Coney Island Queen

03 | cookie dough

03: GO BUY YOURSELF SOMETHING PRETTY, YOUR PANTY DRAWER IS BORING

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AMANDA DISREGARDS MY groans and moans, dragging me towards every store known to man. She stops in front of Victoria Secret, pursing her lips.

"I need some new panties, but it this exuberant splurge worth it?" Amanda ponders out loud to herself. "What the hell am I saying? VS is always worth it." And with that I'm trailing behind her quite lethargically.

"Can we eat after this?" I plead, my stomach grumbling angrily.

Amanda chooses to keep ignoring me. "Go buy yourself something pretty. Your panty drawer is boring." She hands me a one hundred dollar bill and marches away, sifting through racks and examining the lace on bras.

I decide to not to enlighten myself on why she's been through my underwear drawer. Starting to sift through the racks, I pull out some cute items. I'm going to buy something because why the hell not, I mean it's not my money. Which means that it's virtually free, and free always means glee.

Once I pick out a pair of gray sweatpants and new underwear, I go to the register. The total is eighty-four ninety-six, and I thank the cashier, grabbing the bubble gum pink bag.

I root around for a minute looking for Amanda. "Here's your change," I say when I finally find her.

She pauses her browsing and looks at the money, then back up at me. "Keep it, you need it a lot more than I do, sister."

I stuff the change in my wallet (which Amanda says is boring also) and roll my eyes at her. "Can we go eat? God, I'm starving." I say, holding my stomach.

"When are you not starving, Gia?"

I pretend to think about the question for a moment. "I think once when I was in the womb-"

"If I buy the food, will you stop talking?"

I grin, holding out my hand. "Deal."

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I'm desperately trying to order from the menu hanging above us. Fuck, why did it have to be now that Amanda decided to go pee?

"Can I have the. . .the. . ." I attempt to read it, but the words are jumbled, and my brain can't seem to process them.

The cashier is giving me that look, the look that I know all too well. The one that says 'is this girl stupid or what?' At this point, my through closes up, and it's nearly impossible to speak without choking.

"The. . .dah-cou. . .oh fuck it," I choke, and tears sting my eyes. I rip away from the counter, and the tears spill over, dropping on to the floor. I've begun to make those stupid animal noises that just push out of your throat when you cry.

My cheeks color when I realize that I'm crying in the middle of a food court, and everyone is looking at me with pity. I don't want fucking pity, I just want to read. I don't want to feel like a dumbfuck at restaurants, having my parents order for me because I can't comprehend a damn thing.

A little girl tugs on her mother's sleeve and points at me. Her mother scolds her, telling her it's rude to point. The girl's arm drops, but her eyes don't leave me.

I forcefully tug out a mustard yellow chair, and collapse into it, banging my head on the table. The table immediately dampens with tears, and I sniffle repeatedly, my tremors coursing through my body.

And then I can't breathe, and my lungs burn with the desire to fill with air. I choke, and scramble to my knees, dry heaving over the floor. My heart is banging against my rib cage, and it feels like my head is exploding.