"Ugh, I thought that y'all were rich, like we would be going to Spain and having hella vacations. Can you even co-sign for my student loan, or an apartment for me?"
Justin sounds so entitled and lately, I can't tell if he is joking or being completely serious, but I have a bad habit of giving everyone the benefit of the doubt until they usually (99% of the time) egregiously and grievously betray me in the worst possible way.
"Sorry you're so disappointed," I try to laugh it off. I think about how my dad actually asked my mom if we should co-sign for Justin's art school student loan, and both of us said no, as he admitted that he isn't actually interested in obtaining a degree, especially from an art school because he doesn't do any type of art, but he just wants to live on his own and tell everyone that he is in college.
"I'm serious!!! I thought that we would be taking at least one vacation a year... and when the fuck will the dryer and refrigerator be fixed?" He sounds incredibly indignant, like he was tricked into living here.
I roll my eyes and snap, "So, find a rich family to stay with!" It does suck how our refrigerator doesn't work - only the freezer works, so everything in the refrigerator is covered with a layer of frost, and I hate how the harshness of the laundromat keeps ruining my clothes by making them look incredibly faded and it pills the fabrics in the most unattractive way. "Ugh, just put all of your clothes in this trash bag, and let's go to the laundromat again," I sigh.
The laundromat is absolutely frigid. The heat isn't on at all, because the owner doesn't want to attract the homeless in this already sketchy neighborhood that we live in, or at least that is the reason that he gave my dad. My dad drops off Justin and I, and I swear that it is colder in this laundromat than it is outside.
"GODDAMN, IT IS SO FUCKING COLD! Damn, I wish that I found another house to live in!" Justin starts complaining, and I start laughing hysterically, because there is nothing else to do as neither of us have cell phone service at the shop, and it is freezing cold.
The owner pops his head up from around the corner, in which there is a locked back room with a heater, to say, "OH, sorry, guys! Just put the A/C on, can't have those hooligans running around in my shop, again. You know how it is!" Justin and I comically groan at the exact same time.
It is literally 15 degrees outside, and the A/C is blasting in this shop. We sit on the hard bench, hug our knees and lean against each other to try to keep warm somehow. I swear that my teeth start chattering. "Skye... Skye. I feel like I'm in the fucking Titanic. When will your dad be here, I mean, damn!!!" I feel like I'm zoning out, just staring into nothingness, and lamenting about how I hate living in Maryland. It isn't terrible in the summer, back when I was able to swim outdoors, enjoy a blue raspberry or mango pineapple snowcone while sitting on those plastic pool chairs in the warm sunlight, go to the beach, or the mall to avoid my hot and humid house sans air-conditioning, but every other season sucks. It's official. I love summer. I want to live in California, in which it is summer every single day.
"Skye? Skye?! When can we leave?!" I break out of my daydream, and drone, "Like 2 hours from now..." Justin wails and howls so loudly that every single person in the shop takes one look at us and promptly leaves their clothes, presumably to go to the warm convenience store next door. The last time we tried that, we were kicked out for not buying anything. I tap on my phone, willing it to get at least one bar of service. Tap tap tap. "Can't you just buy a new refrigerator and washer and dryer?!" Justin whines. I mutter, "Can you buy them for us?" Tap tap tap. Yes! I got one bar. I text Damien, what are you doing?, and wait.
Five minutes later, but it feels like five hours due to the cold, Damien replies, "nothing, just laying on my bed, playing guitar." I text back, "Ooh, what are you playing? We're stuck at the laundromat since the dryer is still broken." He replies, "your dryer is broken?" Ugh. I love talking to Damien, but the amount of drugs and alcohol that he has blithely consumed to fry his brain results in runaround, frustrating conversations, in which he doesn't ever answer my questions, despite how simple they are, nor does he remember anything that I have told him, ever before. His memory just seems completely shot, which is unfortunate, because he seems intelligent besides that. "Yeah... hopefully, my dad can replace it in a couple of months, or so," I reply. At first, I liked how Damien never brought up my future, but now it nags at me that maybe he doesn't actually care about me nor does he know me, and what do we really have to talk about? It is fun to hang out with him, most of the time, and I feel like I'm in an ethereal dream when I'm kissing him, but he is so secretive. He wants me to fully answer his questions and accept that he will be completely closed off, as he never answers any of mine. Damien asks me, "Do you want to get breakfast tomorrow?" My treacherous heart speeds up at the thought of seeing him again so soon, even though I hate waking up, and breakfast really isn't my thing, unless it's served at 1 or 2 PM, maybe 11:30 AM at the earliest.
It feels bleakly depressing to be at Qdabo this early in the morning, but I don't voice my opinion, as usual. "Why are we at Qdabo?" I hope that he can at least answer this question, today. He looks shifty and doesn't meet my eyes when he mumbles, "Um, I used to go here with my ex-girlfriend all of the time. Are you not a morning person? I love having eggs on my burrito!" His ex-girlfriend, again? Why is he so obsessed with her, ugh. "Eggs - on your burrito? That sounds so weird!" I sound indignantly inquisitive. "Well, what were you expecting to eat here this early?" He smirks.
"Ugh, I don't know! You asked me to come here. I hate the term 'morning person,' as if everyone that wakes up early feels so superior to everyone else, and anyone that naturally wakes up at dawn to work out always feels the need to tell someone else about it," I complain. "Well, I guess that answers my question," he says in an amused, albeit good-natured tone. "The nighttime is just so much better... anything can happen! It is magical. There's no sunlight blinding you, but you can stare at the stars all you want... and it feels like life is full of possibilities. And mystery. You could wear anything! Like smoky eyes, and no one could judge you," I sound fantastical.
"Smoky eyes, huh? What color would look good on me?" He smirks his trademark mischievous, toothless grin. "Green. Olive green. And I meant myself," I smile.
"Let's go to a party, tonight."
"Another party?" I ask in my syrupy, sarcastic voice.
"Another party at Chris's," he smirks and takes a larger bite of his burrito. I sip on my orange juice.
"Don't you get tired of partying?"
"No."
Later that night, Damien opens the door to his apartment, and I burst out laughing, "OMG!" His jaw drops and whines, "Goddammit, Skye, it's not funny, this is my only clean shirt, and why are we matching?!" He looks over my red and black checkered plaid flannel button down shirt, accented with a black faux leather corseted three-strap waist belt, and slams the door in my face, with me still giggling. Justin texts me from my car, "what's taking so damn long, damn!"
Damien opens the door and he is wearing a different green and black checkered plaid shirt now. "You sure that you don't have a corset belt and UGGs to match with me further?! You could put the red and black one back on," I cackle. "Very funny, Skye," he gives me his mischievous grin.
As I'm explaining what happened to Justin in the car and backing out of the tight parking space, I accidentally back into a shiny silver, new BMW. There is so much snow and ice, as well as black ice, surrounding my dad's Camry. My heart sinks.
Justin yells, "Ugh, what was that?! Did your car slide into something?!"
Damien barely glances up from his phone, the bright display illuminating his unconcerned face, to flatly say, "Oh."
Justin dramatically rolls his eyes, purses his lips, and gives me a look like, "Really? You had to pick this unhelpful stoner, alcoholic, and so not eloquent boy to be in love with?" "Just give me a minute, guys, I need to check the damage," and I open the door.
I gingerly try to step around the black ice, because I know that my short black UGGs (yes, the ones with the vomit-filled soles) have a slippery outsole, but I love how warm they are on the inside. "UHHH!" I yell.
Suddenly, I have completely lost my balance, slipped on a large stretch of black ice, and I'm nearly underneath the car. "JUSTIN! DAMIEN! I've... LITERALLY FALLEN, AND I CAN'T GET UP, ugh!" I laugh, then I start to panic. Every time I try to use my elbows, I slip completely back down, and I really cannot get upright on my own. The cold is seeping into me and I'm scraping at the dirty gravel and snow, just trying to gain a hold on my balance to upright myself.
"JUSTIN! JUSTIN!!!!!!" I scream at the top of my lungs, and finally, he opens the door, and runs towards me, nearly sliding and falling himself, "OMG, SKYE, I'M SO SORRY, the music was too loud, and, omg... Damien, can you help me?! This seems really slippery..."
Damien doesn't even exit the car nor does he look back from the backseat to even see what happened, or what is taking so long. "Skye, that boy in that car does not give a fuck about you, and I hope that you can finally see that now," Justin gently and softly but sternly says to me, in a low, quiet and resigned voice. "I know... I know," I blink back tears. My back is killing me. I feel like I pulled something, and I feel grimy. Justin pulls and hoists me back onto my own feet, and holds me steady. I give him a grateful look, choking on my unshed tears, and he says, "I know. You're welcome." I hold onto his hand, and enter the car from the passenger side, climbing over to my seat, and then Justin jumps in. "Damien, I fell on the black ice... and I was calling for both of you. I couldn't get back up... and you didn't... do... anything?" I sound curious and resigned yet hopeful that there is some reasonable explanation for this.
"Oh... I found out where my wallet is. That's what I was trying to do on my phone-"
Justin guffaws and interrupts him, brashly, "Your damn wallet?! That is what was more important than Skye?! Than Skye's well-being?! What if another driver didn't see her, or if their car slid towards her, and hit her?! Not to mention if she needed immediate medical attention if she CRACKED HER GODDAMN SKULL OPEN-"
I feel grateful to have Justin as a friend, even if we fight, or have confusing fake arguments, with each other a lot.
Damien continues nonplussed and apathetic as ever, "Um, my wallet? It was missing..."
Justin loudly groans, "UGHHHHH," and mutters lowly to himself, "Goddamm stoner alcoholic, smelling like ass..."
"So, who stole, I mean, had your wallet?" I have to know.
Damien looks delighted. "Travi and Toni!"
That was fucking obvious, I think to myself, and Justin rolls his eyes again, as he came to the same conclusion that I did, a while ago, from knowing Toni.
"Oh, they didn't steal it! They just found it! They sent me a picture, they've got about thirty other wallets that they have found, too!" Damien sounds so blissfully happy that I feel like life is a joke, and I wish that I had never come here.
I lean my aching head against the cold glass of the window and sigh. Justin asks me, concerned, "Skye, do you want me to drive us home?" "No... let's... let's go to the party. I don't feel like going home." I sound depressed and resigned; a fragment of who I used to be - someone full of light, hopefulness, happiness, and positivity. "A party?! Is that really a good idea?" Justin looks bewildered, and he glances back at Damien.
We go to the party. It is boring as always. As always, I make out with Damien and dance a bit with Justin. Damien drinks and smokes past the point of excess, as always. When I get home, I shower off the grime and bits of gravel that are stuck in my curly hair, and as always, I'm past the point of tears and I just feel exhausted as I go to sleep.