The Arrow And The Concrete Heart

Chapter 1

"Honestly the answer is simple. Love is an illusion, but sex? Sex is a hundred percent real. How many dates have you been on in the last month? And if you say any more than five I swear to God Leena, I will leave this room right now."

"Well, better get your boots on." My cohost stared back at me, tightening her bleached blonde hair in its ponytail. "I went on five in the first two weeks. Then 4 more the second half of the month." She said it so nonchalantly, her voice silkily speaking into her microphone.

"Nine Leena?! You went on nine dates last month?" She shrugged back, not bothering to come up with a response for our listeners, knowing I'd have more to say to fill the silence. We worked well together that way, never stepping on toes, only snapping at each other in fun quippy ways, like this instance. 

"And how many of them ended in sex?" I tossed the question to her, knowing that there were no filters when we were in this room—a small corner of my apartment where we recorded once a week. A mug of tea sat in front of me, another being brought to her nude lips. Sometimes, when the topic was more salacious, the mugs would be replaced by glasses filled to the brim with sinful liquids, but this week was a tame one. For us at least.

"One." She answered, the single syllable hanging in the air for nearly half a minute. We both knew I'd be the one to speak next, so the silence wasn't awkward, more used for a comedic effect. Of course, we spoke about our love lives off the record, but we tried our best to save them for our recording sessions. Ensuring we're being as authentic as possible.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me Aleena. Nine dates and only one fuck session? Who are you, Mother Theresa?" Her tea almost left her mouth at that comment. But she managed to swallow it before firing back. "Okay, Marilyn Monroe. Calm down with your judgy tone, not all of us have Walmart legs."

"Woah, two things, Marilyn Monroe was an icon, not some dime-store floozy, so if we could stop slut-shaming her that'd be great. Besides, you're the Marilyn blondie. I'm more of a Judy Garland. Without the childhood trauma of course." I said, running my hands through my ginger hair. "And Walmart legs? My legs are Target quality, okay?" I snapped my finger into the microphone, emphasizing my points.

"Yes, but Targets aren't open twenty-four hours a day. Also, Marilyn wasn't Asian, if anything I'm a blonde Anna May Wong. Look her up kids, she's a true star. But back to the point at hand you floozy, not everyone in the human population is looking to end their date with sex. Especially if it's an unsuccessful one."

"That's the best way to end it though. A good roll around in the sheets, sneak out at five in the morning, and never text them back. What a way to bid them adieu. Nobody can be mad after an orgasm. It's been scientifically proven." I shrugged, my back hitting my cheap rolling chair as I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

"Okay, I'm going to need you to show me those scientific reports after we finish recording so I can put them in our show notes." Her words fell flatly into the microphone. "No, I will not," I replied, leaning forward just enough to have my own words be caught as well. "But my people will get back to your people."

"We have the same people you ignoramus." Her voice struggled to remain flat as her mouth quirked upwards. She did our editing, so it was clear she didn't want to create more work for herself by editing our laughs, or possibly ruin our authenticity by having to rerecord audio. "Awesome, cut out the middleman. Fuck the patriarchy." Thank God we found some sponsors who didn't mind cussing, otherwise with my mouth she'd never have a day off.

"Okay, back to the point at hand. How many dates have you been on in the last month? Like, actual dates with actual conversations." She stared pointedly at me, her eyeliner making her eyes appear even more piercing than usual. If I hadn't known her for eleven years, I'd be intimidated. Hell, even after eleven years there are still points where she scares me. Which makes it extra ironic that she's the romantic out of the two of us.