On The Bright Side

Chapter Five- If You Like It Or Not

//you always get everything that you want I can't explain so I'll flaunt what you've got//

The next week drags more than Willam Belli. I mean, stuff happens- bullshitting my way through homework assignments, staying up late with Beck, trying to work out but not trying very hard- but it feels like the standard seven days have been stretched, somehow. People are losing their goddamn minds over the Waterfront dance. Dominique, in a not-surprising-at-all occurrence, turned down a bunch of guys in the hopes that Thomas Hector will get around to asking her. Which of course he will. Despite being stag at the moment she drags me to a ton of stores at Rogue Valley, and I do my level best to muster excitement for the numerous puffy dresses she parades in front of me. Honestly, they look like bad Say Yes To The Dress rejects, but I bite my tongue. Dominique's the sort of person to pour her heart and soul into the perfect dress. May God have mercy on the person who tries to tell her she looks bad in something.

But I'm preoccupied with my phone, reading a message from Beck while Dominique's busy with some new outfit, and I'm trying to think of a good response.

Beck: otp au where they're both at a con and one's cosplaying Dean and one's cosplaying Castiel and they meet at a panel and start talking

Me: and people keep asking them for destiel pics cause they look so damn cute together

Beck: and one of them has a friend who's with them cosplaying Sam who keeps trying to un-subtly push them together

Me: omg yes a

I can't even finish typing. I snap my head up because Dominique's out of the dressing room, apparently, and she's pissed. She's grabbed my phone in an indignant hand and is scrolling through my messages. My messages with Beck. My private, personal messages with Beck, where we've flirted, and where I've said some not-exactly-nice shit about Dominique.

"Sawyer, who the fuck is this bitch?" she questions, not even trying to disguise her anger.

"No one. Beck. She's..." My stomach drops. "She's no one." I'm sorry, I tell Beck in my head, even though I know it's irrational.

Dominque hasn't stopped scrolling. "Seems like you two are pretty fucking close, huh?" she spits, and it's venom.

"She's just my friend. I'm allowed to have friends. It's not a big deal, okay?" I say. I have to try and diffuse this bomb before it blows everything up. Apparently I've cut the wrong wire, though, because-

"Um, excuse you. It is a big deal." She pretends to sob, then. "Do you even know how dedicated I've been to our friendship? And you just act like I'm some insensitive cunt."

This 'cunt' part, I really want to point out, is true. But I don't say anything. Which is the whole fucking problem, really. Dominique does all the talking and doesn't seem to notice or even particularly care when I'm distant.

"Honestly, whatever. I'm so done with your shit, Sawyer. You know what? You and this Beck whore have fun with each other, you fucking dykes." Lacking a mic, she drops my phone unceremoniously on the dressing room floor, where the screen cracks in a poisonous spiderweb.

She leaves.

And I'm stranded speechless in a sea of horrendous dresses.

There's nothing I can say to make amends with her, and to be perfectly honest, all I can feel is relief.