“Oh, come on. Screw Jeremy Kyle. Watch me.”
“I like Jeremy Kyle,” I replied. “Their shit lives remind me that mine isn’t so bad.”
She sighed and threw the cards on the night table before crashing on the bed next to me. Chewing her gum loudly, she watched the show for a few minutes. Then she pulled out her phone and started her texting regime, with fingers that looked like they had little motors on them.
“Do you want to go see a movie?” she then asked. “It’d be nice to catch up with you somewhere that’s outside of your fucking house.”
“We can see one in here. Look at all the movies on my shelf.”
She glanced at my bookshelf where the very bottom shelf was occupied with movies I hadn’t watched in a millennia.
She grunted in disdain. “Fuck, there’s like one inch of dust on those things. It’d be like recovering a fossil digging around for something to watch.”
I laughed, and she smiled widely. “See, I can still make you laugh, skank. You’re still human after all.”
“Yeah, well, I certainly don’t look it,” I muttered under my breath.
Her smile dropped from her face. An uncomfortable silence ensued before she said, “I’m going to grab something for us to watch from your mother’s collection. They’re more up to date, which is kinda sad because you’re meant to be the hip one and all. Did you want me to grab some more pieces of pizza on my way back?”
“Not hungry,” I replied.
She sighed heavily and walked out. She knew better than to try and shove food down my throat the way Mom did. My appetite was non-existent, so it wasn’t like I was trying not to get fat. I didn’t give a shit about my body anymore.
When she returned, she popped in a sappy romance movie and feasted on a box of pizza.
“You know,” she said after a few silent minutes, “other people have it a lot worse than you, Claire.”
I knew that. I told myself that every day. But it didn’t make me feel better.
She looked at me sprawled out on my bed with the covers up to my chin and continued. “Some people have burns on ninety percent of their bodies. Or have lost their limbs in some horrible accident. And you know what? They’re still living their lives. They’re doing what makes them happy. They don’t bunker down in their house like a survivor on doomsday.”
“I’m trying to watch the movie, Em, so can you shut up?” I retorted.
“Your scars aren’t even that bad.”
I scoffed in disbelief. “I look like I’ve been mauled by a bear.”
“If you actually tried with your appearance – like nice clothes and make-up – then you wouldn’t feel as bad as you do right now. A lot of it can be hidden.”
“But they’d still be there.”
She shook her head, looking defeated. “I don’t understand you! You don’t like the sight of them, and you know with good make-up you can reduce their appearance, yet you don’t want to because they’d still be there?”
I didn’t reply.
She let out an annoyed grunt and turned the television off. “We’re talking! I’m not having a fucking couch potato friend who is more interested in fiction than her own friend!”
“I’m not more interested in fiction.”
“If you’re not watching television, you’re reading on your stupid Kindle. You’re a filthy reader too.”
I made a face. “Filthy?”
“You think I don’t know about all those smutty novels on there? Fucking BDSM shit. Rich billionaires with mommy issues who suddenly have an interest in clumsy, too-stupid-to-live-heroines.”
I laughed out loud as she continued. “You know the reality would be so much different, right? I mean, these fucking women shriek when they’re having sex. Shriek, Claire. And then they squeal, and squawk during their orgasms. What does a squawk even sound like? And then they stare into the eyes of their muscular men while fucking. I’ve never looked into a man’s eyes as we screwed. It’s just awkward. Like, ‘what are you looking at? The goodies are down below. Stare at that instead, you weirdo.’”
I was bent over laughing, tears streaming down my face. “Shut up, Emily! Seriously.”
She grinned ear to ear. “It’s true, though. So stop with that rubbish and actually live a little, yeah? Make your own smut stories out of your real life. You used to jump the hottest men. I swear. Remember the guys at last year’s Royal Show? Oh, my God, I’ll never forget them lining up to you like that. You’d have thought you were the ride instead.”
Still laughing, I looked back on that day. “It was such a cold day.”
“Yeah, and I ended up paying for everything, asshole.”
“It’s not my fault someone pickpocketed me. I bet you it was that granny that snarled at us too.”
Now she laughed. “Maybe it was that hot guy you were sitting next to.”
My heart squeezed at the memory of Stranger. I thought of him often. I didn’t know what to call him, so Stranger sort of just stuck. Fuck, he had been a sight to behold, but I thought more about the conversation we had than anything. I’d never had such a bizarre encounter with someone before – and even after.
“No, it wasn’t him,” I said with certainty on a dreamy sigh. “But he was extremely sexy, wasn’t he?”
“The sexiest.”
I swallowed my disappointment at having not seen him again. I really thought I would. That he was interested in me enough to reach out.
When cards interrupted my vision, I groaned in irritation. “God, Em, I don’t want to pick a bloody card!”
“Yes, you do. You know somewhere inside of you there’s still that crazy, rebellious babe. The sooner you pick a card, the sooner she’ll return to me.”
I looked at Emily’s determined face. When she was stubborn like this, nothing in the world was going to stop her from having her way. So I sighed dramatically and picked a random card. I turned it over and read her writing, noting already that the marker she’d written with looked awfully fresh.
Party this Friday with your best, most beautiful friend =)
I glared at Emily. “Your desperation is just sad.”
“What does it say?” she asked innocently.
“Don’t look at me like that. You know what it says because you planted this card.”