18 03 2011

So this is new:

It wasn’t my fault.
I didn’t choose to do it; I just walked away.
Okay, ran. I ran away.
That would be part of the drama, too, which didn’t think of at the time. Stupid. It wasn’t until Irina clued me in that I even remembered.
You gotta get it out, she said. You’ll be fucking Truman forever if it stays in.
She showed me her scar.
Did it hurt?
No shit. She pulled her shirt back down. It’s, like, a part of you. An organ. Hurt like hell.
She smiled, her thin lips bunched together like the top of a velvet drawstring bag. Totally worth it.
Will you do me?
This time she laughed. Fuck no. It’s tricky, and I don’t want to kill you, you know? Her lips bunched again, and this time her eyes louvered down into slits. Don’t want to get nicked for that.
This time I laughed.
I’ll set you up. Same chick who did me.
You’ll come with?
Come on.
Okay. One condition.
You give it to me?
I wonder what kind of face I gave her, because she stared at me, hard, before putting her hand around my neck.
Don’t worry. Good cause.

Do you want to see my scar?

Don’t know what I’ll do with it; have to wait until the ghostiness passes.

We’ll see.