DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #44 - phellusponnese war

'You. It's all your fucking fault, Khair'. Cuntrell jumps to my throat, like I expected he would've, because he knows I've been the one to spread the gossip on his account. If it wasn't for my intervention, nobody would've known that he got called by the wrong man's name by Bessie, during sex, last night. But I promise, I promise and I solemnly promise, I didn't know that whispering the piece of gossip into Sean's ear would've had such a destructive effect. I just thought he would've had a laugh out of it, but he's been using the newfound knowledge in order to piss Cuntrell off ...a bit too insistently, for my wholesome girlie tastes.

Sean did the reckless idiot, is still doing the reckless idiot no matter how insistently I'm tugging his arm to make him desist, and how many killer stares I'm addressing his way... I'm here, almost apologetic, and this shistorm is all my fucking fault, in Cuntrell's book.

And guy hates me so fucking much that he calls me by my last name now. I would generally regard this as an accomplishment, being the end of Gerry's hatred is way more satisfying than being the end of his lusting, but right now ... my sense of hatred towards Cuntrell's overridden by sheer sense of guilt. I wanted him to stop chasing me at his any chance to, and despise me a bit while he's at it. I wanted to insult him because he has STD's for days and appeals to women too much, to be someone who looks like the average, ugly country singer, but things got blown out of proportion and took a whole other dimension. Sean's courtesy, I suppose. But what can I do, I can't hold back the beast when he's in the mood for the slander. I am the nuisance, sure, but Sean is the real menace and the mastermind behind all of this drama. And thank goodness I've kept my mouth shut about the little gossip involving Layne and Bess fucking in the service station, or he would've brought that up as well.

'What the hell d'ya want for me? My friend's gonna die because of you, and it's all my fucking fault?' I snap at Cuntrell, my pitch going a little bit too high as I stand from my seat on Sean's lap, and lean in front of Cuntrell to stare right into his swollen, reddened, blue eyes. The more I look at him, the less I understand why women would find someone like him any attractive, but nevermind, that ain't the point right now. The point is that he's plagued Bessie for life, giving her a terminal disease or sticking a baby inside of her, and I can't fucking unthink it. I've done the unproblematic all the time, I've done the clown and I've done the lovergirl, but the thought of Bessie dying or having his child keeps coming back to my mind in fucking waves. And it ruins my mood way more than the gossip thing about Sean buying four hundred bucks worth of cocaine to a woman he was mad over heels infatuated with. I am a woman of priorities, ain't I ? And this fucking cunt is blaming me, telling me that this shit is all my fault, after he's made a whole mess and threatened to my best friend's life? Like, is he even serious ?

'What?' Blondie yells an inch away from my face, thick clouds of steam coming off his ears 'cause he just can't stop fuming... even though he hasn't quite gotten the point I'm trying to make. This, because he's such a full blown, entitled to egomaniac bastard that he can't see the damage that he's done to Bessie by fucking her without a condom and stuffing her with his greasy, infected rat juice. I look over to Bessie, looking quite conceited, quite amused by this sudden Cuntrell/Khair intrigue, and I sigh with every ounce of worry I have inside myself. I hope that girlie survives the Cuntrell plague without too many complications, and I let her know that by blowing her a little kiss. She smiles, but I'm forced to look away from my blonde best friend, when Cuntrell tugs me by the arm and forces me to look back at him straight in the eyes.

I am looking at him straight in the eyes now, but he isn't letting go of my wrist just yet. I ain't afraid of confrontation, he can also attempt to hit me if he wants to, because I can have my easy way into a fight with a lanky, six feet tall guy who looks like he's had his last meal in 1989. Still, I don't really want this tour bus to turn into WCW WrestleWar, so I just try to fight his hold back, shaking my arm and all the good stuff. But he doesn't free me to save his life. He only loosens his hold over my wrist, when Sean stands up and leans right behind me, his head in the hollow of my neck, sarcastic look in his little, brown eyes, and cheeky grin on his lips. You can still tell that he was bitten in the lower lip last night... it's still red, swollen and perkier than his upper, and I think it gives him a flair. But we aren't talking about our post-sex glow up here, we are all about this Cuntrell drama, so I better let my beau's good looks not distract me from the crusade I'm trying to fight.