Up, Up and Away

14 // cherry wine

chapter 14: cherry wine (hozier)

   Holly is 75% sure she might punch this guy.

   He has been arguing with her for over fifteen minutes about the price of her fixing his fucked-up laptop, and she might just knock out that stuffy beard off his face and send it running away. She might.

   "For the last time, Jamal. It's fifty bucks, not less. If you argue more, I'm raising the price up to seventy-five," she eyes her chipped nails and stuffs them in her jacket.

   The man drools a little bit and says, "Twenty-five, little girl. I'm not paying a penny more."

   "Alright," she says, fed up. She can almost taste the victory that would come from a little girl knocking him out."Fifty and if not, I'll walk out of here for free."

   He resembles a hungry lion and Holly wants to hit him even more, because he has looked in her eyes twice since she has gotten here. For God's sake, she's wearing a normal shirt that covers her chest area but his eyes seem to be glued onto the outline of her breasts.

   "But—" she shuts the laptop screen, "I tell your wife you've been cheating on her with Mrs. Day. Every Thursday night, at ten, when she's off to her night shift and her husband is off to his poker game, you sneak into her apartment and don't come out of there before 7 a.m. Oh, but then her husband would have to know too! Well, I mean, that's if you don't want to pay." She heads to the door and unlocks it, but a thick hand is wrapped around her arm. She easily rips her arm from his grip and looks at the forty year old sell-out with the closest thing she has to pity.

   He places five ten dollar bills in her hand and she nods, "nice doing business with ya. Oh, and your wife already knows. She saw her lipstick on your sweaty-ass shirt. Have fun."

   With that, his said wife exits her bedroom and leans against her bedroom door. Holly waves good-by, swiftly leaves and hesitates between laughing at him and feeling bad for him.

   She decides to laugh at him, because she's been in his wife's shoes. More than once. She has found lipstick marks that weren't hers, text messages that could put an entire family to shame and people in bed with her supposed partner. She played the act so many times that an Oscar should've gone to her. She spits on whoever it is and leaves, head held high. No one ever saw her cry walking home. No one over saw her spread the news across school and witnessed her sabotage that person's entire dating future. No one ever saw her steal chocolate and eat it, while watching parties unfold.

   There's a weird pleasure out of seeing parties; of being the audience. Of course, she loves the thrill of rich, snobby people's alcohol down her throat or making out with the guy who hasn't talked to anyone all night. The difference between both situations is simply observing. Up on the stairs or standing on a chair, she can analyze and understand people. The one who drinks too much and shuts their eyes at every shot either have someone to forget or, rarely, drink for the taste. The one who sticks to beer is the one who's been dragged there. The one who laughs and stands with their friends is the one who drives their asses home. The one who steals the bottle of tequila is the one whose heart's been broken to no return. Her favorite is the newcomer geek who tastes alcohol for the first time and gets drunk to the point that when douche-bags like Dave hit on, Holly steps in and either punches him or tells him to back the fuck off.

   If there's something Holly is sure of, it's the fact that she loves kissing. More is nice, but the innocent kissing swallows her heart. No groping, no tongue; just lips. There's something fascinatingly beautiful about it. It's the discovery climb. You can stop when you want to and continue if you want to. A good kisser is rare. A good kisser whose goal isn't to get you on their bed is only found on impossible occasions; like a wishing star in New York or a sky full of stars in a polluted city.