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TO say that the gang was shocked by what came back from my showcase trip in Manhattan would be an underestimate.
The world malfunctioned when, after the weekend, neither of us were seen despite having arrived last Friday despite the numerous calls and messages from our friends.
Mostly death threats, some made from insistent boredom.
"There's a party at Arbour," Ross said, amused, when he saw Esther's caller ID on my phone. "She had a fight with Rema days ago and wants to make her jealous when she found out she'd be there."
My eyebrows shot up as I let my phone ring. We had become weekend fixtures in his brother's home in Brooklyn, house sitting for his and his fiance's numerous plants. The showcase and Hollis' unfortunate appearance had depleted my social battery, and though I wanted to tell my friends the honest to god everyting as they are due, I wasn't ready for it yet.
So when Ross offered a hideout and Seth said he didn't mind, I had dragged the rest of my sorry self to to Brooklyn and forget any and all responsibilities bearing my name.
(I said as I finished sending an email to my professor after Esther's missed call).
"Trouble in Lesbian Paradise," I muttered as Murder She Wrote played loudly from Seth's home theatre. Seth Beauchard had expensive tastes, much like the rest of his family, but liked a more white on white approach, using texture and the brief peek of dark emerald horticulture now and again.
Ross snorted beside me, tangled as I was between his legs, two layers of blankets, and several plush pillows.
"You mean trouble in Polyamory Paradise. I love Esther-" I snorted. "- Okay, I adore Esther, but she needs to stop being so fast and loose with the rules between her and Rema, and her and her other lovers. As well as her booty calls. If she doesn't stop, she's going to lose her, and despite her bravado, it's going to sting when Rema finally realises she can't put up with her shit."
I hummed my agreement. Esther was a badass, but she has a hard time sitting down and communicating important things. When real relationship stuff starts being the centre voice. Whenever Rema finally manages to sit her down, Esther either starts acting like a bitch, a fuckboy, or just runs away.
It never ends well.
"Be that as it may..." I sighed as I opened my phone's camera and sees the rat's nest that was my hair. I tried to do something about it, but ultimately gave up, opting instead, to hurl myself to Ross' face.
"Ow- Jesus, Nads!"
"Sorry, sorry, smile with me, will 'ya?"
He grumbled something incoherent, but did so anyway, and I took the shot.
"You look really nice in glasses," I mused, posting the photo with little to no fixes, making sure the background wasn't identifiable. Not like we frequented Brooklyn or Seth's home, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
