Psychopathic, don't be so dramatic.
•
Peter Parker
She looks so concerned about me. I hope she knows I am just depressed and not losing my mind. Well... maybe they are kind of the same thing, but if anything it's (Y/n) saving me from going crazy right now.
And maybe booze.
This party at Liz's house is crazy and I think everyone's too happy considering we lost friends. How can they all be so nonchalant about it, everyone's a sociopath now I guess.
Except for my best friend Ned. He's just the best.
We drink beer from red cups alone in the corner. I start to wonder where did (Y/n) go.
Speaking of the lovable devil. (Y/n) walks back to me with a bottle of... not beer.
"What you got there?" I ask.
"I talked with Liz, and she gave me her father's 17 years old Ballantine." She kisses the bottle.
"And what is a Ballantine? Kind of a weird name, ball... and valentine... that could give you a baby." Ned says.
"I like this one." She chuckles and says to me, "It's actually a very old scotch whisky."
"You don't like beers?" I ask, she's always drinking whisky like an overworked mafia.
"Hated it at first but once my body's settle with it, I just can't get enough. Besides, it helps to stay alert. That, if you just have a glass of course, but tonight I plan to drink the whole bottle." She says with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Wouldn't you... die... if you drink the whole thing?" Ned asks.
"Please, I have a dog bite and a knife wound on me and I'm doing just fine."
"Knife wound? Woah, what happened?" Ned asks worriedly. I look at her to see how she's going to respond.
"I did it to myself." She replies with a dead face. "I thought, what would be funny? Maybe I should try stabbing myself, and I did."
That's... even weirder than what actually happened.
"Holy shit, you're insane!" Ned kind of digs it, I don't understand why.
"Yeah I'm so quirky I decided to stab myself." She says in a monotone.
"What an honor to befriend with an absolute mad lad." Ned shakes hand with her then wink at me. He then joins the other friends at the beer pong table.
I walk closer to (Y/n) lighting a cigarette. "You play a quirky girl as a cover-up of actually being— you know— well-trained serial killer?"
"I am the quirky, not like other girls, introvert (Y/n) tonight. I already told you we'll be as normal as we can at least for the night. And if it takes me being cringed at to still blend it, I'll take it." She drinks her whisky.
