We Found Love

NINE

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For the nth time she shifted on her seat. It was a nice seat alright, cushy and soft and covered in a nice red synthetic leather. Yes, synthetic because authentic is hella expensive and she doubts this hole in the wall diner can afford red authentic leather covered seats for their customers.

But seriously, it is not the seat that's making her shift so uncomfortably.

Across her are Lucy and Camila, laughing their ass off about something Camila said. They have been talking, one topic after another after she introduced them to each other. It was as if they were long time friends catching up after years of being apart and she's just the chopped liver third wheeling this nice reunion.

It's annoying.

And it's not supposed to affect her like that. But fuck it, it does.

So what, if they get along just fine? Probably much more than fine with the way they both laugh. Lucy gets along with anybody, she's just that kind of person. She's known that fact since forever and it never bothered her like ever. Actually, she's proud how personable Lucy is and admires how her best friend gets along with anybody.

But right now, she doesn't admire anything at all.

She's irritated.

Lauren stabbed her fork at a piece of meatball on her plate and shoved it in her mouth. It was succulent and juicy and it's one of her favorites but somehow this meatball tastes bitter in her mouth.

"Hey, Lauren! Did you know that Camila wrote the script for the Broadway show I was talking to you about?!" Lucy yapped excitedly, trying to get her to join this fascinating conversation about whatever.

"No,"

"This is such a coincidence. I can't believe I'll be working with your cute next door neighbor," Lucy laughed again, and the sound was making Lauren's ears bleed.

"How are the meatballs by the way, Lauren?" Camila asked, noticing how Lauren have been stabbing one particular meatball with her fork as she chewed on quietly.

As if we didn't order the same spaghetti and meatballs, like mine is any different from hers . . .

Lauren thought to herself grumpily.

"Good," she replied anyway.

"This pizza is good too, but can I try some of your meatballs, Camila?" Lucy asked.

Lauren subtly sighed, not looking up from her food. Her face was devoid of any interest, though inside, she feels like throwing a butter knife at her best friend's throat like she was playing darts like a pro.

"Sure," Camila offered her plate and slid it closer to Lucy's so she could get some of that meatball she was asking for.

Meanwhile, in Lauren's plate-land, one poor little meatball is stabbed mercilessly into a pile of meaty goo mixed up with the sweet tasty tomato sauce. It was like a morbid sight of a bloody mangled carcass on a white ceramic plate. Add the pasta and it's just downright gory thing to look at. If it isn't for the really delicious smell, it wouldn't be as appetizing anymore.

But really, seriously, Lauren is quickly losing her appetite and she couldn't comprehend herself why.

Lucy can be friendly to anyone she likes. So does Camila. But how their interaction right now irritates her is just beyond her wits. She shouldn't care this much, it shouldn't bother her this much.

This is so not like her.

Dang it, why did I ask her to join us again?

"Mhmm . . . This is so yum," Lucy moaned, "I should've ordered this,"