𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

12. do you like me, like me, or just like me? (pt. 2.)

T W E L V E

do you like me, like me, or just like me?

You see, I'm prone to a little something called existential dread. It hits me like a truck and I end up staring at a wall for the better part of an hour rethinking every choice and interaction I have ever had in my entire life.

Why did I tell Georgie that she looked like a really pretty horse?

Why did I call my psychiatrist a raging cunt?

Why didn't I tell Mary that she was a snake for telling the teacher I smoked in the bathroom? Why did I smoke in the bathroom next to the teacher's break room?

When I finally stopped staring at the roof, I brushed my teeth, got changed into the tank top I wore yesterday and got ready to head out the door in the same outfit as yesterday, I am really feeling the existential dread.

I wonder if I can Deliveroo the pill to my door? Avoid any potential rumours. Because if the people of the Outer Banks like doing one thing, it's gossiping. Secretly praying on the downfall of others, just for shits and giggles. Whether you live in The Cut or Figure Eight, everyone loves small-town gossip.

After the dramatic last few days, the last thing I want to hear is a senile drunk man talking about who I'm sleeping with. Or prissy women judging the fact I don't want to pop out babies.

The automatic doors to the old chemist slide open, and an alarm chimes as we walk inside.

JJ walks in just behind me, we have hardly talked. He asked if I was sure it would work, I told him yes, I'm sure it would work. It may not be 100% but according to Googling and my period app, it'll work.

I am a master at the art of googling.

This isn't my usual chemist where I pick up my antidepressants—a conscious choice, the last thing I need is the hot pharmacist seeing my purchase with JJ Maybank in tow. Not a great look, or start to the life I have decided we will have.

An old woman with short greying hair pinned back in a claw clip, sporting old, worn glasses stocks Eucalyptus cough drops on the shelf next to the counter. With the chime, she turns to look at me and smiles, "Is there anything I can help you with?" She asks.

"No, I'm all good." I smile back at her. She looks judgemental, you can just tell, her face is wrinkled in a way you can see the pinched look she gave every person she disagreed with. God forbid anyone does something you wouldn't. She looks like she's the age people get heart conditions, hopefully, a teenager buying emergency contraception won't send her into heart failure.

Surely popping a pill is better than popping out a baby?

She'd judge either way, you can't win with people like her.

I walk down the winding aisles, JJ touches stuff occasionally. A haemorrhoid cream falls from the shelf, hitting the linoleum floors with a resounding smack.

"Shit," he curses. The woman looks over, the pinched look I knew she sported covers her face.

"Would you like me to buy that for you, JJ?" I ask.

"Hay...hem? How the fuck do you say that?" He looks at me, as soon as a word exceeds ten letters he couldn't read it if his life depended on it.

"Haemorrhoid cream," I tell him blankly.

He puts the cream back with a slightly horrified look, "No, I don't need that." He shakes his head, turning to me and walking over, pushing my back gently to get me to leave the cream in our tracks.