Post Two: Don't Be A Pussy
- Britany le Fay
- Apr 19, 2016
- 4 min read
Morgan
One minute I was talking to people, regretting my decision to even go out. The next I was watching a girl hoist herself onto a lamppost, looking out over the crowd. She was wearing a white lace skater dress and combat boots with thigh high black socks. She also seemed to be the only person left on the planet to wear a waist-belt. Her hair was long, and wavy, the light from the lamppost illuminating it.
Something spooked her, and she jumped down, hurrying in my direction. She wasn't paying attention and knocked right into me. I caught her immediately. She was so short!
The smell of her perfume hit me. She smelled like an angel. She struggled to look up at me, her face was a little sweaty from the summer heat. She barely wore any makeup. Maybe a little mascara, and a purple lip gloss that matched the colour of her hair. Her face was ruddy, like she may have worn coverup that blocked her pores without a good cleanser to fix it. I wondered why she wasn't wearing any now.
Regardless, she was still beautiful. A splash of freckles ranged all over her face, she looked young. But sometimes it was hard to tell with girls. As I caught her, I asked her if she was okay. She just looked up at me and said, “oh.” Either she recognized me, or she was as impressed with my looks as I was with hers.
Not long after, some guy came up behind her. I asked if he was bothering her, and she didn't seem to keen to answer. Though he tactfully informed me the situation was none of my business. They started a sort of banter. He was fuming, but was clearly trying to hide it. He claimed to be her boyfriend, but I heard her say 'ex' under her breath.
The top of her dress was a see-through lace, and I could see her cleavage. I tried not to stare, but I noticed her give me a sideways glance. As if she was hoping I was still there. Suddenly an incredible amount of cusses were coming out of her mouth. She was like a tiny sailor! For some reason, that made him leave, and then she just turned to me. A slight smirk on her face.
“Well that was awkward,” she shrugged and began walking away down a nearby alley.
I hesitated at first, but I did want to make sure she was okay. She pulled out a flask from her waist-belt and proceeded to take a rather large drink of it. I wanted to start a conversation, but I didn't quite know how. Right now it just seemed as if I was moderately stalking her as she wandered through a dark alley.
“Uh...” I began, “your name is Elli...right?”
“That's right,” she spun around to face me, walking backwards, “Ellipsis, if you want to get technical. But everyone calls me Elli. My parents were one of those hippie-dippie shits. But my little brother's name is Dash, so I feel like I lucked out.”
“Right,” I chuckled, wondering what I was getting myself into. She stopped, leaning her back up against the wall. I paused a bit back from her. I didn't want to get too close, still a little afraid she would think I was following her with less than noble intentions.
“Would you like some of my flask?” She offered, holding it out to me.
“What is it?”
“Rum,” she answered, and without missing a beat, “don't be a pussy.”
“Wouldn't want that,” I agreed, taking the flask from her. I took a swig. It may have been rum, but it was the sweetest rum I'd ever tasted. Perfectly matching her lavender coloured flask. There seemed to be a running theme with her.
I took a couple more swigs, and then realized I hadn't introduced myself. I handed it back to her, and she put the lid on.
“Oh, I'm...”
“Morgan fucking Clery,” she mused, not taking her eyes off mine.
“Ah, so that was a look of recognition,” I nodded, continuing to walk.
I wasn't sure where this was headed, but if she did turn out to be some psychotic fan, I really didn't want to die in an alley. She quickly followed me, matching my pace. Which was surprising for someone so little. She fiddled with the flask, but seemed a little indecisive about whether to drink more of it. Maybe afraid of getting too drunk with a stranger? Though this girl didn't seem like she was used to taking crap from anyone.
“Yeah, I loved your show. You and James Allen are amazing together,” she confirmed, blushing a little. It was cute. This girl was seriously cute. I figured she must be old enough to get her own alcohol...I mean, how else would she have her own flask and everything. Then I realized this was the 21st century, and pretty much anyone underage could get anything, especially if they had breasts. I wanted to think of a clever way to ask her how old she was, but nothing was coming to mind.
“Can I have more?” I asked her, pointing at the flask.
“Of course,” she nodded handing it over to me, and our fingers touched slightly as I took it from her. She looked away shyly. So freaking cute. God, I hope she's not underage. I passed it back to her after taking a couple more swigs. She held it up to her mouth as if she was about to take one herself, but then lowered it.
“You're not having any?”
“Uuuuhhh...”
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