Lost in Hollywood

Chocolate Milk

Just looking at the cold, soggy French fries on his plate made Eli nauseous. They were limp, they had no crustiness or taste, and the few he'd managed to swallow had left him disgusted.

They were like noodles masquerading as fries.

He tossed his fork next to the plate and stopped trying. His appetite was gone. He blamed the fact that the fries were shit. They were always shit at the school cafeteria, yet he always kept getting them, maybe because all the other options were shit too, and at least, with the fires, he knew which shit he was getting into.

Though maybe it wasn't about the shitty fries at all.

Maybe it was all the anxiety of this day that had twisted his guts into a tight knot around his stomach, preventing any attempt to swallow a thing.

Or maybe it was the cut on his lip that had reopened this morning and kept bleeding into his mouth. A sharp reminder of Kyler's fist that had smashed into his face.

Or maybe it was the fact that Sky was sitting right next to him at the table, slowly munching her tomato and mozzarella sandwich (made by Nicholas, no doubt). He had been here first. There had been plenty of empty chairs when Sky had arrived a minute later, but she had picked that one. She had voluntarily sat right next to him, so close that he could feel her body heat in the air, calling to him like a fucking sirensong. Her scent of roses and vanilla drifted in the air, covering the sticky, greasy smell of his fries, making him lightheaded.

How was he supposed to swallow a bite when she was right-fucking-there? How was he supposed to eat when his heart was blocking his throat? The memory of Sky taking his hand at the front doors this morning was burning in his stomach, turning everything in him flushed, restless, unfocused.

He glanced around the table, pretending that he had been listening to the conversation, when in fact he hadn't heard a word ever since Sky had sat in the empty seat next to him. It was just Demetri, Yasmine, and Miggy at the table with them, and Yasmine was the one talking now - something about the party, about how her dress had ripped and how she had to get it fixed, then something about having too much to drink, and—

Eli thought about Sky's lips that had tasted like vodka. About the tears streaming down her face. About the soft crunching sound that Kyler's nose made when his fist connected with it, about the blood that sprayed onto his white, misbuttoned shirt—

His stomach clenched; he tasted bile.

Yeah. Maybe the lack of appetite had nothing to do with the fries at all, or even with Sky's presence. Maybe it was about the ketchup squirted all over his fries, which looked so much like blood. Red. Thick. Glistening.

He pushed his plate away, leaned his elbows on the table, and forced himself back into the moment.

"I'm fine," Sky was saying to Yasmine, her words a bit too sharp. "I'm fine. I honestly just want to leave it all behind and not deal with it before I have to. Don't I get to have a break?"

"Sure," Yasmine replied. "I just asked if you were okay. No need to get so defensive."

"I'm not defensive," Sky said, sounding extremely defensive. "Excuse me if I'm not willing to trauma-dump my near-death experience on you guys, while we're all just trying to eat."

"So you're saving that for later?" Yas asked, seemingly unbothered by Sky's tense tone. "Nail salon is as good a place for that as any. Or we can do that at my place, while having some frozen margaritas."

"Forget the trauma-dumping. All I care about is that Kyler's back in jail, and he'll be eating all his meals through a straw for quite a while. So yeah, whenever I feel down, I just think about that and I instantly feel better."