"You will get a sentimental feeling." ♫ Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree • Brenda Lee.
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"Trashy or kinky. Make a choice."
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
A massive hole in the left armpit of my Talking Heads band tee sends my teeth grinding and I spin around, throwing my head back once again. I strip it off and throw it, ash trickling down from the cigarette bobbing between my lips and onto the piles of clothes at my feet. I maul it and claw through the shirts by hand, "Ugly. Stained. Smelly. Extravagant. Boring. Sparkly. Silly. Vulgar. Childish-"
"Are you describing yourself? Ya' drama queen..."
"Maybe it's the pants." I bolt up in realization, inspecting myself in the hotel mirror, "Should I change the pants? Should I do a print on the bottom and a plain on the top?"
"Your plain tops are all dirty, we've been over this."
"Fuck!" I shout again, stumbling to the bar and ripping my cigarette out to take a swig from a mini bottle of gin. I swallow and wipe the dribble off my chin when another idea comes to me, "Wait, wait uh– my legs aren't shaved, but maybe a skirt?"
"Maybe a lobotomy?"
"Piss off," I say to Kristen, and myself, standing back in front of the mirror and smoothing my hands through my hair, "It's Christmas, it's fuckin' holiday season. Maybe somethin' festive? Would she like that? If I went down to the shops and got like a... jumper or something? Y'know, the ones that light up and shit."
"Am I witnessing a breakdown?"
"A-And what about my hair? Does it look nasty this long? Does she hate it? Should I get it cut?"
"I am, I definitely am."
"Should I wear it up or down? Or half up-half down? Is half up-half down too slutty? Oh," A whimper crawls up my throat, "I've lost all m'hair ties."
"Harlow-"
"God, my lips are so chapped they feel like concrete!"
"Are you okay?"
"No!" I explode with nerves again and collapse onto the floor.
I spread my arms, heavily exhaling. My head pounds.
"Jesus Christ, Kris. You're right. Trashy and kinky is all that I actually am. And I'm screwed 'cause of it!" I toss my hands up and they feel so heavy when they land.
"It's not all that you are," She scoffs, "It's just... all that you used to let people see. You were either dressed like a sewer rat or a spice girl, there was no in-between."
"Great, so, this is my price to pay for being a filthy fuckin' freak," I blow out smoke, pinching my brows up tight, "I'm gonna have to show up at Cher's house like some holiday strippergram in a stained miniskirt and some janky shredded top that looks like Swiss cheese. That smells like Swiss cheese..." I squeak, cringing, "Augh! M'so fucked! How am I ever gonna get her back like this?"
