11 - Rebecca

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          "Remind me again why I'm letting you into my fucking life," I snapped, staring at Tara across a cafe table

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          "Remind me again why I'm letting you into my fucking life," I snapped, staring at Tara across a cafe table. She held a half-empty glass of lemonade, which she'd ordered long before I'd even arrived. A glass of my own lemonade sat in front of me, waiting to be drank.

Tara was in a good mood. "Because, as bitchy as you are, you like me."

I scoffed.

"Somewhere in there." I noticed something sad in her smile. She sipped her lemonade and drank nearly the rest of it, which should have given her brain freeze but of course it didn't. She raised her head normally and looked me over. I saw the question coming before she asked it. "How are you today, Becky?"

"Excuse you," I growled.

She frowned. "Can't I call you Becky?"

"No."

"At all?"

"What do you mean, at all? No means fucking no. People don't call me nicknames or pet names or any of that shit."

Tara examined me for one long moment. Maybe I had reacted too harshly to something so simple because I saw her speculation. She knew it was more than that; that it wasn't just that no one ever called me anything but Rebecca or Miss Woods. A flash of my mother's face ran through my head, and I cringed. Considering she was supposed to be a bitch too, it was quite a nice thing to do for Tara to change the subject.

"Well, I'm demanding that you hang out with me tomorrow. I'm bored of my other friends."

"You aren't demanding shit and why?"

She shrugged. "Guess I've been with them too long now. Dunno. I still love Jake to pieces, but the others are slowly starting to piss me off."

I raised a skeptical brow. "Katrina?"

"Okay, the boys are starting to piss me off... and Xepher. Don't ask why?"

"Why?" I asked immediately — because she asked that I wouldn't. I didn't actually care, and she knew that, because she just scowled and drank some more lemonade. She would need a refill soon. "You wanna slow down? You're drinking like you're a fucking malnourished child."

She snorted. "Thanks. What a compliment."

"Wasn't a compliment," I replied coldly.

"I know." She sighed, turning towards the glass doors leading back inside the cafe. We were sat outside on a sort of terrace at a glass table with a shocking view of the sunset. I was surprised that I'd gotten anything close to the sunset today before passing out; sleep was a futile attempt at normalcy that just didn't stick.

A few minutes passed, in which time, Tara ordered a new drink and started to inhale that. I didn't know what I liked about our silence, but it was comfortable, it reminded me of easier times when I wasn't such a bitch. But I couldn't let my personality slip for her. By the time she'd gotten halfway through her next one, I was coming to the end of mine.

Bad Taste (Part I)  // Colby BrockWhere stories live. Discover now