𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

34. it's like the wwe up there.

T H I R T Y - F O U R
it's like the wwe up there.

"Are you okay?" Sarah asks, being her usual mind-reading self.

She's plopped herself right next to me, where I've separated myself from the group. I woke up a while ago, and apart from JJ asking if I'm okay and requesting some water, no one has come over. I definitely know why, I have my blank, don't come near me expression. It scares most people away, evidently except JJ and Sarah.

My problems feel stupid compared to hers—the girl got shot, I got my feelings hurt.

"Peachy." I turn and smile at her. It's a thin smile, almost insulting how fake it is.

Sarah rolls her eyes. "Don't bullshit me, I've known you way too long to fall for that."

"So much has happened," I start, squishing the heel on my palms into my eye sockets, "I have a boyfriend-not-boyfriend, Kie and I seem to be on the outs, Pope and I are only just becoming normal again, I made out with a girl in the bathroom, pictures of me half naked are everywhere, my Dad's gone off the rails and I don't know what to do about any of it." The heels of my hands pressed into my eye sockets, I already have the faintest thump of a headache and this is not helping. "I don't know what is happening with Kie, it feels like... I don't fucking know. I don't know if I'm making issues up in my head or– fuck, I'm going insane."

"You're not, Frankie," Sarah's stern tone is a clear warning. "You need to stop second-guessing yourself. If you say something is weird then something is weird, okay?"

My teeth bite away at my bottom lip, occasionally going a little too far, making the metal tang of blood invade my mouth. I don't make any motion to answer her, something she clearly doesn't appreciate if the elbow to the side indicates anything. "Ow! Fine. My brain and I have great room-reading skills. Everyone knows it," I bitch. My brain is so full, two sides constantly at war with each other, WWE-style fighting.

Is this the time to mention I actually don't know what the fuck WWE is? All I know is that Robbie had some figure with a handlebar moustache.

Warm sun beats down on my face which is getting increasingly hot.

Fuck it. I'm too white to not have SPF 50+ slathered on my face.

I smoothly grab the collar of my shirt behind my neck and slide it off in one motion. I thank my need to do some washing, which meant instead of a bralette—or freeing the nip—I decided to wear a bikini top. I'm too busy using the material to shade my face to notice JJ walking over. By the time I do realise he's walking, he's tripped over.

"Fuck! Ow! I think my finger's broken!" JJ groans, rolling from where he caught himself, to lay on his back, finger clutched in his hand. "Now I'm starving to death and have a broken finger." His head lolls to the side and he looks at me—not at my face, no, at my tits that actually look existent in this top. "Kiss it better?"

"No. It's not my fault you have a wandering eye and no coordination," I scoff.

He pouts sarcastically. "I came over to say we're about to make a pitstop so we can get food. I can probably hunt something for you."

"Is that supposed to be hot?" Sarah asks, very amused.

JJ gets to his feet, still shaking out his finger which looks fine to me. "Yeah. It worked for cavemen." He shrugs.

"Welcome to the twenty-first century, Mr Maybank. You do that and I will remove your kneecaps, good luck hunting without those bad boys."

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