viii. detective rue

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Eight: detective rue

Eight: detective rue

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Rue's pov

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Rue's pov

People are always telling me about great TV shows. How I just have to watch this show. But the truth is, I don't want good TV. I don't want a novel, or some slow burn, or anything that feels like work. That's why I love reality TV. It's funny, it's dramatic, and I can focus on it. It's pure, effortless entertainment.

I want to lay down one moment and then look around the next and realize I have watched 22 straight hours of Love Island over a two-day period - and yearn for more. - (MUSIC PLAYS ON COMPUTER SCREEN) Some people may find that depressing. I don't. It is, however, a good way to measure depression. Because when reality TV begins to feel like work, like, final season of Mad Men work, you know you're depressed. Like, haven't got out of bed to pee in 24 hours depressed.

Veronica felt the same way about 80s movies. Which is why she spent her 24 hours rewatching Heathers, listening to the musical, and putting together looks.

The thought of having to stand up, exert 172 muscles each step for 35 feet, just so I can sit on cold porcelain and piss out toxins over and over again for the rest of my life makes the whole concept of living feel like one long, sadistic joke. But the absolute worst part of depression is that even though you know you're depressed, you're unable to stop yourself from getting worse. But I wasn't the only one feeling down.

Jules' dad knocked on her door. "Jules? What's wrong?"

"I'm sick."

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

=

There was banging on Veronica's bedroom door. She locked it anticipating Nate would come back with some bullshit apology. She refused to go to school after Halloween. "I know you're here, Veronica! Don't make me break down this fucking door!"

"Alright wait a second." A few seconds later, she opened the door. "Hi."

"Where were you?"

Candy Store, Nate Jacobs & Maddy PerezDove le storie prendono vita. Scoprilo ora