QWERTY

[14] - Oct. 21

/Vic's iPhone/

6:49pm

. . .

(Val is calling)

. . .

"Hey, where are you?"

"At home, why? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. Listen, I'm gonna turn on Rian's voice recorder app on his phone so we can hear Luce and him talking."

"What? You're insane. That's a private conversation."

"Luce is gonna tell him about  our parents. What if he's an asshole about it?"

"You always think everyone's always gonna be an asshole about everything."

"Whether you listen with me or not won't change the fact that I'm gonna do it anyway, so if you really don't want to, I'll just--"

"No. Don't hang up. Ugh. You've infected me with your stalker tendencies."

"I do not have stalker tendencies."

"Whatever. Just turn his stupid app on with your stolen CIA-level software."

*scoff* "says the one who is also going to eavesdrop with me."

"So you admit you're stalking?"

"I said eavesdropping. Stalking indicates a higher level of eavesdropping. Eavesdropping is juvenile."

"So you admit you're--"

"Holy lord, yes, I'm juvenile. But I'm almost eighteen, geez. You gotta shrink that I'm-an-adult-now ego of yours down. It's annoying."

"Whatever, kid."

"I'm ignoring that." 

"Mmhmm."

"Okay, I'm turning it on. Hopefully he won't notice. Be quiet now, will you?"

" --want to tell me? Come on, Luce."

"I thought you came over to spend time with me, not interrogate me."

"I'm not interrogating you, I'm just-- I'm worried, okay?"

"Don't be, I'm fine."

*groan* "Luce, please. Tell me what's up. You can trust me."

"... I don't know."

"You don't trust me?"

"No, it's not that... I'm just scared."

"You don't have to be--"

"Oh my god, Luce, just tell him."

"Shut up, Val."

"okay, okay," *sigh* "my--my dad is kind of...he's cheating on my mom. A lot. Practically every day. And she knows."

"She knows?"

"Yeah. Dad was always bringing one-nighters home and one day she found out. She cried and everything. Now she just kicks the women out like they're some mangy dog he asked to keep."

"Oh. Crap."

"Yeah."

*a few seconds of silence*

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was scared you'd be freaked out or something. I didn't want to dump my personal shit on you. I still don't."

"Hey, come on. You're not dumping anything on me. Now I can, like, boyfriend-comfort you, right?"

*light laugh* "Yeah. Thanks."

"Sure. So, um... you wanna make out?"

"Prick."

"Val."

"--re impossible. I think I could tell you practically anything and you'd wave it off and just ask to make out."

"Well, I mean, we haven't hung out in two weeks, you know, so I was just--"

"Shut up and come here, you idiot."

"Gladly--"

"Ew, gross, no."

"Haha! I knew you'd turn it off."

"Well, I'm not going to listen to my own freakin' sister making out. Especially with Douchebag."

"That nickname isn't even accurate. I mean, he's not a bad guy."

"That's what he wants you to believe."

"You're delusional, but whatever."

"Oh, if I had a dollar for every time you said that word."

"Ha. Ha. Goodbye."

"Bye, Vicky wicky!"

"Shut. Up."

. . .

(Call ended)

. . .