So, What Pick-Up Line Actually Works On You?

Chapter Ten - You Told Me God Was A Monk Who Lived In A Cave In The Himalayas.

Okay, I know it's shorter than usual, but it just seemed right to end it there. I was going to write more, but you know. You'll see what I mean at the end about that being the right place to end it. And hi. :P

Chapter Ten – You Told Me God Was A Monk Who Lived In A Cave In The Himalayas.

“So, I walked in, and boom! There were purple people in my bathroom! I was like, what the hell are two Ribena berries doing in my house?! Then I realized the purple people were Annie and Rhys. Then I wondered why they were purple. Then I remembered I went in there for a tampon.” Miranda yelped, speaking to Tyson while making extravagant hand gestures.

It was quite endearing actually.

Tyson spat the milk he was drinking out of his mouth, spraying it all over Miranda’s face before falling to the ground laughing.

How attractive.

And embarrassing.

“Milk does the body good. I know this because Annie drinks a gallon a day.” Rhys proclaimed, standing up on the sofa and placing his hands on his imaginary hips.

“Intelligence is catching. I know this because Rhys spends all day with me and uses less and less pick-up lines every hour!” I giggled, joining Rhys in standing on the sofa. I wobbled slightly, and immediately grappled onto Rhys’s waist.

“You see, she can’t keep her hands off me, I’m irresistible.” Rhys nodded at Tyson, puffing his chest out importantly.

“You do realize she called you smart less than a minute ago, right?” Miranda dead-panned, shaking her head in sorrow. Tyson laughed, leaning against Miranda.

We were in mine and Tyson’s house, Cathy had been sitting in the lounge with Sam playing monopoly and sharing shots, according to Miranda. And that was a scary mental image.

A fine layer of dust had settled on all of our belongings, showing how little time we had been spending here recently. This had never really been our home, more a place we just slept, it was a house. Our mother was never here, always jetting off on some fancy business deal. Looking back, we had had an empty childhood since dad died. Leukaemia wasn’t a new disease to us, dad had suffered and died because of it. I could remember eating baked beans on toast for six months just to get him treatment.

And what good had it done him?

It had just made his suffering come earlier.

“…… and right now she’s fantasizing about her and me getting together, I mean, look at her face. She’s in cuckoo land, dreaming about me. It’s my gorgeous chin; it was sculpted by the same god who carved the Pieta!” Was what I caught when I cleared my head of my thoughts.

I laughed unbelievingly at Rhys, “The Pieta was by Michelangelo. Not by some God.” I clarified, shaking my head in pity.

“You see! We can’t let this talent go to waste! Annie, please, please, please accept the god damn treatment I’m offering! Please!  If you do, I won’t remind you of those sexual favours I do believe you owe me.” Rhys begged, sincerity ringing in his voice.

Typical, he brings up treatment for leukaemia and sexual favours all in one statement.

“No. I told you, I’m not going through the hell that treatment is. Now, go fetch me some painkillers like a good little boy.” I ordered, suddenly becoming aware of the dull stabbing pain in the back of my neck.

Rhys dived off the sofa, and sprinted to the kitchen, yelling a wordless song as he went. Miranda turned to me in confusion, a frown playing on her delicate forehead, “What treatment? What is he on about?”