uh, i wrote this for mya as a prize for her fanart. and it was the first pic submitted, but it took me this long to write it. (i'm so sorry, mya, i swear to god you can take the ice pick away from my eye now. please?)
i also apologize to her for this being so pointless. but it satisfies her criteria!! one emo boy, one prep. former works at pac-sun. latter at AE. and there's cheesy lines aplently. some i stole, and others i made myself.
no warnings, other than language on this one. it's pretty much pg-13 (if that) but will remain in M because i like things to be constant. (nods) ok. time to get this posted and for me to go to bed. work work work. i hate coupons, i swear to whatever listens to all my swearing. i think god would have smote (wtver) me if i actually believed in that sort of GodZeus thing.
Monday, April 10, 2006. 2:40 am.
"Dude, Liza says that there's a weird dude in here, and she wants someone to go make him go away."
I didn't even pause as my fingers nimbly picked up a girl's polo and neatly folded it back into an oblong rectangle, my fingertips smoothing out the wrinkles before I picked up the next lumped-polo to join it's twin.
"By someone, you mean me." Not a question, because it didn't have to be.
Kris grinned and slapped my back, irking me even as he clicked a 'gotcha' at me and strolled over to greet the group of girls that had just come in. All fake, that's the only ones he goes for. Fake skin tone, fake hair color; fake, fake, fake. If you were to hold one of those girls over a flame, she'd melt and form a mass-less puddle that could easily be poured back into the mold they popped out of in the first place. Of course, gothic chicks aren't any better; same mold, same fake. All that blackness to hide the fact that their clothes are just as skimpy and trashy as any other girl's. Or maybe girls are just trashy unless they actually wear clothes?
Or maybe I'm biased.
I picked up a halter top from the floor and stuck it back onto its hanger in the missus section of the store, my eyes scanning for this weird dude. No one that I can see. Just a woman over with her daughter in the junior jeans, and some blonde-haired guy with his girlfriend (I assume) in the accessory department. So I began to wander over to the other side of the store; maybe he's hidden behind one of the displays or something.
Of course, I got distracted by messy shelves in the men's section; jeans pulled from their folds and left in heaps here and there. People are such lazy bastards, I swear to god.
I was on my third pair when I heard a polite male's voice came from behind me; "Excuse me, sir."
I turned, and blinked as I was met by a…a something I assume to be male. Only because I see an adam's apple in his throat (I exaggerate, yes). His hair was blue-black and hung over his left eye, his right eye bright blue and looking at me from his lightly tanned face. A white and black puka necklace hugs his neck, his shirt is clearly from Pac-Sun; I only know that because my cousin practically lives and breathes that merchandise. He's also wearing some pair of skater shorts, ending just past his knees in designed ragged strings, and showcasing his skater shoes that must have cost a fortune; they're mostly black, with little skulls on them, and sort of match his shirt, actually. His hand came up and brushed that hair out of his eye, and I saw that his fingernails were painted a dark brown…I bet it's from sharpie. I know, because my sister, Hannah, paints her nails like that and puts that no-chip stuff over the top.
"Yes, can I help you?" Even as I responded, I realized that this is just the type of person I'm probably supposed to kick out of the store.
"Yeah…um…I was wondering if…you've got any of those in my size."
I blinked, and asked, "Which ones?"
He glanced left, and randomly pointed at a pair of jeans on the shelf.
"Well…what size do you wear?"
And maybe it was just me, but he seemed to smirk just before he…purred…"I forget, maybe you could measure me and find out?"
Again, I blinked, even as he abruptly turned red and mumbled something about stupid pick up lines, just before turning on his heel and retreating from the store.
"Ew, did that guy just try to hit on you?" I turned towards the woman's voice, seeing her lip curled in disgust as she stared at me.
"Um…I think so." I was still in shock.
"Ew. He works…like…just over there." She pointed a finger over at the opposite store, as if that explained why he'd done such a thing to me, before she turned and wandered off into a different section.
The store across the way…Pac-sun. I bet he got that shirt on discount.
--- --- ---
"Liza, get that lazy-ass Kris to cover the register, I'm taking my lunch."
She snapped her gum as she nodded, and I removed my nametag and exited the store, heading for the food court. I really hate working Sundays, I swear to god.
I was idly glancing at the window displays of the various stores as I walked, and vaguely heard the slapping of running feet, before a breathless voice said not too far behind me, "I seem to have lost my way…take me with you?"
I jerked my face over my shoulder, stunned to see the same emo boy from before, wearing his Billabong shirt showcasing a skull with an Indian headdress and all that shit. I glare at him, but he doesn't take the hint, easily falling into step beside me and apparently over his embarrassment about his other cheesy line.
"Hey, do you believe in love at first sight? Because…you know I wouldn't mind walking up to you again…."
"Keep walking, you crank."
"Thanks for the invite, my good sir." I rolled my eyes, and hoped that he'd go away if I ignored him long enough; this sucks ass for my lunch to be ruined by some punk like him. He was quiet for a moment, but apparently that was too much.
"Hey…I know that milk does a body good…but hot damn, how much have you been drinking??" I cringed at the line, and he dimmed a bit at my reaction.
"Dude, go away."
"Sure, cast me out and reel me in, I'm just a fish on your hook."
"I'm not fucking queer, dude."
His eyebrow rose at that as he snorted, "Right. Keep 'em coming, and I'll join them. For you, I'd cum any day."
I whirled on him, my eyes slits as I ground out, "I. Am. Not. Gay. And I wouldn't be with you even if I was. So. Go. The. Fuck. Away!"
And his eyes (the one visible, anyway), widened and began to oddly glisten. And just like that, he collapsed down to the floor, his arms over his head as he began to loudly sob. Great, a fucking spectacle. I just know he's faking this to mortify me.
Well, it's working.
I want to walk away, but if I do, I'll have to see everyone stare at me with disgust at leaving him behind and crying. Fuck, this is not what I need right now!
"Jesus, get the fuck up, ok? You're making a scene."
He violently shook his head, his sobs seeming to echo off the million people around us and staring at the scene we make. Seeing me, this brown haired young man standing here with all my American Eagle finery, lording over poor emo boy here sobbing his eye out. The eye that they can see anyway. My fingers found the pockets of my pristine white hoodie, my fists clenching as they slipped inside and I leaned on my back leg.
"Get up, dude. You can come with me, just get up!"
He paused, looking up at me with a wet face and a hopeful façade. "Really, I can come with you?"
I narrowed my eyes at the obvious double-entendre, and he hastily scrambled up to his feet, apparently rushing to make sure I don't change my mind. And we walked from the scene of my mortification, people again staring at his abrupt change of attitude.
I paused when we reached the food court, not sure what I wanted to eat at the moment.
And he piped up, "How 'bout some pizza and a fuck?"
I didn't have any qualms in elbowing him sharply in the ribs, causing him to hiss, "What, you don't like pizza?"
I left him behind as I got into the line for Wendy's, not all that surprised when he quickly joined me again. He's like a dog following a bitch in heat. Shit, I did not just refer to myself as being in heat, I promise. Or a bitch, for that matter. Female, me not.
"Oh my god, did you just stick your hand in my pants?"
"That's not what my dick thinks." The young mother in front of us whipped her head to look at us, horror plain as she tugged her giggling six-year old daughter away and into another line as I died of mortification.
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up."
My nose was almost touching his as I hissed at him, and he murmured, "Your breath smells good."
I pulled back with a jerk, my eye twitching as I intoned, "Eat shit and die."
I swear to god that he didn't blink before giving me a wide-eyed, "I never thought you'd like the taste of shit too."
"Oh man, you guys are sick."
I glared at the guy behind the counter, making the retard next to me snicker as I ground out my order from between my teeth. And stupid lame ass weaseled himself a combo meal along with it, pulling out a five and slyly tucking it into my belt. And he winked while doing it, too. I want to punch his eye out, I swear to fucking god.
"I would go to the ends of the earth for you."
"Please stay there, and do us all a favor."
"I would rearrange the alphabet, just to put U and I together."
"I'd rather keep N and O my pals instead."
"Hey, I bet you'd like to hear about something swell, eh?"
"I have no patience for short stories."
"You must have been a lumberjack in some past life. I swear, just looking at you makes me grow wood."
"Twigs are pointless, no thanks."
"You can make my 2x4 become a 4x8."
"Inches or centimeters?"
The lines were constant and ever cheesy, and I could tell that he was becoming a bit frustrated, especially with my bland and standoffish answers. And he followed me in glum silence when I returned to work, standing just outside the door and staring after me when I disappeared inside American Eagle once more. I hope that my ass was the last of me to ever see him.
--- --- ---
I was tired when I finally clocked out, gathering my shit together (my cell and sunglasses) and walking out the employee exit to the parking lot.
I was running through my list of phone contacts when that annoying bitch called out, "I hope you know some good fucking CPR, because you take my breath away!!"
I halted, slowly turning to see him leaning up against the brick wall in a casual nonchalant air that was clearly fake. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you just some fucking retard? I am not interested!"
His shoulders slumped, gloom easily sweeping over his features as he retorted, "Yeah. But I just wanted to give you a chance to reject me again; so go ahead, and say no."
I saw his lip disappear between his teeth, before he looked at me with that really bright blue eye again. "You don't make this easy, you know? Jesus, I bust my hump trying to impress you, or make you…make you laugh or something, but nothing works!! I just want…I just want to be able to walk up and introduce myself as Glover, and that I think you're really fucking hot. But if I did that, you'd write me off as some loser or emo bitch or whatever."
Tears roughened his voice as he wiped his cheek and looked away, "I've noticed you since I first started working at Pac-Sun three months ago…it's why I applied anyway. I used to work at the Sam Goody, but that's all the way on the other side of the mall, and I…god, I'm such a fucking moron. Go ahead and just leave, I know you want to."
I stood there a moment, seeing him hugging one of those gay-boy shoulder bags to his abdomen; it was green and covered in band patches of things I've never heard of: Gray Matter, Dag Nasty, and Elliot, that I could make out. You know what, I have one of those bags, minus the patches, sitting on my bed right this very moment. Unless Hannah has fucked with it again.
"Hi Glover, I'm Justin, and I've been waiting for you to introduce yourself like a normal human being all fucking day."
His eyes flicked towards mine with surprise (yes, eyes, because his hair whisked away from the left one with the motion), and he watched as I casually approached him.
He was utterly still as I reached out and brushed that bit of hair from his face, frozen as I smirked and murmured, "That shirt is very becoming. Of course, if I was on you, I'd be coming too."
And unbidden, a phrase popped from his mouth, "If I were to ask you for sex, would your answer be the same as the answer to this question?"
My eyebrow rose, and I retorted, "Maybe."
"Good enou…" I think I surprised myself at the way I swooped in and took his words, easing his tongue into meeting with mine.
And when we broke apart, he was panting a bit; "You had me at hello."
"Funny, I was thinking of having you in bed…."
A/N: oh my god, i think i'm on crack sometimes. i did eat two oranges and drank three glasses of orange juice, and then a glass of orange soda after dinner. maybe vitamin c is another form of liquid heroine?? becuase i can't get past my cravings today. or within the past week actually. maybe i'm vitamin c deficient, and that is my body's way of telling me to fix it.
anyway. this was pointless, but rather amusing, i should think. and yes, Justin really is gay. he is. even though he kept lying. (i would too, if i had a strange emo boy trying some cheesy pickup lines like that on me. i'd say something like, "hey, does this smell like chloroform to you...?" a bit of tit for tat, if you ask me) yes, i got that double entrendre just then.
adiós, mis lectores