DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #11 - cherries & opiates

⚠️ TW: mentions of drugs and sex. Seattle, baby ! ⚠️

I find the dollar bill with Sean's number scribbled on the back, and I instantly dial his number on our landline phone. The last time the landline phone was used, it was not so long ago, when Chrissie called her sweetheart Chris and wished him a good night. Sean isn't my sweetheart, far from that, he's just the one guy I pinned down for a few hours in a row at Cuntrell's basement party, and we didn't even fuck.
But for once in my life I'm calling a man, a man who ain't my boss or my father, and this feels low-key reinvigorating. And I'm blushing, not gonna lie. 'Cause I don't do this shit for anyone. Mr. Honda makes me step out my comfort zone, do weird things, feel all funny inside and even cheesier than I am by default. Which means... he makes me feel like low fat, spreadable sweet cheese.

'Kinney?' I speak into the dial, as soon as I can hear that he's picked up the call. Saying his last name right gives me a sense of entitlement, 'cause I was sure that his last name was McKinney and he was Irish, before Chrissie corrected my spelling and told me it's just Kinney. Without the Mc. But I'm still pretty sure he's part Irish, 'cause he's funny as hell and very nice. Very drunk too. Therefore very likely to be part Irish.

'Depends on how drunk I am ... and who's calling'. The elusive part Irishman answers, and I flush inside as soon as I hear his voice. I had almost forgotten how deep his voice was, and I've had it in my ears all night long, two days ago, 'cause guy talks a damn lot. It doesn't give small peepee energy, I think it gives very manly fucking man energy instead. It doesn't really match the weird things he says, but I'll take it. I'll take a McKinney with a big side of fries... I mean, jokes. And dessert to go with the meal, y'know. 'Cause when I'm in his presence, I've always got free weed and the consequential munchies. The munchies for food, but for the smooches too. I am sure he's part French too, 'cause that mouth can do things. Talking, but also kissing. And that huge jewel adorned, Roman nose can't lie. Oui oui c'est bon. Tout parfait à moi.

'Sean?' I ask, and for a moment I bless that Cock Soup is sleeping on my shoulder, or he would've gone Sean! Squawk! I need some cock, squawk! straight away. Having a bird that speaks is fun because you never know what's going to come out of his mouth at any given time, but it can get hella embarrassing. More or less like having a Sean in your life. I've had a taste of it the night we met. He is one tongue in cheek, inappropriate little bastard. He tells things in your face, and he could be joking or be hundred percent serious, but you wouldn't be able to tell. He bugged the hell out of me when I asked him if we were going to catch up again, and he flat out spat out a 'no'. To have me cringing, frowning and lessening all hopes on ever seeing him again. Then he cracked a joke on his elusiveness, and gave me his number. He kissed me, and not so long after the smooches were over 'cause I had to go, and Chrissie was looking at us tapping her feet on the floor in impatience... I hopped on my bike, and he stared at me with heart eyes as I fired my engine. Then he told me 'ride safe back home, Cherry. 'cause I gotta see you again', he waved at me... and spilled all of his coffee on his T-shirt. Clumsy hot. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was the moment I fell head over heels for him. Unlike Kim Thayil, he can call me Cherry. And I fucking hate being called Cherry...

'Kinney. I know him. And he knows me'. He speaks, and when I realise that he's in the mood for 'em jokes and that he's talking like he's had a few drinks before he picked up this call... I get the feeling that I don't want to keep this going on. He was probably having a nice night out, beers and babes included because he doesn't work at the post office, he plays in a rock band... and I have interrupted his idyll. Judging from what I can hear, it sounds like he's in a quiet spot of a crowded place. I can hear music, cackles and screams in the background. He's probably at a party, but not partaking. Being elusive like his usual. Kinney? I know him, I feel like I've known him since way before we spent the night together talking ...and drinking... and smoking ... and kissing. He's real funny and he never takes himself seriously. And he knows me. I could qualify myself, but honestly? I don't know if he would actually remember me. So I'll keep playing games until I feel like calling him out of nowhere after two days no see, and after I've just hung up on my past lover, has been a good decision or a real bad one.