HIS HUMAN LUNA - A REWRITTEN VERSION

CHAPTER II

Sesil Cohen

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I MIGHT JUST GET FUCKED SIDEWAYS with the dress Mara has put me into. Going in the nude would've probably saved us a great deal of time.

I swear, I just keep fooling myself by thinking that I have a choice in whatever this girl decides.

She was already fully weaponized when I came back to our apartment at ten pm sharp, with the skimpy little excuse of a dress that I'm now wearing and with no other options I could choose from. Mara has a taste⸻hookers-wear taste⸻but whatever little options I could've tolerated, she made sure to make unavailable. So unless I was ready to crash a club in my jeans, which I would've totally gone for if Mara didn't threaten to throw a fit, I just had to take what she dealt.

Mara, Tristen, and I share an apartment in downtown Brooklyn, close to campus. She and Tristen pay eighty percent of the rent, seeing that they aren't struggling for cash as I am, while I do the biggest share of the housekeeping, the cooking, and all in all, a full-time job of babysitting grown-up toddlers.

Mara parks the car in front of a coffee shop, waiting for Tristen to kiss his buddies goodnight and join us. Dude always has a long queue of people to meet and places to go. He and Mara are so social; it is almost revolting. He finally climbs into the backseat and is soon thrusting his head between both of our seats. He whistles when he gets a good look at me and because I know exactly what he is being a ready teapot for, I grant him a one mighty eyes-roll.

I've left my coat open because of the heater in the car and from his angle, I'm sure he can spy all the way to the bottom of my navel.

"You look stunning, sweetheart. Although, I doubt your tits are going to stay inside that dress for the rest of the night."

"The same can be said about your junk, but I'll have to second that."

The dress is scandalous. By my terms at least. It is made of the kind of material that sticks to the body like a second skin, barely touches my mid-tight, and the deep V-neck almost reaches my belly button. Leastwise (because optimism saves us from throwing ourselves from the top of the nearest building), it is my favorite color: olive green.

"A hundred bucks she is finally going to get some. God knows that poor vagina is ready to take legal action," Mara says, rotating her glances between the road and me. She is proud of her work. I may always let her drag me into her unending raggers (perks of being besties with a girl who's a drama major and a social butterfly to the marrow of her bones), but I rarely let her doll me up.

Mara is a felon-in-the-making project. Without my watchful eyes, she may very well commit a grave offense and spend the rest of her night in a tiny cell. After all, it wouldn't be without precedent. We still cackle our drunk asses to sleep on Beers and S'mores nights every time we recall her getting arrested for exiting a shop with an unpaid cheap bottle of tequila because she was too shit-faced to recall where she left her purse.

Tis I, batman on duty in Gotham City, who'd gone out at two in the eff'ing morning to bail her out that night, only to find out that her dad was already there because the planet would run out of oxygen before it ran out of snitches. As one would assume, he threw a colossal fit. I was kind of concerned our next stop would be the hospital because he damn near busted an artery.

Tristen flashes me a set of pearly white teeth. He is quite the looker himself. Light brown skin, dark green eyes, and the athletic body of a committed jock that being on the basketball team helped in honing. "You're on."

I roll my eyes. "You poor souls. To have a life so empty you're passing the time by betting on me getting railed or not."

It is not like I'm putting my lady bits on hold. If anything that legal action might come from my vibrator instead. On some days, the poor thing becomes so overworked I'm convinced it'll someday write me a strong-worded email, demanding a salary raise. And it is not like I have anything against Sex. Sex is great. But sex, no matter how casual it is, also demands that one be vulnerable enough to let another person in.