Vent Pieces.

The Man who Licked Me

The story? all false. The emotions? all real. The noodles? al dente.

(Summary: Sweetah is broken down multiple times until an abusive unit suggests things which dash her life to pieces. She stops eating right and has an awful time of life confusion.)

[Oct. 23, 2019]

OH he was a daft little thing. It started out on the morning she bought her first lipstick. She was twelve years old. Who would know any better: the smallest man or nearly the tallest 12 year old girl?

Sweetah wore what was left. Being rich, it fit well and matched. It provided ample warmth for the winter months. Only 5 pieces were left and she was lucky enough that they formed a full outfit.

The large hood of her pink Balenciaga longline parka that was women's small enough to fit her form bounced behind her as she walked to the bank. Withdrawing $20 from the counter got her a lot of stares because she had never learnt to use the ATM among other electronics. Still everyone in the vicinity thought it was cute that she went in there by herself. Cute.

There were many things people thought were cute about Sweetah, but people shut up when they saw the look behind her eyes. The young mixed girl had about a billion life screwups ahead of her and yet everyone but her could see how easily and obviously it would be for her to get into an abusive relationship.
She had that personality disorder people thought Dylann Roof did, you know, the one which could cause a person to have no hobbies except for "stare at the wall." Sweetah was emotionally flat.

AT 13 her main hobby was to go on a walk downtown. She would stand around in places until people would make conversation with her, when asking them rude, confusing questions wasn't an option.

AT 14 Sweetah finally caught a glimpse of what had happened on the morning of her first lipstick. It came to her through a dream, the image of swiping the coloured glossy pigment across her young lips, feeling beautiful until the footage cut out and she shivered, painting her lightskinned face with unsure spirals all across. In the dark the lipstick only made her tender skin even colder. The dream confused her more than a cell phone. Torturous shock sent through her body every time Sweetah thought about the way her body felt that night, how disgusting of a person she had felt, and how it was too real to be an alternate reality.

AT 15 Sweetah meets a young man, the tall type of one that could either have been an anime character or a waiter. He hates her. He treats her like he hates her, and she loves it more than anything to have someone around. All that she has ever known of love is the thoughts inside her head of the dreams since she was 12.

The young man named Jefe punches the walls, throws a spear through the window, and Sweetah stares in awe. She wonders how a man could be so strong and so bold. His name legally is Jeffrey and he is 100% Scottish, which for anyone who has seen that clip of Conan knows means that this man is inbred. Jefe is hella inbred. Jefe is wondrously dumb and has an eye which points in any direction he wants, being the worst of his features to ever grace his unsavoury face. He is also a damn liar.

"Sweetah!" Jefe yells across the road. He wipes a long line of various face fluids from his mouth. "We breakin' in here or not?!" His hair was tied up in a bun that reflected fashion as well as douchebaggery.

The young girl caught up to him running in her pink jacket. "What do you want to find in there?" Was the only question she could think to ask about the crime, since everything was about Jefe in her mind.
It hurt her when he was not happy.

"Good... Good stuff, I don't know! Let's see!"

Sweetah blushed and stared away from him. "Do you want the key?" Hopefully this would redeem her for asking. Jefe responded with a shove of his hand into her pocket. Her jacket was so long that he accidentally rubbed her through it. Sweetah never allowed herself to have much of an opinion about such things.

Jefe opened the door to the shop they were breaking into as Sweetah stayed behind the streetlight ignoring her pangs of guilt. She watched him. She just let it happen. Anything Jefe was going to do happened if Sweetah thought she couldn't prevent it.

The shop, to a normal person not plagued with Jefe's mental deficiencies, wouldn't even have been worth breaking into at all. Jefe was too stupid. He thought with only his faithless, weightless whims which got him nowhere. 

[Mar. 13]

The shop had nothing but watches and pieces of ancient electronics and machines on the shelves. Sweetah loved all of it, yet the thought of having been a part of breaking into it completely took away any good feelings she had about the items of the shop. 

Jefe barged into the shop, his shifty eyes and shit demeanor out of place among the glistening centuries-old cogs and wheels. An old brown movie projector loitered on the floor near his leg. He bent down once he felt its dusty metal on his sock. He peered down at it without an ounce of grace and kicked the object in a far more uncoordinated fashion than would be expected for anyone but him. The wheel shone