A Shitty Love

(1.2)

"That's racist, man," accusation in Ferric's grey eyes. Simone side-eyed him visibly.

"What? I'm not racist! I—" Everett began.

"Simone, was that racist? You're black, you know when something is racist," James said.

"Damnit! I'm not the only person of color here! Claire's Asian."

James was about to consult Claire when she cut over him. "I give two shits if it's racist or not right now! We're talking about these people!"

"LARPing can get pretty intense," Ferric said. Simone wondered what he did in his spare time.

"They're not LARPers, man," said Simone.

"I don't think so either. Look at this." Claire took the metal box by the handle protruding from it and unsheathed a long blade.

"This is probably foil or someth—AHHH!" James' assessment was cut short as he placed a finger on the sharp edge and drew back with a bloody gash on it.

"See? Not LARPers. Also, I swear that one of the guys was knocked out with scars on his face and missing a hand. Now he's fine; not a scratch on him." Claire looked like she found her own words ridiculous.

James tried to stem the blood flow with his shirt. "Are you sure? Were you high when you saw this?"

"No! I know it sounds ridiculous, but they all seem so...."

"Sane?" Simone finished for her. "Psychosis'll do that to ya."

"So you called us to do evaluations on them? Why not just hand them over to the police so they can be evaluated? They could be crazy cultists or something!" Everett was beside himself.

"Physicals, too," Claire looked at Everett and James, who were both psychiatrists. "and I didn't take them to the police because if I was lost and confused in a strange place I would not want to be handed over to people who would just lock me away in a mad house."

Simone poked her head back into the window and observed their patients, of a sort. They were mostly talking amongst themselves, expressions calm but wary. One of them, a short young man with a buzz cut was crouched in front of the flat screen clicking the power button repeatedly while a taller auburn haired girl stood over him in awe as she gnawed on a piece of beef jerky; a blonde guy lankier than either of them stood propped against the wall with his long face in a slightly disinterested expression. Another trio of teens lined the sofa, one small, blonde and male--talking animatedly--; another male of average height and dark haired with intense teal eyes; the other a girl with black hair and delicate features faintly reminiscent of Japanese heritage. On the sofa directly across from the window there sat three adults who looked to be around her own age. A brown haired person with goggles on seemed extremely excited, speaking in an unbroken stream while a younger blonde man stood silently behind their side of the sofa like a sentry. The man sitting next to them was tall and blonde with what Simone could only describe as "fabulous eyebrows", clear blue eyes, and missing half an arm. The last man was almost the shortest of the group. His raven black hair neatly parted into an undercut and his face was absolutely blank. His heavily lidded eyes swept the room critically and the furrow on his brow deepened for a moment. "I like his face" . . . Simone thought idly. Notions like that were not unusual for her; she'd mentally defiled half the men she saw since middle school.

Claire led them into the room and began explaining to their guests what they'd be doing. Simone looked at them up close and tried to cement their faces in her mind. It was soon apparent to her that as she took them in, they were doing the same to her with expressions ranging from respectful interest to frantic curiosity. As Claire went on, they listened to her but their eyes shifted back to Simone again and again. She fought the urge to cover herself and wondered if she had a booger in her nose. "I should've picked a different shirt." This was going to be a long day.