Cigarette Eyes // halsey

.01

"You're a lesbian?"

That words always get spat out in a mix of disgust, fear, and realisation. For some reason, the general public sees the word "lesbian" as some sort of foul creation sent from hell itself when, in reality, us humans were the first to create it. We created pretty much everything, to be honest. Not dirt. No, not that stuff. Earth's bounty was there from the start, but homo sapiens took resources, crafted nations from loose ink, and began to rule the world. Rather impressive, yet we fear our own creations.

Planes? Yeah, a shit ton of people hate flying on those winged, metal capsules. They don't make much sense.

Bombs? Those didn't pop off no coconut tree, darling. Humans made those and we are currently dropping them on innocent people.

"Lesbian"? Women whip their daughters into hating that word while preachers send their young girls to therapy to cure them. A word we created has caused constant turmoil.

In this case, an aspiring poet named Estela Vivana watched as her roommate had a complete meltdown. Being that her parents were Mexican immigrants, she had been used to seeing some sort of hate or discrimination on the daily basis, but it never ceased to anger her. The expression on her face showed it, too. Narrowed, hazy brown eyes glowed in the dimly lit hallway of their apartment. A ratty mess of short, ebony locks created from frustrated combing. Full lips in a short snarl.

And she looked absolutely, positively done with this homophobic shit.

"Becky, you dumb sack of fake tan and white privilege, of course I'm a lesbian." Estela crossed her arms and quirked a sharp brow. "Why does it matter?"

The redhead practically gagged. "It's sinful."

"So is hopping on dick every night, but I don't see you begging Jesus for forgiveness, now do I?"

Now, Becky was a soccer player at her college. Those legs of hers could probably kick through two walls with ease and were often her go to weapon. She really should have used them instead of trying to have a verbal debate. The girl wasn't smart. Not at all. Practically had a brain of solid limestone, but her resilience made up for her lack of intelligence.

Estela nearly smirked at her companion's lack of resistance until Becky actually started talking.

"In my family, we were raised properly. Spoke english and all that. None of your crazy Mexican things. We did things the great American way," the redhead chanted, almost as though she had memorized the lines before. "Homosexuality? That's against the bible. God says its bad."

Little Miss Vivana rolled her eyes and scoffed. Typical. Somehow, people still thought the best way to battle the gay agenda was to bring faith into the mix. Angels from the night sky and a bearded man on a shiny throne seemed to govern every single whim these people had, though the always seemed so proud of their ignorance. It amused Estela. To a point, at least. After awhile, the words all jumbled together and every point made by every person blended together. No one provided a unique fight anymore.

"The bible doesn't promote a lot of good marital values, Becky," Estela groaned. "Do some research."

It was true. Look at Deuteronomy 22, verses 28 through 29. The bible says that if a man rapes a woman and is discovered, he must pay for her and wed her. Yup. That's in the bible. A victim of sexual assault is to be trapped with her attacker for life, bond in holy matrimony. Then, check out Genesis 38, verses 6 through 10. Onan was to sleep with his dead brother's wife and produce children. The woman was forced to submit sexually to this man. In the end, God killed Onan because the man refused to let his seed lay in his brother's wife, which is rather cruel for an ultimate being to do.

Estela knew these things. She had gone to Catholic schools her whole life.

Both of them sighed.

"Could you, just, get out of here?" When Becky saw Estela's bewilderment, she elaborated further. "Move out. I can't live with a homosexual."

"Gladly, you bitch."

The furious lesbian agreed to be out of the place within the week. And she would be. Willingly. Something about staying in the same confines as a snotty homophobe didn't rub her in the right way. Maybe she could find a cheap place on the West end. Yeah, sure, LA has it's bad parts, but that area would be close to the beach at least. Maybe some old drug den could be mopped up into a living space.

Didn't matter. Not at the moment.

She had some serious drinking to go do.