Secondhand Serenade.
Davies, have you gone brain dead and forgot to inform me? Why are you walking towards her? "Mike, two amaretto stone sours." Like the last time we were here, in this position.
"I don't drink amaretto anymore." And I haven't either for eleven years, but tonight seems like an amaretto night.
"Lightweight." You never really were one. I would know. I was there the first time you drank. Sitting in my room, cross legged, kind of like her, with your eyes closed and pinching your nose, sipping vodka out of a shot glass. You ignored me when I told you it would be better if you just downed it. We were thirteen. I should have known then the evil that was living inside, who sips from a shot glass?
"Actually, it makes me nauseous." Liar. How is that possible? You look at yourself in the mirror every morning. You have to have a stomach of steal.
"Well, you and it have a lot in common." Vomit inducing.
"I don't make myself nauseous." Women do this on purpose. I know it. It's part of the evil legion thing.
"Ugh." Yeah, show all that intelligence, Davies. You might explode her mind with it and all. "You make me nauseous." Well, at least it's true. A lot more so than amaretto.
God, thank you, Mike. He slides us the drinks. I need this. It really is an amaretto night. Sometimes you're just not in the mood for friends. "What are you doing here?" What am I doing here? Seriously? It's a club. I'm Ashley Davies. Have you heard of peas and carrots?
"I own part of this club." The good part. The part of the bar you are not sitting at. "What are you doing here?" I'm trying hard to forget things that smell like cinnamon and new, hardcover books, and you have her on you. I could smell it anywhere. "Don't you have spawn to tend to?" Carlin kids must feel highly neglected a lot.
"They're at Glen's." Well, Speedy, for not liking it, you sure downed it fast. I really hope the five other glasses surrounding you aren't an indication of your state. I've taken care of enough drunken evilness already in my life. And half of that is three years of your drunk ass and the other half is one unspeakable night.
"And you're breathing my air, why?" I need as much of it as I can get lately.
You do know, if you stare at your glass, it doesn't make it fill back up. Trust me, I've been there done that for many hours of my life. Life isn't fair like that. "I needed a drink tonight." Yeah, I understand that. Nothing like a drink on D day.
But, a drink. Not however many she's had. You know you need to stop when you successfully fall out of a bar stool low enough for your feet to touch the ground. Double points when said bar stool has a back to it and everything. "How many have you already had?"
I'll give her credit; she did get back up and onto the stool without any assistance. Don't look at me. I don't make it a habit to touch walking diseases. I hear it isn't very healthy. And people who aren't talking to their hearts should probably worry a lot about stuff like that. "If I need a keeper, I'll call Glen." Because Glen seems like he'd be a big help in all types of situations.
Whatever. "You're a real mess, you know that?" And I know messes.
"You're calling me a mess?" Touché. Pot meet kettle. I'm failing a little at life.
"Good point." Well, I know why the only open bar stool in the place is the one next to her, and it's not just because my karma is still lacking, but I still find it horribly angry of life to do this to me. Whatever. I just can't stand anymore. Graceful over there in the cowboy hat stepped on my toes, and my pain tolerance does rise proportionally with attraction level, but this time I just had to give up.
"That was easy." I've always been good at easy. An old pro.
"Well, you did always call me easy." Always. It went from easy to beat at Pokemon to easy to bed. Either way, I've always been the easy one.
"That's because you're a chronic cheater." Hey now. I wouldn't say chronic. Chronic makes it sound like a disease. It's not a disease. It's the ability to have a very open mind. And I hear that is a very good thing.
"Not cheater, I just enjoy polygamous relationships." The Mormons had it right.
"That really only works if both parties agree." Not necessarily. I guess it could be an added bonus, but not a necessity. Good relationships mean that communication should flow nonverbally. Really. I can't be held accountable if they can't understand my nonverbal communication.
"Semantics."
"I don't recall telling you, you could sit there." Yes, well, I don't recall telling you you could drink my booze and pollute my bar stool. We're all having problems today, aren't we?
"I've been telling you since high school, I'm not contagious." I think the scientist have finally proven it, or something along those lines. It's really not all in my mind. Like most things.
"That's debatable." Everything about me is debatable. That's why they love me.
"Oh. Sixth grade words." She's progressing.
"What the hell do you want, gender bender?" Do people really say that? Rhyming went out of style with Dr. Seuss. Aw, Dr. Seuss. I do feel bad for the guy. Even in death, no one pronounces his name right.
Wait, what do I want? Am I really in this bad of a need of a masochist fix? "I have no idea." I have really come to this. It's really just because I couldn't figure out how to purchase a metaphorical chainsaw. People look at you strange when you inquire. "It's Chicago's fault." What? It is. It tends to be lately. I would not be surprised if Megiddo was a code word for Chicago. Those tricky biblical writers.
"I waited until I knew they were on the plane to come here." I waited until I knew they were in Chicago to come here. You never know, planes sometimes come back. Don't they?
But, there's no way I am sympathizing with her. "Pathetic." Projection seemed like the best course of action. Plus, I can't be pathetic alone. Everything is better with a crowd.
"Maybe." Maybe? No. We are pathetic. We are both Spencer-whipped and the word pathetic is pretty much lashed onto our backs. And this begs the question, who really enjoys being whipped? Really? It just seems to add a lot of unneeded adrenalin into the bedroom. Isn't testosterone enough? Isn't it too much? "Young Dolly Parton looks like she's ready to pounce." Hopefully, pre–Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.
Oh, cowboy hat girl. Who wears cowboy hats in LA? Never mind, hot woman can wear cowboy hats all they want, what am I talking about? And she's approaching me. I think my toes are slowly healing. Good job, toes. "Want to get back out to the dance floor, sugar?" This is the truth, only girls with slight southern accents, touching my arm, can pull off the word 'sugar'.
"Have a thing for blondes, don't you?" And only someone so amazingly wicked could ruin this. And not the good type of wicked that produces catchy but irritatingly catchy songs, the bad kind that shoots images of oceans and stars into a body that's trying so hard to concentrate on heat and slick skin.
Hey, why don't you just fall off your stool again? Stupid, bitch. "I think I'm done for the night." My toes just didn't heal quickly enough, I guess. Or maybe something else didn't. Either way, I don't think I can let her touch my arm anymore.
"Oh, that's too bad." Yeah, you're really telling me. "I guess, I'll see you around." Say something, make her come back. You can lasso me anytime? No, you moron. Save a horse, ride a, okay that doesn't really work. You just lose, Davies.
Great. Now I'm stuck with paranormal creatures. Why can't I ever just be stuck with a normal, unevil human being? Is it too much to ask? "You're such a whore."
Whores get paid. I may be a corporate whore, but not even close to a sexual one. Obviously. And you would think she'd know the definition of whore. "Mike, another round over here." It is much needed. It's going to be a long night.
"I don't want to get drunk with you." Yeah, because you're my first choice. I'm pretty sure space monkeys would make ample substitutes. "Who knows what you'll do to me." Okay, to begin with I was drinking too. Oh, much like this situation. But unlike this situation, I was still blinded to your excessive need for an exorcist.
I can never taste the almond in this. They claim it's there. Whatever. As long as I can taste the deliciousness. Amaretto. Proof the Italians are good for something other than semi-interesting sitcoms and pasta. "You're worse than her." In some ways.
"They fought about you." Well, I fight with me about me all the time. Do they want a cookie? I do it better anyways.
"So I heard." Even if I don't want to remember. I really still can't take painful truths. I'm still living alone with everything in ten minute increments, even if that's not what occurred at all.
"She waited to tell him until I went to bed." Evil sleeps? Who knew? "She even opened my door to try to make sure." Well, that just seems a little stalkerish.
"And?" I wonder if they rent out the space monkeys.
"She kissed you." Trust me, I remember.
"Yeah, I was there, thanks." They must have had a really big bargain at the metaphorical store lately. On deadly weapons. Deadly weapons for my soul. Well, good thing she has that. It's one less thing I need to protect.
"She actually kissed you." You already said that, genius. And don't look so surprised, you kissed me once too, remember?
Too bad it's against drunkards etiquette to kick a bar stool out from under someone. I would so own her otherwise. "What? Do you want a video, or something?" Like I'd ever sell that. Then I'd have a visual to the feelings that roll over and over in my head. That would be nice.
"He never yells at her." Figures. Who could? Who could other than me? Even rocks know enough. Even rocks. "He just asked her not to do it again." But rocks sure know how to break me. They do it so well. What else would you expect, Davies?
"What did she say?" Because her actions are the one thing I'll never take a gamble on.
"You probably feel really smug, ginger." How much do you have to drink before you forget your arch nemesis's name? "But, she didn't tell me." Well, last time I checked, it was none of your business. But I must have forgotten that everything involves Madison. Like the one time, I was dividing my Dr. Pepper between us and she just had to drink the odd one. Okay, so this may not be equivalent, but I'm still pissed about it. "And if she didn't tell me it didn't matter all that much." Non sequitor much?
"Whatever." Because who am I to say what mattered to her? I have come to realize that everything to me is nothing to her. And no matter how burning hope is it can't burn through to her. Nothing can. She can only burn me.
Don't lay your head on the bar. Where did your self-respect go? Do you have any idea the amount of things I have seen occur on that bar? That bar probably gives you a run for your money on incurable diseases. "You know she'll never leave him." No, really, that bar could second for a urinal some nights.
And who do you think you are? Coming into my bar and trying to inform me that I'll never get my organs back, that my limbs are lost forever and my soul, well my soul is just no good to me anymore. Who gives you the right? "Shut up, banshee." Shut up, Davies. Like she knows what a banshee is.
"Good riddance." Yeah, you can say that because your heart doesn't belong to a sadist that enjoys squeezing the life out of things. "They deserve each other." Creepy and Annoying together forever. Sure, why not.
Why don't you just walk away, Davies? "Mike, double straight vodka on the rocks with a twist." Because the booze is here. I just like to say with a twist at the end, I never taste the lemon at all. It's hard to taste anything extra with the sting of vodka on your throat, but still people get the twist. Maybe we should start charging extra for twists. That's a lot of wasted lemons.
"Boys do give me orgasms, you know." Good thing I have yet to drink my poison. Spitting out a perfectly good drink because some dumbass has to say something so unbelievably stupid is the worse kind of travesty.
"I didn't want to know." Really, I could live my entire life very happily without ever having to think of Madison orgasming. And who is she kidding? Like I believe a brick like Glen could find any spot. With a map and detailed instructions.
"I do find them attractive." Many people do. Especially before they open their mouths. They're so much more attractive when their mouths are closed. Think about it. The David, the epitome of male beauty, yeah, his mouth, definitely closed. I think I've proven my point.
"I'm glad your vision isn't failing?" Is this going somewhere? Like I told her in jr. high school, I am so not calling her an escort service. Going to the eighth grade dance alone was fine. Plus, it was easier to just sit and eat an immense amount of popcorn. There is just something amazing about popcorn. But, this time, it doesn't really look like it's going to be fine for her. Why does she have to haunt me with her evil? What did I ever do?
"Then why don't I get that feeling with them?" Like I said, not even with a map and detailed instructions. In his defense, it is like an art form.
"What feeling?" Because, like usual, I think I am missing something bigger. Whatever happened with people just having surface discussions? I love surface discussions.
"You know." Obviously I do not know. I do not waste my air on asking pointless questions. I don't even like to waste my air asking you any questions at all. So, no, obviously I do not know. Thanks.
"No." Dumbass.
"The feeling that you know immediately when the person is near." I just chalk that up to some of her mind powers rubbing off on me. That or her angry probing of my mind. "The feeling that makes it so hard to say goodbye. And you end up doing it over and over, and just never leaving." Nope, don't have that problem. I have someone who leaves for me. "That feeling that makes you shake when they touch you. Even if it's just on the arm." Are shaking and burning the same thing? "That feeling that it matters when they leave." Does it ever matter.
"Girls suck." What? It's the only thing I can think of. And I maybe digressing to fourth grade, but this reminds me of the time Colin Green kept stealing her jolly ranchers in fourth grade.
"That's the problem, isn't it?" Wow, I did wear off on her all those years.
"Will you pick you head off the bar." Because I can only imagine what could happen if your germs and those germs were to make an unholy alliance. Good, at least someone listens to me. "What happened to me gross heathen you catholic angel?" Because I do recall something along the lines of 'I don't like girls' coming out of her mouth, you know, after she just slept with one. Maybe I am missing something.
"Why can't it just matter when he's here or not?" Maybe we can switch positions. I want it to not matter, you want it to matter, this should be as easy as a trade with no trade backs.
"Life just isn't fair." Love isn't fair. Love goes out of its way to kick you a little. In the gut or the shins. Or somewhere equally as painful. Love could even kick you in the jugular if it wanted. And it does want, a lot.
"Twelve days until the wedding." Like the sadistic version of the twelve days of Christmas. Great.
Really, this is all her fault, anyways. "Why'd you have to go and set them up?" You'd think being my best friend for so long would give her some intelligence. Just an inkling would have been useful in that situation.
"Shut up." Yeah, you know you're guilty. 'Shut up' screams guilty. Trust me, I should know.
"This is really just all your fault." Because it has to be. It just has to be.
"Shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you're talking about. Fucking drama queen." She always swore when she was frustrated. It wasn't the best habit in third grade.
"Why'd you have to do it, Madi? Why?" Why'd you have to break me? Why?
"I had to." Damnit. Don't put your head back down. Look at me and face your mistake. Do it. Don't be a coward. There's only room for one coward in this conversation.
"You didn't have to do anything." No one ever does. Or so I've been told. Take responsibility.
"I did." I can barely hear her mutter now as she shakes her head into her folded arms.
"Why? What could possibly make you want to put those two together? They have nothing in common." Except for a pension for making me crazy. "They just don't fit."
"We fell in love." It doesn't matter what she means. It doesn't. She can kiss the disgusting bar for all I care.
And because I can't listen anymore, I stand. Because I can't stand anymore, I walk. Because I can't bear to be caught, I run. Because hope needs a way to travel out of my body and into the killing air, I cry. And in my tears I expel the last of it. The very last of it. And now there is just hollow where it once harbored, but it's just not hollow enough inside, because there's still all these crevices filled with memories that are refusing to leave and instead of quiet they keep playing, faster and faster. And now I'm just dizzy and running and cold and now I just don't care.