Hey! Sorry for the continual slow updates- school is actually killing me, and life is actually killing me, and the point here is that it's pretty difficult to crank out quality work in short periods of time while you're spending all your time dodging the metaphorical bullets of quarter exams. Don't worry, I very much intend to finish this- it's honestly the most impressive thing I've ever written and I'm not sure if I want to give that up yet.

Anyways.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Swearing, cheating, emotional abuse, mentions of violence.

Fart Logic

I hate the music on my radio.

Because the music on my radio makes me think of Lapis Lazuli, and when I think of Lapis Lazuli, I remember that she's ditching me for Pearl right now, and I realize that she's probably making out with her and putting me out of her mind like the due dates for her math homework. This thought, if you want some statistics on my current mental state, is 2/3's annoying and 1/3 infuriating.

I mean, the connotations on those adjectives could've been much more vicious had she not possessed the decency to at least call and tell me that she had an 'emergency swim meet two towns over' to attend.

"Peridot, oh my god, I'm so sorry. Some stupid swim thing just came up- I'm gonna be out of town all day. Honestly, I'm so pissed because like, I would've enjoyed a day's notice but, you know, whatever, right?" She had rambled as soon as I answered the phone. I imagined her faking an exasperated expression while talking to keep her tone in character.

"So…"

"I can't hang out today," Lapis concluded. "I'm really sorry, Peri. Maybe another time?"

"I can drive you if you want," I offered despite already knowing the answer.

"Nah, it's two cities over- I don't want you to waste your gas. The bus'll take me, don't worry."

"…Yeah. Sounds good. We can hang out another time then."

"Thanks. You're the best, Peridot." Lapis had beamed, even going so far as to fake a sigh of relief.

"Yeah, whatever. Bye." I disconnected and tossed the house phone onto my desk carelessly. I hadn't bothered with saying an 'I love you' because I was an affair, not her girlfriend, and it seemed a tad improper to say it in that case.

She probably wouldn't say it back anyways. And really, there's no point in admitting that you love somebody if all you're going to get in return is a noncommittal 'you too'.

Fast forward an hour- in which time I have retrogressed from my swivel seat to the carpet and have achieved very little else. I'm propped up against my bed frame, letting Alduin make himself comfortable on my heat-emitting meat sack of a body. Without any real instant distractions to keep my mind occupied, I relent to switching on the radio on my digital alarm clock and scoffing at every pre-recorded guitar solo because I know Lapis can play it better.

The Eagles croon out another round of Hotel California and I bury myself into the warmth of an old gray hoodie. The fabric is loose on me and has been bathed in years of pumpkin spice and autumn leaves- so much so that it smells of a Yankee Candle store. I monotonously stroke Alduin's soft scales, letting myself get lost in the texture of his skin against the pads of my fingertips.

He wriggles a bit in my arms to expose a more sensitive part of his body, curling around my shoulders and lodging his head into the crook of my neck. I know you're really not supposed to let any kind of snake (even domesticated babies like Alduin) near your most precious oxygen vessel, but to be honest, if he decided to spontaneously constrict himself around my throat, I don't think I'd protest.

I remember pretending to talk to him when I was young and friendless, imagining that he could understand me. I had given him a voice, too- it was a low raspy drawl that sounded constantly as if he were on the verge of falling asleep.

I stare at him wistfully. I know that he's far more accustomed to dealing with the linear issues of children ("My swing got stolen again!" "This clod called me gay 'cuz I wouldn't kiss him- what's that even mean?" "etc. etc."), but because he had always given me sound advice in the past, I decide that I'm desperate enough to try and consult him again six years later.

"What's wrong?" he hisses suddenly, giving me an almost quizzical look. His voice is just how I remember it, except maybe a little deeper.

I speak with him telepathically because I'm not sure how to explain having a one-sided conversation with my snake should my dad walk in.

"Lapis was supposed to hang out with me today, but she ditched me for Pearl instead," I transmit, scowling and making myself imagine that he understands. "I mean, it's not like I care, but-,"

"You're jealous. You think she likes Pearl more," Alduin states, slithering across my chest and into my lap. Our gazes catch, and because he has the same eye-locking compulsion that I do, his black beady eyes stay trained on mine.

"Not exactly, I-,"

"Peridot, I am a figment of your imagination. You literally can't lie to me," Alduin huffs.

"You know, I liked you better when I was twelve."

"I liked you better when you were twelve, too. You weren't so whiny."

I flash my tongue, and he parrots me. So far, attempting to resolve my relationship problems by pretending to talk to my pet snake has failed. I can't possibly imagine why.

I reluctantly submit to his accusations, casting an ashamed glance at my socks. "Okay, so maybe I'm a little jealous." I admit, feeling my chest swell like it's filling itself with helium.

"I see where you're coming from. Pearl is pretty. And smart. And she probably doesn't insult Lapis relentlessly. What were we talking about again?" Alduin blinks, and I suddenly receive great insight on why snakes should not pursue professions in therapy.

"What the fuck, Al? Do you hate me or something?" I ask, gagging from the bitterness on my tongue. I cross my arms and retract my hand from his back. He bumps my arms with his nose a few times, ultimately relenting and letting his chin fall on me.

"Considering I'm a being of your imagination, I personally think the more appropriate question is 'do you hate yourself?'"

"I-I… No," I say, and for once I really mean it.

"Really? Wow, you've got some willpower, bud."

"You're not very helpful," I grumble, rolling my eyes.

"I am a snake with no concept of human relationships," he counters in a deadpan that could rival mine.

"That's fair."

"Also," he adds, sticking his tongue out, "you forgot to feed me. It's Saturday and I'm starving to death. Peridot, I think I see a white light. Am I dying?"

I manage a small grin and uncross my arms. "Drama queen," I snicker, this time aloud.

I peel his body from my midsection, settling him back into his cage. He coils up and looks at me expectantly, because as far as he knows, I am a fresh kill factory. What he doesn't know is that he is a snake of upper-middle class caliber, and gets fed pre-slaughtered frozen mice from the local pet store.

I brush my greasy hair out of my face and step into some slippers before leaving the safe cavern of my smoke-bloated room and emerging into the hallway. I slither down the stairs and march to the freezer, opening it up and poking my nose inside. My eyes scan the near-empty shelves for my supply of frozen rodents, their search resulting fruitlessly.

I cast a glance into the living room, where dad's spread out like a cat on our couch and watching a college football game with feeble interest.

"Dad, are there any mice left?" I pop my head into the living room.

"Do you see any mice in the freezer?" He retorts without taking his glazed eyes from the television screen.

"No…"

"Then there's your answer," he says, smiling.

I thank him unceremoniously, nudging the freezer door shut. If there's any one thing my father has taught me, it's that dry humor is a heritable trait.

I don't even change out of my Daisy Duke-length pajama bottoms, as I grab my keys and walk out the front door with a declaration that I'll be home by eight. I probably look like I bought my appearance from a homeless man, but I don't deem buying snake food important enough to care.

I unlock my Volkswagen and hop in, slouching into the placid seat cushions. It makes a concerning spluttering noise as I start it up, but I find it in me to ignore it. As long as it takes me home and puts off responsible maintenance for one more day, I find that I don't really care what sounds it makes.

The Beach City pet store belongs to that strange little twilight zone between the tourist trap of the boardwalk and the inhabited suburbs. Because of this, there are almost always a number of vacationers mingling with the local residents. Today, it appears that the ratio of actual customers to people with visors taking inappropriate pictures of the fish is 1:4 respectively. I duck away from them regardless of homestead, sneaking to the back and snatching up the first box of Arctic Mice that catches my eye.

I skitter up to the register, settling my mice down on the counter with exact change. The transaction is both smooth and void of unnecessary conversation, and soon, I'm back in my car and jamming my keys into the ignition. I press down on the clutch as I shift my car from neutral to first. I pull back, earning myself an incredible three feet of pavement before my car makes a horrifying crunching noise and regurgitates the last of its use in the middle of a parking lot.

Since I can't just leave my Bug on Wheels in the middle of the lot, I end up squeezing back through the doors of the pet store and awkwardly asking the cashier if I can call a tow truck. He nods and wordlessly jerks his thumb over to the store's phone.

The tow motor is here within the hour, hooking my car up and offering to haul it to the car wash by the boardwalk. Since it'd be counter-productive toting it back home, I agree. I find myself sitting in the truck's passenger seat, trying to make small talk with a burly grizzly bear ten times my size and failing miserably. My hands are clasped over my lap and the unborn fetus of a new headache pounds at my ears.

He drives us up to Greg Universe's car wash and repair, passing me a receipt. I accept it begrudgingly, hopping out of the truck and watching him drag my car around the back like he's dragging a tired high-schooler out of bed. My car even groans to sell the metaphor.

When I see the wash's owner (his name is Greg if you haven't figured that out already), he's installing some brushes into the wash. He turns his almost-bald head and smiles at me brightly.

"Be with you in one sec!" he announces cheerfully.

I nod, turning my head away and sitting down on one of the lawn recliners parked outside. I draw my knees up and lay my head on them, using my arm as a makeshift pillow. The gentle echo of a radio permeates the thick garage walls, interrupted only by the occasional and grating whir of a power drill. A yellow shoddily made bike leans against the garage door.

The sun seeps through my clothing, warming my skin and boiling my reptilian blood. I let myself close my eyes and slip in and out of that strange phase of almost sleep in which I experience fleeting still-frames and fragments of dreams before losing them forever in conscious thought.

I am woken fully by the sound of flip flops clapping against the asphalt beneath me. I wake lazily, stretching and turning around. The sun seems to have dipped a few degrees, but not drastically.

"Alright," Greg says, wiping his sweating bald spot with an oil rag. "What's going on with your car? I saw them bring it in and she looks like she's in pretty bad shape. No offense, of course."

"Right," I say, waving him off. "I don't exactly know. It made this really bad sound as I was backing it up and just completely stalled." Because I know literally nothing about cars (nor do I care to do so), I can't tell if the face he's making is horrified or insulted.

I gamble on an uneven mix between the two.

"Yikes, that doesn't sound good. Uh-Unfortunately, I'm a little pre-occupied at the time being, but, uh, if you take it out to the garage, I'm sure my mechanic can help you out. Probably more than I can, too. She's a real whiz at this stuff, I'm tellin' ya," Greg rambles. A loud honk snaps him out of his spiel.

"Ah, sorry- I've gotta help someone. You can just go ahead inside." He says, sending me off, and rushing to the call of another customer by the entrance.

I trudge my way to the garage, training my eyes on the side door. The music inside seems to amplify in clarity and quality the closer I am, which sort of freaks me out because radios tend to do the opposite. I pause before settling my hand on the knob, transfixed by the sound of vibrating nylon. With wide eyes and a halted breath, I pull the door open and walk in.

If my glasses were the round headlights of a car, Lapis would've been the unfortunate deer caught in them. She freezes as soon as we lock eyes, letting her last chord ring out awkwardly. I've been hanging around her long enough to know that it's the climax chord- a full, open E.

Lapis swallows a wad of spit, and I almost take a sadistic pleasure in the fact that she looks like she's about to puke. "H-hey there, Peri," Lapis stammers. "What brings you?" Her voice cracks at the last syllable, signifying that I have the dominant position in this encounter. Somehow, this, and an offhandedly familiar smell, relaxes me enough to speak.

"Car broke down," I explain briefly, gesturing to the trashed vehicle outside.

"Is that so?" and like I couldn't expect this day to get any worse, Pearl pokes her head out from the hood of a truck like a curious animal on the first day of winter. Her pretty face is void of makeup and instead covered in grease and contoured in motor oil. Her ginger hair is rumpled and in a carless bun, shreds of it sticking out and breaking uniform.

I'm taken aback, as she hardly looks like herself. Hardly looks like the stressed, shoulder bag-donning teacher's pet that I see every day in science. She's outfitted in a way that looks both unusually and handsomely modest. And even though her blue jumpsuit is no fashion statement, I still feel as if she's outdone me without even trying.

And maybe that makes me mad, but I'm too desperate to get out of here to give a shit.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my tone excessively abrasive.

Pearl blinks, then looks down at her Beach City Wash uniform. "I work here," Pearl deadpans.

"I- Right. That makes sense."

I bite my lower lip and find a focus point in one of the many mysterious black spots on the garage floor.

My eyes are torn away as I hear Pearl shuffle through some equipment and drop a handful of supplies in her fanny pack. Somehow, I hold back the scathing observation that she looks like a fucking tourist with it (and trust me, when half of your town is overrun with suburban vacationers and their screaming kids, 'tourist' is a pretty harsh insult).

"I'm going to check this out real quick, alright?" Pearl practically sings, tip-toeing over to where Lapis is stationed atop her workbench and offering her a tepid kiss.

In some ways, that chaste act pisses me off more than if she would've just shoved her tongue down Lapis' throat. I guess it's because they don't have to be overly-affectionate to establish their relationship, and it's almost as if she's rubbing that fact in my face.

Pearl grabs a crowbar from the shelf and tells me to show her where my car is anchored. I comply without any tart remarks, both because I'm too tired to do so and because you really don't want to insult someone with a three-pound iron crowbar. I wave my hand towards my Volkswagen, hoping that she'll just get done whatever she needs to get done and let me get the fuck home.

Pearl opens my door and scrunches her nose up in distaste. "Your car is absolutely filthy," she chastises. To prove a point, she kicks a fallen coffee cup with her boot.

"Sorry it's not up to your standards," I snap back, clicking my teeth together.

"Well, could you… clean it?"

"Why?"

Pearl fiddles with her crowbar as if to remind me that I'm in no place to argue with her. "Well," she sighs, exasperated, "I'm quite obviously working on something already, so if you don't, you'll just be sitting around doing nothing. That, and I'll probably be able to repair it more efficiently if I'm not holding my nose with one hand."

I almost tell her that it would take more than one hand to cover her grand martelé sized beak, but I decide that I can save the insults for after she writes my bill. Biting my tongue, I submit with a stiff nod.

"Can Lapis help? It'll be faster," I suggest suddenly.

"Well, your car isn't really her responsibility, is it?" Pearl points out matter-of-factly. "Likewise, she's already keeping me company."

Obviously, this means that she can't simultaneously exist in the same ten foot radius as me. I mean, hanging out with more than one person at a time? What a positively radical fucking notion!

"Whatever," I grumble, dismissing Pearl with a wave. I step into my car and settle my knee on the front seat, hand already reaching for a piece of trash before I realize that she didn't supply me with a trash bag.

I groan, trudging back inside and keeping my eyes low. Despite training them on the charcoal black marks beneath me, I can still see Lapis' hands around her waist through my peripherals. Neither of them notices me, too caught up in their own devices to care. I simply have to grit my teeth and fight the urge to cry like a pussy.

Watching them was horrible through the windows of the Big Donut, and it's horrible now. I feel my chest seize as I snag the black bag from a garbage can and storm out.

I slam the door shut hard in hopes that the booming thunk of the metal latch against the doorframe will encompass even a fragment of how shitty I feel right now. There's a shocked yelp from inside, paired with a scoff.

"She's uh, she's been kinda moody lately, sorry," Lapis says behind the door. "Probably needs to like, get laid or something." And then she has the audacity to laugh, and I wish the door was open so that I could slam it again.

"Here, do you mind if I talk to her?" Lapis asks. I skitter away before I hear a response, not willing to let either of them know I was eavesdropping.

I throw a handful of junk into the garbage bag just as Lapis walks out, forcing myself to stare at the new patch of exposed flooring. Lapis walks over, leaning against the side of my car and frowning.

"What are you doing here?" She asks, and I'm almost taken aback at how accusatory her tone is.

"Ha! You're asking me?" I sneer back, refusing to look at her. I scrape some gum wrappers from the floor of my passenger's side, stuffing them in the trashcan.

"You know what I mean," she insists. Unsurprisingly, no, I don't know what she means because I wasn't the one who fucking lied to her. I suppose the universal rule of fart-logic applies here: He who smelt it, dealt it.

"You know," I say, gritting my teeth and trying to keep from having a full-blown tantrum, "Surprisingly, not everybody is out to get you. My car broke down at the pet store and I need to get it repaired. Now can I please clean it in peace so that I can appease your-,"

"Don't you dare fucking say it," Lapis warns. I smile crookedly because she knows the string of slurs I have preheated to 300 degrees on the tip of my tongue.

"Girlfriend," I snarl lowly, complying to keep what little peace we have left.

I feel something bubble in my chest, and fight with all I can to keep it down, biting hard on the inside of my cheek. A tear nearly escapes me, but I wipe it with my coat sleeve before it can even surpass my eyelid.

"Look, I'm sorry," Lapis heaves a sigh, as if being sorry is some huge and elaborate chore. She leans forward to curl a stray piece of hair behind my ear, and I'm ashamed when I feel my heart begin to race. Those weird sensations (I think they're called feelings) pound at my ribcage and beg to be released.

"I didn't mean for this. I just didn't want to hurt your feelings or anything," Lapis explains quietly, her movements reserved because we both know that Pearl is no farther than a few yards away and we both know that we are not invincible here.

"Oh, that just makes everything better! Now that I know my feelings have been so benevolently spared, I feel fan-fucking-tastic! Thank you so much, Lapis, for all your wonderful contributions to my crippled mental state." I sneer, balling my fists, and grinding my teeth. Lapis jerks back, knitting her brows and becoming increasingly interested in her own shoelaces. My smoldering gaze cools into a mere ember.

"Look, I knew," I sigh, "I heard you on the phone with her. You called her 'babe'. Most people do not call their moms 'babe'."

"And you didn't try to stop me or anything?" Lapis knits her brow.

"You're a big girl," I tease, forcing the fraction of a grin to manifest on my face. "You can make your own choices. And you chose Pearl. I mean, even though I feel like an actual septic tank on legs, I kind of have to respect that as your choice, right?"

Lapis swallows hard, and she trails her fingers down to my jaw, tilting my chin up and leading me to lock eyes with her. Her eyes are clouded, as if she's deeply contemplating her next move. She flashes her gaze towards the garage, and then back at me. And then she dips down and smashes our lips together like we aren't in broad daylight. I'm ashamed at how easily I cave; pressing back in a needy attempt to show her even a decimal of how pathetic she makes me feel.

And then suddenly she breaks the embrace, leaving me with only the fleeting sensation of flesh upon disgusting flesh.

"You're some kind of fucking idiot," I snap, turning away.

"I'm sorry," Lapis replies listlessly, retreating to the garage so that she can pretend that I am nothing more to her than a disposable extra in the drama of her life.

She doesn't play when she goes back inside, instead leaving a deafening silence to ring in my ears as I finish clearing out the rest of the junk in my Volkswagen. When I find that I've cleaned it to a satisfactory level, I step back and wipe the sweat from my forehead, feeling something almost prideful.

Since when did my car have cup holders?

I stretch out and walk back to the garage, kicking open the door and parking myself right in the doorframe. Lapis averts my eyes, squeezing her hands into shaky fists.

"Did you need something, Peridot?" Pearl grinds out between her teeth. She casts a sideways glance towards Lapis in mild concern before tilting her gaze back in my direction.

"I finished cleaning," I announce.

"That's very nice, but I'm still not quite done," Pearl quips back, a gravelly undertone of venom in her prim voice.

"Look, I just want to feed my fucking snake, okay?" I flat-out whine, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Can you please hurry?"

"Fine," Pearl scoffs, pulling out a small screwdriver. "I'm just about finished. Give me five minutes."

I release a big sigh of relief, leaning back against the doorframe and watching her work in silence. I hate to admit it, but she seems to have a real aptitude for something besides pissing me off and referring to every teacher by 'sir' or 'ma'am' without a drop of irony. Her fingers fly under the hood as if she were a concert pianist rather than a minimum wage mechanic.

Pearl finishes in four minutes and thirty-six seconds.

"Alright, done," She says, stepping back from the car to observe her work. "Lapis, could you take this out front and tell Greg I'm done?"

Lapis obliges, eager to escape the suffocating air of animosity and tension lying thick in the atmosphere. Pearl hoists open the main garage door, moving the yellow bike carefully before allowing Lapis to drive past.

As soon as Lapis is out of our earshot, Pearl drops her shoulders and her gentle grin. She locks her jaw and glares at me, taking a deep breath before speaking up.

"Look, Peridot, there is something troubling Lapis, and I am going to be very generous with my wording when I say that I think that you are the source." She says evenly, curling a lock of hair behind her ear before continuing. I fight the urge to do the same. "Now I ask you as a peer and as her partner to please, please stop instigating her."

Oh, so they've transcended the mere title of girlfriends. They're partners now. What a pretentious and unnecessary title to possesses.

God, I wish it was mine.

"I don't understand," I say through my teeth, locking eyes with her.

"I mean that it may be… beneficial for you two to take a little break from each other. That's all. Look, I don't know what's going on right now, but something has been bothering her and she really doesn't need any added stressors in her life right now, okay? And with all this recent fighting between you two…" Pearl explains, trailing off as if she expects me to fill in the blanks.

I seethe, using every ounce of willpower I posses to keep my fist from flying into her mouth. "Fuck you," I tell her, "Fuck you. I've been her best friend since forever, okay? Don't pretend like you know her like I do."

We don't break eye contact for a solid minute, and I swear the tension between us is tangible. Eventually though, Pearl yields and averts her gaze. She accepts her loss sourly, throwing one last underhanded comment my way before retreating.

"Not all friendships are meant to last, Peridot," Pearl says icily, turning on her heel and storming away towards my car.

Damn, that girl is going to grow into one hell of a PTA mom. I flick her off as soon as she turns her back, muttering some unsavory comment under my breath.

She checks it, seemingly satisfied now that the bulk of the rubbish inside is cleared. And then she quietly dips in to check my wires.

I let my jacket pockets swallow my hands, sucking in a jagged breath. My stratus-gray eyes trace Pearl in muted fury, and I gnash my teeth together. With her head tucked so nicely under the hood, I indulge myself in the concept of the heavy hunk of metal falling on her neck. I can almost hear her spinal cord snapping.

Though for some reason, this thought doesn't amuse me nearly as much as I want it to.

"Peridot?" I turn, only to find Lapis behind me breathing the hot air of teenage scandal on my neck.

Lapis wraps her large hand around my index finger, gripping on to it like she's a child afraid of losing their parent in a crowded mall. She hangs on to me for a long time, wordlessly watching Pearl work on my car.

"I'm sorry," she finally whispers. "You deserve better."

"Doesn't everyone?" I say before I can stop myself.

Lapis casts a sad gaze towards Pearl before staring down at her shoelaces. "Yeah," she says finally. She grabs my hand and squeezes gently to remind me that change can never be enforced by spoken word alone.

And with Pearl's scathing last words still fresh in my mind, I squeeze back.

Thank you for reading, favoriting, following and THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 100 REVIEWS. I know it's lame to be so happy about that, but I'm honestly so proud and excited! You guys are the best!

Greggy: Don't worry bro I might take a little bit, but I haven't given up yet :)

Akina Akhai: Lapis' romantic tendencies are blurry- basically however you perceive it can be valid. However, I will say that her behavior is more so connected to her having deep rooted yet-to-be-revealed issues rather than having a polyamorous orientation or being plain greedy.