CASUAL AFFAIR; brendon urie

Chapter Twenty-Three

It seemed, judging by how fierce the sun was beating down, and the layer of perspiration already covering my skin, that I had lousy timing.

And if the sun or heat-stroke didn't kill me first, Jessa and Tommy's whining surely would.

"This is unholy." Tommy wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He shook the bucket he held by the flimsy metal handle and the contents clanked. "Seriously, Flo? Today? To-fucking-day? I'm gonna cook." Jessa made a grunt noise in way of agreement, lifting her shirt up and flapping it up and down to air herself.

She herself was nursing a stinking hangover and had that haunted I did things last night that I probably shouldn't have done look that somewhat crippled her ability to make more fuss. Was I counting it as a blessing? A little.

Was I surprised, really, that she had probably gone straight to Jack, and they'd probably had sex? Not a whole lot. Jessa rarely did much to surprise me these days.

I had a hickey on my inner thigh that said I should really quit judging her.

I wanted nothing more than to agree with Tommy, and call it quits - the roof was always gonna be there, and it was still gonna be chockfull of weeds when I would choose to come back to it... I walked over to the far end, and set the bucket down, crouching, pulling the little weed hacker I'd stuck in my waistband out. I'd committed. I was gonna put myself through hell because at the end of it, I'd feel I'd achieved something.

"As a wise man once said," I wrapped my fist around the first major weed I could see and put the blade in the crack it grew out of, ready to drag and yank the son of a bitch out. "Nut up, or shut up."

Tommy's bucket clanged to the ground, not that far from me, and I could see him sit on his knees, from the corner of my eye, his own weed hacker poised uncertainly in his hand. Ok. He looked pretty clumsy with it. As long as there were no fingers accidentally cut off or anything ... "It's not even fair that you quoted Zombieland there."

I grabbed a fistful of the torn leaves and dumped them in the bucket, that weird plant-y smell that I can only describe as having a green scent hitting my nose. I worked some more roots up, dumped them in the bucket, before I looked behind me, resting my chin on my shoulder, as I watched Jessa. Jessa standing there, swaying slightly, one arm bent at the crook where the bucket hung, her other hand on the hip pocket of her shorts, where her phone was tucked away. Poor soul was holding out on that phone call, the one he promised her, probably as she was leaving, a kiss on her forehead as a promise. Though she would never admit to any of that. Her white wayfarer ray ban sunglasses had started to slide down her nose.

"Jessa." I said softly, coaxing.

I had to hand it to her. She brushed off those weird moments like a pro. She removed her hand from her pocket, pushed her sunglasses up, and sauntered over to Tommy, clacking the bucket on the side of his head accidentally on purpose, before going a little away from him, and dropping herself down, cross-legged, wielding a trowel. All like it was nothing.

Aw, hell. Florrie, Florrie, quite contrary. Truer than I'd let myself believe before. No. Not contrary. Hypocritical was more apt.

God, I needed to get out of my own head. Ignore the fact that the last time I'd communicated with Brendon was two days ago. The last time we'd spoke was three days ago, and the last time I'd seen him in person was five days ago, almost six...

I closed my eyes and pressed the back of my hand to my forehead. Was it too hot? I feel too hot. I think I might pass out. Wait. Am I being too dramatic? I'm being too dramatic. The stink of the hacked plant greens tickled my nose. I wrinkled it, and sneezed. Then I sneezed again.