Fifty Shades of Friar

The Interview

I'm so used to being used
So I love when you call unexpected
'cause I hate when the moment's expected
So I'ma care for you, you, you
I'ma care for you, you, you, you, yeah
'cause girl you're perfect
You're always worth it
And you deserve it
The way you work it
'cause girl you earned it, yeah
Girl you earned it, yeah

- Earned it; The Weeknd
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"Chance encounters are what keeps us going."

- Haruki Murakami
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I was going to kill her.

I want to kill her so bad. And revive her later on just to kill her again.

This is the worst thing I've ever done for her. And I've done a lot of dumb stuff for her in the past. Most of those things have given me detention and a couple of suspensions (even though those never bothered me) but it is the thought I put into my tricks that counts. So she better be fully grateful for this because this is the biggest torment for me yet.

I felt out of place by standing here in this parking lot, scowling at myself in frustration in the rearview mirror as I tried to comb my hair into a proper state and constantly checked my makeup for any smudges. Damn, my lipstick looks too dark now that I took a better look at it. I quickly used a napkin from the takeout I ate on the way here and wiped the awfully deep red from my lips. I gave up on my hair. It was a whirlwind of tangled curls and opted to pulled it back in a neat ponytail.

Giving myself another look in the mirror, I let out an irritated moan and rolled my eyes at the pathetic sight of a girl trying to perfect her look to impress a stranger I never heard of until the day before. It wasn't like I am a bombshell or anything. I was just another pale, blue-eyed blonde who grew up from the streets and often mistaken for a hooker from the red light district all because people, men in general, tend to think of me as another Paris Hilton. How stereotypical of them.

Glancing outside of the window, I could see the ridiculously tall, towering building made out of polished glass and the parking lot was filled with new shiny models of cars that are trending for the year. My glossy yet beat-up 67' Chevrolet Impala stood out like a sore thumb among them, making me more uncomfortable with the unwanted attention I am getting from men in suits and women in blazers. I am completely out of my element.

I let out a low groan as I slumped back into my seat, tapping on the steering wheel with my black-painted nails, hoping that the deeper I shrink down, the more impossible it would be for people to spot me. It usually works when I'm caught in a busy crowd. Being only five foot gives an amazing advantage of invisibility.

I hate you, Riley, I thought bitterly.

Riley Eleanor Matthews; she is my best friend, my only friend in my life, and is also my roommate. I met her a couple of day after my fifth birthday. The way we met was by far the most unbelievable way told because it is not everyday you tell people you encountered your soul friend by climbing through her window when you heard her singing and looking like the more rarest of innocence to be found in a horrid world like today. Every time we tell people how we met, we'd leave them speechless because it is absurd but I know it is not due to the story but because of who she and I are.

You see, I grew up in a rough neighborhood in Greenwich Village. The kind where there are real hookers who wait at the corners of the street are living in the apartment room above yours and you could hear their business overnight, where the only police department within the radius are on a payroll with the gangs who own the territory, where kids are already learning to roll up a joint, and where pedophiles hide in to avoid the society that has ridiculed them through media. I was part of it all, a witness to the sinful things at such a young age, and I gained my own reputation in the midst of it all.