𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

73. born again virgin realness.

S E V E N T Y - T H R E E
born again virgin realness.

Sitting with Cleo, Nelly and Pope after what happened half an hour ago is painful.

Cleo and Nelly keep looking at each other, then at JJ and me, then laughing, all while Pope avoids looking at me altogether. I want the ground to swallow me whole. When JJ tried to sit next to me, I put space between us. As JJ once said: leave room for The Lord. He gave me a look that was really not impressed. I gave him a look that said I'd rather die than ever be seen near him again. But then he sat closer and had his arm stretched behind my head on the sofa, his finger ran through my hair. I had put it back up quickly after we got walked in on.

It feels so good, the prickle as the hairs pull at my scalp.

The beer sitting in my hand is my second. I hate beer. But I need something to make me feel less embarrassed, and this is doing the trick.

Nelly looks up from what she's doing and winks at me. I can feel my face heat up.

I know they know JJ and I don't just hold hands and soul-gaze, but them seeing a fraction of it makes my soul wither away a little. Somehow, I've made out with Nelly and her knowing I kiss other people is still embarrassing. She knows the ins and outs of JJ and my relationship—honestly, half the island does. I mean, I've been caught buying Plan B, there's only one thing that's for.

I hand the rest of my drink to JJ. I can't bring myself to drink the last bit. The shit tastes awful. I'm fully convinced people pretend to like them to seem macho.

He takes the glass and downs the last bits, then sets it on the ground beside us.

His hands go back to playing with my hair when he leans back again. Cleo, Nelly and Pope play a card game on the table; they do their own thing. Occupied. They wouldn't even notice if we left. Not that I want to leave. I'm content here. Perfectly content.

I shift where I'm sitting, knitting my hands together, my thumbs play with each other.

Think about dead relatives. About my judgmental grandma who called me a whore for wearing shorts at seven. Think about my uncle, who was nice until the stroke. Think about my cousin's dog, who got hit by a car. Don't think about JJ. Think about JJ if he were a relative– actually, stop thinking about that.

"Whatcha thinking about, Mabel?" JJ asks, leaning in a little. I can feel his words against the sensitive skin on my neck.

Evil man. All men are evil.

He knows what he's doing, not that it's working. I'm fine. Just sitting here, watching Pope, Nelly, and Cleo play a game I tried following, but quickly got lost. I think Nelly is winning. She looks pleased with herself. But that may just be because she keeps looking at me and making me want to die.

She's mean. I don't like her.

That's a lie. But she is mean right now.

"My cousin's dog that got hit by a car. They had a funeral for it, I think the dog's name was David. An awful name, in my humble opinion," I tell him.

"Anything else?" He asks.

"My gran who called me a whore for some shorts I wore. I think I was seven. She was a cunt. Through and through," I mumble, losing confidence in my words. I'm not fooling anyone.

"Anything else?"

"My Uncle Steve, he was nice, then he had a stroke, and he was a dickhead. He died like a year ago, it was pretty sad. He lived I'm Alaska, we went over. Pretty state. Moose are really big, I didn't expect that," I ramble a little.