DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #55 - M-E-T-H-O-D

⚠️ bad taste jokes (non jokes). mentions of eating disorders . mentions of drugs/drug use ⚠️

'Good morning, Layne! Thank you so much, you're sweet!' I answer, as Layne twirls a strand of my red coils around his pointer finger. A smile on his lips, as he notices that I'm wearing Sean's Budweiser hat in reverse. To conceal the fact that I have terrible bed n' helmet roots, but the blonde singer of Phellus in Chains doesn't know it yet, or he wouldn't have called me 'Beautiful Cherry'.

Layne is a very nice guy, I can feel no ounce of creepiness in him, I like him a lot and I appreciate how sweet and respectful he is to me, always. He could've complimented me for my tits, my ass, or pretty much anything else, but he's a decent man and he complimented me for my overall appearance ... and for my freckles. That's sweet. And the fact that Sean is looking at us, from his spot at the coffee machines, with no war glimmer in his eyes, but a smile on his lips, is even sweeter. Phellus guys know Phellus guys ... and Phellus drum guy knows that Phellus mic guy ain't a threat. At least, not when he speaks to me. When Layne speaks to me, it's never to flirt with me : most of the times, it's either to crack jokes with me, compliment me in a non creepy way, tell me stupid on the road stories, make a fool of Sean, and offer me cigarettes. We smoke the same cigarettes, and that's one of the few reasons why I vibe so well with the guy. It's Lucky Strike, it's toasted.

Speaking of cigarettes, I let my hand slide into the front pocket of my low rise shorts, I pull out my pack of Lucky Strike's, and hand it over to Layne. Layne smiles, and pulls a white-filtered cigarette out of it. He puts it between his lips, I do the same, and being the gentleman that he is, he lights my cigarette first, and his second. I am not sure we can smoke in this room, while other people are having their breakfast meal, but I saw no 'no smoking here' signs on the wall, so I'll go for it. Cuntrell was puffing on his fucking disgusting Marlboro Red's until not so long ago, the whole room was smelling like Marlboro blend and like the steam coming off his ears, and no one came for him. Why would they have to come for me and Layne? We smoke much finer, less bad smelling cigarettes. We shower more often than Cuntrell. And we don't fume from our ears. We are chill, hygienic, humorous people !

'Beautiful? Khair? Ha'. A male voice I am, sadly, familiar with, speaks from right beside Layne and I. I turn, and I realise I've manifested the Cunt. Gerry is here, he's back, and no matter the fact that Sean's humped him like a dog to teach him a lesson, he's trying to get on my last sane nerve again. This time, by picking up Layne's compliment, and implicitly saying that he doesn't see an ounce of beautiful in me. I don't care, I don't aim to look good in his eyes, like I don't aim to look beautiful in anyone's eyes, but my loverboy's. I always appreciate a compliment, my ego is frail and a little praise always gives me a much needed boost. Now he's insulting me, and I'd normally bawl my eyes out at a comment on my lack of appeal ... but I don't, because he's doing the Clowntrell here, ain't he ? Isn't he the same guy who tried to fuck me multiple times? Isn't he the guy who was drooling by the sides of his mouth and touching his trouser snake, when he saw me for the first time, straight after fucking Bessie in our shared apartment? Back to when I didn't even know he played in the same band as Sean? Ew. He is.

'She's beautiful, and that fucker over there is a real lucky one'. Layne chimes in, as he points to my handsome, nose pierced hunk, doing the gentleman and letting a lady in her mid 50s grab coffee at the machines before him. I swing off my feet at the sight of my loverboy being nice to humankind, because it ain't something that happens everyday. When it happens, it means that he's having a good day, mood wise. And I'm a big fan of the fact that he's in a good mood, today. This is a sign that we must have two rounds of sex and a couple lines of cocaine every night, before falling asleep.