IFHY // T.C. {non-regular updates}

Chapter 1 : Babylon

" Was it worth it?
Would you do it again?
Aren't you tired,
Always making amends?
I know you hate me now,
I betcha hate me now,
Put on the thorn crown,
Crucify me."

"What does that even mean," I mumble to myself as I tried to shove my way through this crowded house party.

It was Salem's 18th Birthday, and you would think that she was turning 21 by the numerous red solos filled with God-knows-what being passed about.

"M-Mars! There you are, my beautiful martian, where the hell you been?"

"What? " I couldn't hardly make out what Salem was saying. Her birthday crown was hanging off her head for dear life, and so was her dress, for that matter. Her eyes were bloodshot red and she could hardly stand, giggling and slurring her words as she tried to holler over the music.

"I said dance with me, Mars!"

Without warning, she snatches my hand and drags me towards the make-shift dance floor. Within seconds we're in the middle of the dance floor, Salem, with her long limbs and spasmodic dancing, and I, short and stumpy, not to mention the only black girl in the function performing (not dancing, performing) the Dougie, rather than twerking.

I can't help but laugh. I'm sure we're quite the sight to see, some black girl attempting to Crip Walk to SZA, and a drunk white girl trying (and failing miserably), to twerk in 6 inch stilettos.

But that's always been us, Salem and Mars, Mars and Salem.

Being unapologetically ourselves, even when everyone else was too scared to do it.

At least, I am. Salem on the other hand, I'm not so sure of anymore.

Ever since she started modeling she's been acting different. Way different. By the third modeling gig, she swapped her converse for Yeezy Boost, sweaters for bomber jackets, and went from a honey blonde to a stormy brunette. Salem molded to the person she always wanted to be.

She wanted to be somebody. She wanted to be wanted.

And no one wanted a gangly girl in dirty overalls, with some loud-mouthed black chick in tow.

So like the beat up converse you keep at the back of your closet, eventually I was tossed away.

But no hard feelings though, right?