phillip and Azalea with confusion. I say he was my kind-of boss because he wasn't but he acted like he was. He was just the intern who had been there the longest and the higher-ups thought he could manage us. Which he couldn't, by the way, because he was useless and ineffective, gave us all the bad tour groups, and didn't teach us a damn thing. "What's, uh, what's going on?" He wasn't the confrontational type.
"Nothing," Phillip said. His face was almost red - not really, but kind of - and I watched as he took his fists out of the tight balls they had been in. "My friend just came to say hello, and now she's leaving." He turned to her. "Aren't you?"
She didn't say anything, but instead looked at him with that chilling angry glare - it gave me goose bumps, okay - before walking towards the door and opening it, leaving.
The evidence was mounting.
I had a sinking feeling that something wasn't right, and I didn't want to point fingers but it seemed like Phillip wasn't treating Azalea the way he should have been. And I was raised in one of those super traditional respectful homes where my parents never fought (at least, not when I was around) and where women (my mother and grandmother and cousins - almost all my cousins were girls and they spent their summer vacations at our house because my mother always wanted daughters and lived vicariously through her sisters) were treated like gold. I mean, I know girls are pretty awesome because, you know, they're pretty and tend to be smarter and generally better people and stuff, but still. My family took it to a whole other level. I remember raising my voice to one of my cousins because she broke one of my model planes - I still don't know how - and getting grounded for two weeks because girls her age are sensitive and you should know better and you don't raise your voice to the opposite sex ever, Kibum. I don't know. Maybe that's why I'm super chivalric and try to defend the honor of women everywhere (though most girls I know seem to be defending their own honor just fine, I don't know). Anyway, I just wanted to play spy - okay mostly watch Azalea be adorable without trying - and I wouldn't be able to do that with Hope hanging on me and being all clingy.
She seemed like the clingy type.
I was sitting at my desk, trying not to fall asleep while I read a memo on the new art exhibit - yay, more groups of pretentious teenage wannabe art critics with dirty hair and shirts with bands they don't even listen to analyzing the metaphorical significance of a bunch of weird lines on a canvas encased in protective glass - when the door chimed. It always did that when someone opened it, much to my annoyance, because we were in and out all day and we couldn't sneak out of the office without someone noticing. I looked up and it was Azalea, standing in front of Phillip's desk. Phillip's desk was in front of mine, so of course I watched them over my unread memo, wondering what was going on.
The office was empty. Rooney was in the bathroom - he had some really bad burritos for lunch (I told him not to get food from the lunch truck, but no, he just had to) - and Willow was making copies in the small copy room next to the office. It was just us three.
He tried to kiss her but she turned her head, looking away. She looked at me briefly before glancing out the window. Hm. They whispered quietly - Azalea softly and calmly and Phillip all angrily and tense - about something, and since they were both turned away from me, I couldn't tell what it was. He took hold of her arms harshly and she winced, looking down.
I scowled. I was going to say something - be all valiant and Prince Charming-y - and then my kind-of boss, Pedro, walked into the office with a stack of folders - more boring reading material about completely irrelevant things, how lovely - and sort of stole my thunder. Phillip and Azalea stopped and he let her go roughly. She looked at him with a solemnly angry glare, the kind that threatened someone to sleep with one eye open if they knew what was good for them.
I didn't think she'd ever been more beautiful.
"Hey..." Pedro said awkwardly, looking between Phillip and Azalea with confusion. I say he was my kind-of boss because he wasn't but he acted like he was. He was just the intern who had been there the longest and the higher-ups thought he could manage us. Which he couldn't, by the way, because he was useless and ineffective, gave us all the bad tour groups, and didn't teach us a damn thing. "What's, uh, what's going on?" He wasn't the confrontational type.
"Nothing," Phillip said. His face was almost red - not really, but kind of - and I watched as he took his fists out of the tight balls they had been in. "My friend just came to say hello, and now she's leaving." He turned to her. "Aren't you?"
She didn't say anything, but instead looked at him with that chilling angry glare - it gave me goose bumps, okay - before walking towards the door and opening it, leaving.
The evidence was mounting.