that girl is a problem [priscilla/ivy]

[arx!!]

PRISCILLA

"She buries her skeletons,
buries her skeletons like she's collecting them."

Apparently there is a party tonight. Apparently I have to attend—("It'd be social suicide not to go!")—as if I'm not the one who decides what's cool and what's not amongst my peers. As if they don't hang on my every word and come to school and check with me to see if their outfit looks okay. I could never go to a party again and suddenly there would be no fucking parties in all of District 10.

They're all just part of one big flock of sheep, dumbly grazing in the fields and following the first thing that moves in front of their faces. They'd probably be amazed to find out I'm a wolf wearing sheep's skin, minds too small to see the obvious patterns. Why is it every little sheep who wanders too far ahead of me ends up with ankles slashed, their blood dripping from my teeth? Why is it that anyone who tries to get ahead of me ends up trampled to death by their own kind?

It's cruel. I know. But I've earned my spot at the top, given everything I possibly could to get this fucking title. Stitched into my skin, branded on my heart—I worked too hard, suffered too much, and gave up too much to let someone take it from me.

So I put on the lipstick with a careful hand, make sure to match the color with my outfit as I rummage through my closet, and take an hour curling my hair—not because it actually takes that long, but because taking any less time on the task warrants a thousand side-eyes and a few sharp-tongued jabs. And I'd really rather not deal with it tonight. Drama is taxing; I'm just looking for a few free drinks and a kiss or two.

I leave the house with no more explanation than usual, boots laced up the length of my leg and a leather jacket tossed over my crop top. Makes me look more intimidating; keeps the young, fresh competition away from me, lets them know their place as soon as I walk in the room and without having to say a word. Much easier and cleaner than putting them on the chopping block. And I'm all for keeping my hands clean.

The party is near the edge of the district, quite the walk and quite the nuisance to get to, but it's well-hidden and primed for a bonfire built sky-high with plenty of hidden places inside the collapsed barn for cuddling up next to someone. I've always preferred indoor parties, but this is one every freshman looks forward to coming to and every senior gets totally wasted at. A way to end the summer with a bang and begin the new school year with fresh gossip.

By the time I arrive everyone already has a few drinks in them. Arms sling over my shoulder, cups filled to the brim with liquid death are pushed into my hands, and all sorts of gossip is whispered into my ear. In truth, most of it bores me. She speaks quickly and slurs her words and I know her—most of what she says can be dismissed and is useless chatter—so I go on ignoring most of it as she leans heavily on me and sips her drink. I nearly miss it, she's speaking so fast.

"Oh! And Ivy is here, she's so fun and cute—except she doesn't look cute tonight, she looks really hot and she brought her pet, and at first I thought--"

"What?"

"At first I thought it was kinda weird, but it's soooo cute, I don't know how anyone could resist petting him, y'know?"

"Wait, Ivy Watson? She's here?"

She nods as she nearly trips over a tree root. I catch her as her drink spills all over the ground, her pained whines giving me an idea of just how drunk she is. I pass her off to a boy standing nearby and put my cup in his hand—"Here you go, kid, go wild."—before taking a beer bottle out of a cooler and scanning the dark figures wandering around the edges of the fire.

And I guess Miss Too Drunk To Stand wasn't just seeing things; she's here. The glow of the fire barely reaches her, but even still, I know it's her. I've known her for too long not to recognize her just by the way she's standing. Damn it. I tilt my head back and take the bottle with it, finishing it off as quickly as I can manage before tossing the bottle into the fire and trudging over for another, stomach warm and body itching for something to keep the memories at bay and my annoyance close to the surface.

I don't know what she's playing at, but I seem to be the only one who knows just how fake it all is. The clothes, the way she speaks, the fact that she is at a party in the first place—Ivy has never given any shits about any of it. What is she doing? What does she want? Why? Why can't she just keep away from me?

I don't know how many bottles I finish and how long I sit there watching her silhouette in the dark, but my head spins when I stand, feet struggling for a moment to keep me upright. I chuckle to myself as I make my way over to her, arms crossed, eyes set in a glare, lips set in a straight line. She seems preoccupied, caught up in conversation with a group of people I know for a fact have used some unpleasant words to describe her while she walked down the halls. They're all laughing with her and not at her now.

"Since when do you come to parties?" I interject, voice too high-pitched and the fake tone of surprise far too noticeable, but I continue on anyway. "Haven't seen you at one of these before. Enjoying yourself?"

It feels strange, talking to her. It's been-- it's been a few years. Though I can't say that I haven't noticed her sitting in the front of every classroom with mismatching socks and neon shirts. Her hand shoots in the air after every question asked, even though she rarely answers correctly. Her spirit isn't easily broken and I can see that from all the shit she takes for just being herself. She hasn't changed for nearly 3 years even with all the poking and prodding—until right now.

And it's bothering me. Gnawing at me from the inside out, it consumes my thoughts at night just before I fall asleep and all I can think about is her. How everything about her is suddenly fake and plastic and just so damn boring all of a sudden. And I wish she'd just stay out of my goddamn head, but for some reason I can't shake her free.

And I fucking hate it.

"Love the outfit."

Guess we're all liars.

table by elegant

[[nyte]]

IVY WATSON

"These flies on my window
are winners in a losing game."

She's nothin' special. It takes no amount of strength to fill your cracks with the expectations of others. She holds herself real high, upon a pedestal and acts like it was some kind of great achievement to rise to the top of herd of brainless cattle. Like scum upon boilin' water, she stands with her heels upon their shoulders and I cannot help but curl my lips in absolute loathing of everything such a beautiful girl has become. I'm too stupid to know what happened, to understand what changed her but I know it ain't hard to become what she is. And I can do better. Can change the minds of the masses without changin' myself at all. At least, not for real.

Resentment ain't something you should hold onto, I know. Pa is always telling me to move onwards and upwards and I really would love to but the thought of her is like a rose's thorn tearin' into my heart and it hurts so bad. It's been years but lord almighty, are the wounds still fresh. She took just about everything from me without so much as a thank you. She was selfish an' cruel when I know that ain't the kinda girl she was supposed to be.

But she's going to this stupid party tonight and so am I.

And I've got no human company so instead I bring Suvi, nestled into the purse Ma bought me as consolation for throwing up in the other one and oh, I miss when her smiles weren't made of money.

I couldn't leave Suvi behind 'cause she woulda got real anxious without me and I ain't scared of no one but 'Scilla at this damned party. They can think what they want. I know all too well the feed that these mules are fond of. Oh, how easy it is to dress in black with clothes that cover enough to keep you from bein' a whore but not too much 'cause then you're boring.

I watched her climb, nestled upon the lowest branch without the slightest motivation to prick my fingers upon jagged branches. And now, I know exactly where to place my palms, gripping wood gone soft from her hard work and I have to remember to thank her for making all of this so easy. For showing me how to fake absolutely everything I am.

She disgusts me. Her and her stupid skin suit that I have watched her sew, stitch by stitch she tries to convince herself that she is made of stronger than all of us while doing only the bare minimum to disguise what is so soft beneath. Perhaps she is made of gold, but gold is only as valuable as it is malleable. How easy is it to manipulate Priscilla?

I guess that's what I'm here to find out.

There's not enough sympathy left in me to feel bad about it. I'm stupid, that the both of us know, but I ain't weak. My skin is made of steel, impenetrable. Sleek and beautiful in its own kinda way. And I've only ever cared 'bout bein' beautiful to her so I guess it don't matter now that I'm certain I'll never be anything of the sort. 

And I can most certainly hold my liquor, but that's not why I'm here tonight. My fingers kiss the neck of only one bottle and my lips have only wrapped around the rim once or twice. Never could stand the taste of beer, not enough bang for your buck. I can't help but wonder if Scilla would listen to the stories I could tell. The nights I get too drunk an' almost start fights with guys twice my size over a pretty girl who ain't interested in me anyway. The old her would laugh, I know she would.

Suvi's asleep at my feet, elated at the hands that have run the length of her pelt today. My little girl loves attention - no matter if it comes from those with poison fingertips and shards a' glass for tongues. I ain't even spared Priscilla a glance yet, although I know she's here. There's a certain kind of satisfaction that comes as I collect the smiles of those who would have my head had I been dressed in my usual way.

These conversations are games of strategy. I can feel my feet dashin' about a chess board and with every sentence I grow closer to putting them in check. I herd her cattle with every bat of my painted eyes, with every smile stained cherry and as much as I despise the attention it brings I can feel her eyes upon me. And that's all I've ever wanted.

How long until the queen bee finds her home upon my muted petals? How long until this game begins?

Since when do you go to parties?

Right now, it seems.

Her words are fake, syrupy sweet and I expected no less from a lioness whose pride I have begun to trample. Her compliment is a cue to remove the leather jacket concealing just how little I actually adorn. A shirt hem that reaches only the middle of my ribs and shorts that are kept modest by black fishnet that covers the rest of my legs. "Why thank you, hun." I murmur, and I know its wrong to pretend that I've downed more than a couple sips of sweet poison but its more fun this way.

I fold the jacket over my arm, taking my time to size up what was once so familiar. I feel as though I stand in the basement of my childhood home an' its gutted. A shell. Still that same walls with none of the substance that made them worth much of anything at all to me. This'll be easier than expected. 

An' I already expected it to be real damn easy.

"I was bored, figured it'd be nice to social climb a rung or two in my last year a' school." I smile and it hurts. "Been so long since we last talked, you got any plans for after we graduate?" 

Unlike her, I ain't gonna hide my intention. I ain't gonna wait for her to catch on to this scheme a' mine because even now I am not as cruel as she.

"I was thinkin' of becoming a neurosurgeon, or something of the sorts. I think I have the guts for it, you know? Not everyone does."

table by elegant

[arx!!]

PRISCILLA

"She buries her skeletons,
buries her skeletons like she's collecting them."

No way she can keep this up. I know her. Sure, it's been a couple years, but how much could she have changed—really? I grew up with her, a soft, gentle, smiley girl with bright eyes and a head so full of dreams that she couldn't keep her mind focused on just one at a single time. Jumping from one place to another, content to simply stare at the stars and listen to me talk about things she couldn't quite understand. No way she has the stomach for whatever she's playing at. She'll cave. And I'll go back to living my life without her.

Though I'll admit the change of outfit certainly could be convincing to the untrained eye. The leggings, the jacket, the crop top, the dark colors—she's got it all right. But it's just a costume. Tear it all away and I'm sure I'll find the same bubbly, soft, sweet, small girl hiding underneath. The girl who I'd let lace flowers in my hair and who'd lay her head on my shoulder and watch the sunset. She can flash skin and coat her smile with oversaturated sweetness all she wants. She's not fooling me; I know her.

I glance at Suvi who is laying at her feet. She seems like the happiest little fox in the world right now. I remember when Ivy first brought her back to the barn, hands trembling but eyes focused as she stitched the poor creature back together. I'd helped put a splint on her leg, watching closely as the weeks passed and she still kept on managing to cling to life. It's strange, remembering all that now. Leaves a bittersweet taste in my mouth, makes it difficult for my mouth to form words.

I shift on my feet as she takes off her jacket, folds it over her arm. My eyes dart away from Suvi and back to Ivy. Her voice—"Why thank you, hun."—is an even more syrupy, sugary sweet than my own. I furrow my brow, frown. Not because I can't handle it and not because I actually find her threatening, but because of how my heart twists and my stomach clenches. Ugh. I blink slowly, roll my eyes and look away from her. Come on, Priscilla. What'd you expect? Stupid. So stupid, underestimating my enemy.

"I was bored, figured it'd be nice to social climb a rung or two in my last year a' school."

I glance back at her, the flash of surprise no doubt showing pretty obviously on my face. But her smile is smug, her lips pulling her soft features too tight and her voice hiding the hissing sound of a snake waiting to bit. It's unnerving and so far from what I had expected from her. And her words certainly don't make much sense either. She's never cared for popularity contests or beauty pageants or social climbing--

"Been so long since we last talked, you got any plans for after we graduate?"

And that's when I realize that she's lying. This has nothing to do with getting to the top of a ladder or wearing a crown or becoming the most popular girl in all of District 10. This is about getting to the rung wear my fingers are clinging tight and breaking them, slowly, one by one, until I fall. She doesn't care about being at the top. She just wants me to be battered and broken at the bottom.

And I probably should've seen it coming and prepared a steely exterior, but it's like she's reached out and slapped me across the cheek—"I was thinkin' of becoming a neurosurgeon, or something of the sorts."—when she says it. I feel my cheeks burning, my eyes becoming glassy in the firelight as the force of her words radiates through my cheek, my eyes, my jaw, my neck. I'm thankful for the darkness, thankful that my features are only visible in the moments when the fire flickers just a little bit brighter.

And I want so badly just to spit in her face and lash out with a tongue sharp as a knife, but I'm choking on memories. And I want to hate her as I meet her gaze, but all I can think about is sitting in my bed at three in the morning beneath my bed sheet with a flashlight held between my shoulder and my cheek, a science textbook sprawled open in front of me, eyes bloodshot and begging for sleep, but I just want to finish this chapter.

Right hand poised and ready to turn to the next page as soon as I finished the page, left hand pressed gently to Ivy's hairline, her breath warm and steady against my thigh as she slept curled up next to me. Fingers dancing in an involuntary rhythm where her hair met her scalp, pausing in my reading only when she fidgeted through a dream, closing my book only when she wrapped her arms around my waist.

The girl in front of me isn't that same girl, even though her hairline looks just as soft and her arms look like they'd fit perfectly around my waist. Even though I can still feel her fingers weaving flowers into my hair and hear her laughing as we sprint through the rows of sunflowers. But I made a mistake in thinking that this costume would be as easy as tearing off a mask. And I made a mistake in thinking that this girl was the same one I knew a few years ago.

But even still I can't shake the memory from my mind. My smile of ill intent is forced,my steps are far less confident as I take a few steps towards her, words—"Seems a bit unrealistic."—falling less maliciously than I mean them to as I remember being a child and dreaming that dream.

But if she's going to fight, then so am I. And if she thinks that I can't and that she's already won, well--

Then she's the one who has misjudged and I'm ahead in this game.

"You drinking that?" I ask, not bothering to wait for her answer before swiping the bottle from her hand and replacing the empty space in Ivy's hand with a cup of something far stronger and much more disgusting. I bring the bottle to my lips, thankful for the warmth spreading through me, the burn in my throat, the promise of being too damn drunk to be worrying about whatever the hell Ivy plans on doing while she's here.

"Thanks, hun," I say, tossing aside the now empty bottle and gesturing to the cup in her hand.

"Go on, darling," I press my fingers to the bottom of her cup, lifting it toward her lips. "Your turn. It's like, popular girl rule number one. You gotta get trashed at these things."

It's a lie. Obviously. But the drunker she gets the more likely it is she'll make a mistake. And then this act will be over and things will go back to how they were.

And I can go back to reminiscing in the safety of my own home.

table by elegant

[[nyte]]

IVY WATSON

"These flies on my window
are winners in a losing game."

It feels nice to matter again. To be the center of attention, even though her ire is just about everything I possess- it's better than nothing. Hopeless, bitter nothing that I do not know how to fix or fight because I was given no reason nor any choice in the matter. I was alone the moment she decided I was. Less than worthy, stupid 'n different. An' even now she don't give one shit about how she hurt me. Just that I'm here and I'm threatening her.

Why can't I bring myself to hate her? Why does my heart start hurtin' real bad when I see her cheeks burn, painful memories branded into her skin bright as if I'd just pressed the iron into it myself. I can't stop carin', that I'm hurtin' her or embarrassin' her. She plays this game because she can, I just want her to realize how much it hurt. Drink plucked from in between my fingers, replaced by a cup full a' poison and a polite sip is all can I manage when she forces it to my lips.

The gesture is toxic, filled with malice 'n even I'm surprised at the game she thinks we're playin'. Doesn't she fear the truths I could spill with alcohol coursin' through my veins? Or is she really so arrogant as to think she could discredit every one a' the stories folded between my tongue. 'Member how you used to dissect woodland creatures honey?

My kind a' fun ain't a party filled with enemies pretending to be friends. Snake's smiles plastered to their lips and the air that his my skin is suddenly so much colder in the absence of the Priscilla I thought I could coax from in between wolves' fangs. I was working hard at foolin' myself into believing I could be happy like this, perhaps even fall into her favor again once I started playing the game. An' our happiness would go no deeper than the skin but it'd be more than what I currently have. One night stands and parents too wrapped up in their own stories to give a damn about mine.

Face to face with what Priscilla has become, I know there's no fixin' us. No matter how much my heart yearns for the good ol' days; when I knew the touch of her skin better than that of my own an' she did real crazy things like acknowledge my existence and pretend that she ever gave a shit about it. Everything I thought I knew about her feels tainted. Fake and burdensome. I might as well have never existed. She'd be happier for it, I'm sure.

So I keep pretending to be okay. Pout forced upon my lips 'n setting the cup on the ground next to me the minute her hand has retreated. Her game is obvious and sloppy, 'n she can't do shit if I don't play along. "I've had more than enough, Scilla" I drawl, crossing my arms in fronta my chest 'cause even now I just want her to stop hurtin' me. With those big, pretty eyes so expertly accentuated with powder and paint. 

Winnin' is what matters to her. We are all but pawns in her pointless game of chess. And if we're useless in that endeavor then we're simply thrown off the board. I'd know. "Get me drunk, then what?" I speak softly, brows furrowed because everything about her actions feel nothin' less than sinister. "Hope I do somethin' stupid or trick me into it?" 

Scilla is real special in how she manages to piss me off. Meek, mild mannered. I am weak in every sense of the word an' yet the fire she's lit inside me is agonizing. So much so that I'll do just about anything to put it out. Pull myself apart to stop the pain searing from inside out and every piece of my broken heart is hers if that's what she really wants.

She was there for everythin'. For what happened to my parents and when the wound was still fresh she was there only to grind salt into the broken skin. Keepin' it open and raw an' it wasn't until this year that it started festering. Smellin' of putrid rot and I thought that it would be easy to sew closed with bitter words and dark intention. Everyone wants to be like Priscilla after all, 'n that's just what she would do.

"There's absolutely nothing I'd put past Priscilla Fraiser." My words do not aim to bite. I know better than anyone else that her apathy is all-encompassin'. I thought I mattered to her. In all fairness, maybe I did, but never more than she mattered to herself "I'm not here for you. You're not worth my time." 

My plan of confrontation was only ever a desperate attempt at rehabilitation. I want her back, even now, but there's no sewin' myself back together. This infection has gotta be cut off entirely if I ever wanna feel normal again. "'N it's funny 'cause all this time I was tryin' to get your attention I never realized you didn't fuckin' deserve mine." 

table by elegant

[arx!!]

PRISCILLA

"She buries her skeletons,
buries her skeletons like she's collecting them."

She takes a sip and pulls a pout onto her lips. Pretty sure it isn't real. None of this feels real. Part of me thinks it has to be a dream. Or a nightmare. I don't know. I haven't quite decided yet. She's here and in front of me and I hate it. I hate it so much and yet when she shifts from one heel to the other and folds her arms over her chest I find myself hoping she'll take another step closer. Or maybe that pout will turn into a smile. Or maybe she'll say something hurtful to make this easier for me.

And I swear I can hear it coming—"I've had more than enough, Scilla."—something laced with just enough poison to make me want to fight back. Or at least something that'll snap me out of remembering the way her nose crinkled when she smiled really big. Or how her eyes would light up brighter than the stars—"Get me drunk, then what?"—when she was smiling, happy. Her brows are furrowed as she speaks, something that always used to happen when she couldn't quite figure out what one of her little animals needed.

And when she says it I nod because, yes, that was exactly what the plan was. But hearing it on her lips and seeing that register in her features suddenly makes the idea seem so much worse than I'd intended. I just want her to go away. Just leave before she screws up everything I made and everything I've become. And she is. She is and I hate her so much for the way my heart is skipping beats and my stomach is tossing.

Why is she even here? What does she want? What is here at this stupid popularity contest that she could ever possibly want?

"There's absolutely nothing I'd put past Priscilla Fraiser."

And it doesn't bite. I'm not even sure it's supposed to. She knows that, I know that. I think everyone here knows that. I've done anything and everything to get to where I am. I need to get somewhere and she's so damn right—I will do anything to get to the top and to sit on the throne. Step on anyone, use anyone, do anything... or anyone. Maybe it's dirty and maybe it's cruel, but it's worked hasn't it? I'm finally getting somewhere. I'm finally not stuck.

Why can't she just understand that I'm not content living in the same place my whole life? I don't want to be a housewife for some cowboy, I don't want to live milking cows, I don't want to live in District 10, I don't want to do anything here. I don't even want to live here. Why can't she just leave me alone? Why can't she just understand I will never be happy here?

"I'm not here for you. You're not worth my time."

And it's as long as I can hold my tongue. Voice hushed—"Then why are you here?"—but harsh all the same. My crossed arms shoot down to my sides, hands balled up into fists. And I'm so close to her now that I know if I hadn't been drinking so much I might be able to smell her perfume or soap. But all I smell and taste is the alcohol on my breath. It's tasting sweeter and sweeter with every passing second.

"'N it's funny 'cause all this time I was tryin' to get your attention I never realized you didn't fuckin' deserve mine."

I've never been much of 'feelings' sort of person. Ivy was always compensated for that part of me. I'd feel the pain through her tears and the joy through her laughter. Where here heart was on her sleeve, mine was tucked away beneath my ribs like it was supposed to be. I've always prided myself for it—or at least I've always been grateful for it. Panem is a heartless world. Show it too often and it'll get torn to shreds by people looking to get ahead. People like me.

I've never been much of a 'feelings' sort of person. And Ivy always has. But I think when Ivy showed up here tonight my heart sewed it self to my sleeve, all bright and shiny and looking like new. And now I feel like she's holding it in her hand. The only thing telling me where her heart is at, is the curse word that fell from her lips. I've never heard her curse in my entire life.

She's pissed. At me. For real.

I don't know how long I just stand there looking at her in the lowlight. Maybe a second, maybe all night. I really couldn't tell you. But it feels like an eternity of just being lost in her gaze. Every bit of anger I should be feeling just washes away. My features soften, my muscles grow weak, and all I have to offer her is a few rhythmic blinks and a few more inches of space as I take a step back.

I can only manage to mouth the words. And even then I'm not sure they even really existed as a full thought. I think it was more of a trick, a spell. She got me all trapped in her eyes and now my mouth is just moving to form words I'm not sure I even mean.

"I'm sorry."

Phantom words. Phantom thought. No one heard them and no one could see my lips moving in the dark. Just a split second of complete loss of all control.

I grasp desperately at control. I find it in anger. I decide to use it. Even if only to get away from here. From her.

"You know what, Ivy," I say, taking an aggressive step towards her with my voice lowered to a growl.

And I meant to say something clever. Something that would feel like salt in open wounds or a knife twisting deeper in her stomach, but all I can come up with is—"Whatever."

I quickly replace the words and lapse of judgment with a cup. I tilt back the cup until its contents are gone, throat burning and eyes watering as I choke down whatever nasty concoction was stirred up in there. I needed something to bring me to my senses. And though I know exactly what alcohol does to the mind, I decide it's worth it.

I shove through the crowd of sneering, jeering people with my head held high, yanking a cup from more than one kids hand and tossing back the contents until I'm far enough away that the light of the fire doesn't reach me. I feel warm, the fiery liquid in my stomach leaching into my blood and setting me ablaze until I'm laughing.

I am such an idiot.

It's hilarious.

I tell myself I hate her, but all I'm hoping is that she follows me out here. Aren't I just fucking pathetic?

table by elegant

[[nyte]]

IVY WATSON

"These flies on my window
are winners in a losing game."

Words lose themselves upon a midnight breeze and I can't make them out among the chatter. The anger twisted 'pon her brow makes me feel like maybe I'm about to get decked. We'll collide within the forgotten rage and I thought I could pretend but I can't. Wind whips about my exposed skin 'n my expression twists to somethin' that feels a helluva lot like fear. Mama gets like this when she's drunk too. Memories 're ice cold down my spines, eyes shut right 'n I'm can't help but relax when the pain comes in the form a' voices and not fists.

"You know what, Ivy?" Pain. I'm used to this pain. I'm not scared of this pain. The way her laughter sinks 'neath the beds of my nails. Diggin' inta my skin and she's always had a knack for makin' me feel worthless. Easy target. I'm an easy fuckin' target, ain't I? So unashamed in my owness that they've been methodically destroyin' me for years 'n years on end. My skin grew thick, calloused after so long but I-

I know I'm doin' this for her. For her attention. I'm here screamin', bitin', clawin'. Trying so hard to hurt her so that she'll fight for me. For once. In six goddamn years. I want her to realize that she made a mistake throwin' me away but here she is walking away again with liquor down her throat.

"Scilla!" I call out after her, Suvy nipping at my heels as I take her wrist within shakin' hands. "Honey, you're real drunk jus'- let me take you home. 'Fore somethin' bad happens."

'Cause no matter how hard I try I can't stop lovin' her. An' I can tell myself I don't but I've never been a good liar.

table by elegant

[arx!!]

PRISCILLA

"For the record,
you'll stay on my mind."

Heat rises in my cheeks. My feet are heavy, clumsy. I'm in hysterics, laughter slowing my limbs as I struggle to catch my breath. I drank too much alcohol. Stupid. A lapse in judgement, a miscalculation—I don't make mistakes. I'm smarter than slurred words and sloppy behavior and I'm sure as hell smarter than to let myself look like a fool.

It's her. After years of trying to get her out of my thoughts, she's decided to crawl right back in. I can feel my control slipping; my hand is slipping from the top rung of the social ladder and it's her fault. She's latched onto my wrists and she's ready to yank me free and let me fall.

Why couldn't she just leave me be? Why'd she have to show up here? Why couldn't she just stay out of my life? Why can't I get her out of my head?

"Let go!" I growl at her with a poison laced tongue, but my heart doesn't let me pull away from her grasp. "Was six years of torture not enough for you to get it or what?"

I'm glaring at her with a sneer. All I've got left is anger and cruelty. I'm a cornered animal, lashing out because that's all I can think to do. Maybe she'll go away if I cut deep enough.

"You think you can just, show up here and-" I'm breathing heavy, huffing and ready to throw rip away from her grasp if I can't manage to find words that'll sting.

Furrowed brow and I'm just staring at her. I open my mouth to finish the thought, but the words don't come. My mind is screaming all sorts of profanities, my heart all focused on where her skin touches mine-

Ugh! It's the booze. I can't think.

I laugh in a feeble attempt to force my feelings away. I'm drunk, I'm drunk, I'm just drunk. There's nothing more to it than that. My better judgement, my inhibition-

"This was your plan all along, wasn't it? To mess with my head by being here and looking all-" I struggle for a different word than the one stuck in my head, but it's all I can come up with and I'm frantic. I laugh at myself when I finally give up. "Y'know, hot as hell. And, and then-" I finally twist my wrist away from her, heat rising across my neck and cheeks as I run my shaking hands through my hair in frustration.

"And then what? Get me wasted, watch me make a fool of myself?" I don't know why I'm still yelling. But I can feel myself losing steam, heart growing tired, mind growing numb.

"Get me all alone?" I say, voice softening. "Use that honey-sweet voice of yours on me?" Softer still, my sneer melting into a soft smile. "Charm me into leaving with you?"

Lapses in judgement. I growl in frustration, rolling my eyes, and folding my arms over my chest.

"Well, congrats, your plans working. You got what you wanted," I sass at her.

"Now what? Darlin'."

No way I let her think she's won.

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