DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #66 - hysteria

'Whatever, fuck this bullshit. I'm pissed. A round at the slots, brother ?' Sean chimes in, breaking the odd silence that followed his dry joke... and his odd, prolonged stare on me. I've stared back at him the entire time, trying to elicit a word or two from him, but I think I failed miserably in my only one intent. I really fucking wanted to find out what the hell was (and probably still is) going on in his mind, but he didn't say a word to save his life. He kept the damn mouth shut, looked at me with a hint of a smile on his lips, and an unusual, never seen before look in his eyes. I feel safe to say that I've navigated his little, coffee brown eyes, in and through, but I still have no clue what's the deal with him. I just saw... tiredness, almost compassion, and a tiny bit of anger in his eyes. Not sarcasm, he's pissed off and out of it now. Not belligerence, he's calmed down a bit and I thank goodness for that. Not guilt, because he apparently hasn't fucked another chick while I was taking a piss with Maryann, and I'm just a fucking pessimist. Not love, cause I'm sure that love doesn't look like that, and I'm well aware that he doesn't love me. So, what the hell's going on with the ever so blunt, ever so sharp tongued, sharp dressed Kinney? Why hasn't he dared to say a word? Why hasn't he even dared to kiss the fuck out of me, to calm my clueless hysteria like he always does ?

I am genuinely confused, he's doing the cryptic, he quite can't stop doing the cryptic, but Layne kindly offered me a cigarette, so... I'm puffing my thoughts away on a Luckie, blowing thick clouds of smoke out of my nostrils, as Sean's arm is still thrown around my shoulders, motionless and all. Done with doing the angry, now he wants to do the gambler and spin his pissed-offness away. The Sean that I know would generally take a pull on his anger, or throw a couple things, because that's how he conveys his ... emotions. But now, for some reason I can't quite tell because he's in his 'I keep it all inside until I fucking explode' element, he doesn't seem to mind that there's a bar that serves booze in this casino. He knows he gotta ride to Denver, and he's trying out the straightedge way because of that. He just wants to do the full blown yank and spin the slot... 'cause luck is on his side today, gambling wise, and we both know it. I mean, I've had a taste of it when he won hands and hands in a row against Cuntrell, not so long ago.

I don't understand all of these white, privileged people shenanigans, as I've said before we don't even have casinos in my homeland, and this is all so weird to me... but I embrace my white, privileged non boyfriend's knack for gambling no matter what. As long as gambling helps with rubbing his anger off, I'll keep sticking by his side, being his lucky charm like he's kindly asked me to do... yes, back to when he was spinning the slots with Gerry, and the cunt and I were almost having a civilised, although deterring relationship. Seems like it's been a lifetime since then ... but it was just a few comments on how I'm a dog, a minor, and a fat ass ago.

I chuckle, trying to gather each and every ounce of positivity from within myself, as I stand up from the lounge chair and I tug Sean by the arm, bringing him along with me. As soon as he's back on his feet, towering in front of me, he tugs my arm back and pulls me closer to him. My head bounces against his chest, and we both laugh at the impact. I laugh, but he laughs harder, and I can literally feel my heart bumping like crazy against my ribcage at the sound of his low laughter, and at the feeling of his arms around me. Fuck, I'm in more in love with him than I thought I was, and it's fucking CONCERNING.

I close my eyes, as he begins to sweetly rub my back, and I sniff the fabric of his T-shirt... inhaling all of that Davidoff goodness. Cherishing the fact that he's smelling like the cologne that I've chosen for him, that it suits him so much, and that I've somehow managed to make him become putty in my hands for the umpteenth time. We don't look like we are, but on occasion, we are cheesy, cheesy people. Right back at eachother's back when we need ... eachother. We are exclusive, yes, but also pretty fucking sweet. Aren't we?