𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

65. buddy vs. pookie bear.

S I X T Y - F I V E
buddy vs. pookie bear.

After I sleep off the majority of my high, JJ knocks out.

I should be offended, he's meant to still be fighting for my approval, not napping. He doesn't adequately fear me, is what I'm learning. My name should send a shiver down his spine, he shouldn't be napping with his head on my lap.

In the same breath, I shouldn't be braiding his hair. I'm supposed to be disapproving of it, it's long, and he doesn't leave the conditioner in for the full two minutes. His entire hair wash routine horrifies me. One pump of shampoo and one pump of conditioner get mixed together in his palm, and he uses them together. Terrifying.

It shows in the texture of his hair.

But, because it's a little fried it holds a braid nicely. Swings and roundabouts.

As I admire my handiwork, I hear the distinct sound of the Twinkie pulling up.

It sounds incredibly unhealthy, carwise.

"JJ" I hiss, trying to shake him awake. He's asleep like he hasn't got a mountain of concerning problems. "JJ," I get a little louder and shake him slightly more vigorously. He still sleeps like a baby.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

With his head adorned with stunning braids, resting in my lap, I can easily reach his nose and pinch it, cutting off his air supply. This wakes JJ up immediately, he sits up quickly, and I only just get out of the way before he smacks my face.

He could've broken my nose.

"What the fuck!" JJ shouts, looking around for what happened. Twisting himself, he locks eyes with me.

"You wouldn't wake up. John B is here." I point to the Twinkie.

"Oh, shit," JJ says, getting up to his feet, stumbling a little, almost eating shit, before getting down the steps slowly and into the damp grass. He's about as easy to distract as a toddler.

I get up after, walking over and standing at the top of the steps, on the wooden verandah. This doesn't feel like a conversation that really includes me. Plus, I'm still considerably stoned so I don't think I'll be useful to this conversation.

John B gets out the baby shit-coloured kombi and walks over to JJ. "Well, look who it is. Nice of you to show up. You gonna spill the beans? You gonna tell me the truth about what's going on?" JJ sounds less than impressed.

John B looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up whole, not one of the three of us seems to have had a good day.

"Look, I know I've been a little shady. And... stretched the truth a little bit."

"Yeah, that's actually called lying," JJ snaps. So glad I'm not in any way, shape or form involved in this conversation. Even as a third party, it's stressful.

John B nods, "Yeah, I know."

"John B, what's going on?" JJ pushes for an answer.

"My dad killed two guys."

I snort. It was just unexpected.

"He was trying to protect me," John B continues.

"No, no, no. Hold on, okay? You serious?" JJ sounds just as shocked as I am. We aren't supposed to be the killers. We're supposed to be the people, people are trying to kill. Trying and failing, might I add.

I should high-five myself, I've done well staying alive. Or would that be jinxing it? Laughing in the face of Death. Practically mooning it.

"Yes. It was the guys from the Coastal Venture. They came here looking for Denmark's diary," John B explains. If only Denmark knew how popular his diary was going to be. He should've sold it, made a quick buck. Not that he really needed those. And I doubt it was as popular back then.