"I love you."
"No you don't."
His head's resting on her lap. Her fingers are running through his over grown mohawk in a soothing manner, trying to make sure he doesn't throw up again. She was prepared this time with the bucket. Her dress wasn't in good condition, however.
"Yes, I do," he says to her. "I always have."
"No one loves me."
"I'm the exception."
She shakes her head at this, hating that he suddenly seems to get all chattery when he's trying to come off that drunken state of his.
"I saw a documentary on people who drowned in their own vomit while they were sleeping and drunk."
"You still love me."
"I'm concerned. You're home alone. Your mother doesn't deserve to come home and find you dead from alcohol vomit."
She runs her fingers through his hair again, hoping he could fall asleep soon enough.
"You made me do this."
"You ruined my life."
Grabbing her hand, he rests it atop his heart. He looks up at her, green eyes on green.
"It's not real. You took my real one years ago and never gave it back."
"That was corny."
Sitting him up, she kicks her shoes off and lies down on the couch. He gets comfortable alongside her, legs tangled with one another. His head's tucked into the crook of her neck as she wraps her arm around him.
"You love me."
"Only because you loved me first."