junkyardteen.

❛     fine.    you  really  wanna know ?     ❜

you can  smell it  on her,  soured from the rain.    malt liquor and a whiskey chaser that didn’t burn quite as bad as she anticipated.    she was  used  to it.    swallowing the truth,  bitter pill after bitter pill,  has that effect.    or maybe the  dope  she smoked just made it  seem  that way.

❛     i’m jus’ doin’ the same messed up crap you did.    been gettin’ drunk.    gettin’ high,  just ‘cause i can.    it ain’t like there’s anything  better  t’ do.     ❜

voiced casual,  as though they were talking about something as  menial  as the weather,  but with disparaging and spiteful undertones typical of a  fifteen year old girl  who feels as though he’s casting too much judgement.    she doesn’t care who’s around to hear it.

he  did  know.    maybe he wanted to hear it from her.    in some warped,   ass - backwards way,   he’s trying to say  i get it.    trying to say that he’s been there.    getting drunk,   getting high.    just ‘cause i can.    just to feel something else.    or,   ideally,   nothing at all.    it’s the same,   but  not  the same,   because no two experiences are ever identical,   no two people tread matching paths down this ugly road.    she doesn’t know the half of what he’s done,   and he hopes to god    —    or whoever’s listening    —    that she’ll never have to find out.

a scoff as he takes two steps forward,   car keys still in hand.    this is neither the time nor the place.

‘     you the voice of experience now ?    we’re not doin’ this here,   get in the damn car.     ’