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“What?”

“I said, you tore me out of this photo. I was there too,” I unpin it and hold it out to point to the crooked edge next to Jen where my eleven year old self once stood, tanned and grinning in red swimming shorts, “There, I was there.”

She looks at it, then me, but says nothing. 

“You can still see my shoulder.”

“Yeah.”

“You tore me out of it.”

Again, nothing. 

I let my arm drop, limply holding the photo between two fingers, speechless I just stare at her as though she might explain herself, give me some reason that makes sense, but she doesn’t, she just stands there chewing on her lip. 

I tug my shoulders sharply toward my ears, “Why did you do that? That was a nice day. We went swimming in the sea, I rescued you from a jellyfish, remember? I grabbed a piece of driftwood and flung it out of the water for you.”

“Yeah,”

“And later your mam brought us back to my house and we had a water fight on the lawn and made ice cream and coke floats,” I hold the photo out to her in a last ditch appeal, “It was a great day.”

“Yeah it was nice, we had fun.” She won’t meet my eyes and looks everywhere but at me, like acknowledgement is unbearable.

“What, Michelle? I don’t get it. What did I do that was so horrible?”

She scoffs and turns away. 

“C’mon, just tell me. I’ve had enough of all this bullshit between us, I’m serious. What is it?”

“Oh come on.”

“No, what?” I toss the photo onto her desk and approach her, my hand on her arm makes her flinch as I spin her to look at me, eyes livid, as I insist upon her, “What?” 

“My God, you’re awful,” she hisses, “Why do you need to hear me saying it? Is it an ego thing? Is it because you’re all single and sad again?”

“What are you on about?”

“You already know what this is all about, it just gives you a thrill to bring it up.”

“No! I don’t know!”

“Oh cop on,” She slaps my hand off her, “That stuff with Holly, you just don’t remember? That’s convenient.”

“Holly?”

“Oh my God,” she tries to twist away from me but I stop her, “What did Holly say to you?”

Michelle glares right into my face with a fury that would make a lesser man cower, but I don’t budge. “Tell me!” 

“That you don’t fancy me,” she grinds out, “and that I’m not even pretty.”

I hesitate. 

She tosses her hand at me and hacks out a laugh, “See, you don’t even deny it.”

“Yeah, I was thirteen and stupid, she was jealous and I suppose I was just telling her what she wanted to hear. Shell!” she backs off and I follow, trying to insert myself into her eye line, “I didn’t mean it, she just didn’t get it, the way it wasn’t like that between us, but I don’t know why she told you that.”

“It’s because she knew I fancied you, and she thought it was funny how you didn’t fancy me back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You didn’t, you fancied Holly.” 

I sigh, “Holly was… everyone expected that of me.”

“What does that even mean?” 

“She liked me, and she was the sort of girl that all the other boys talked about all the time, I felt like I should just go out with her because it’d be the most normal thing to do.”

“Oh my God, that’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I know, but I was still a kid and, I don’t know, you, Jen and I had a good thing going, I just didn’t want to risk ruining it.”

“Well obviously you did, by saying I was ugly and throwing your birthday gifts back in my face.”

“I never said you were ugly, and the birthday gifts… she told me I couldn’t have them because they were from you, but I still liked them! Those pens were better than her gift, you know, I didn’t even like the movie she took me to see,” my attempt at a laugh sounds very weird and tight, “It was actually so shit.”

Michelle is unmoved, with her arms crossed over her chest she says, “You read what I said in the card and you still threw it away like it was nothing.”

“No, I didn’t- I skimmed- I barely read it.”

She reels back like I’ve spit in her face, “Is that supposed to be better?”

I don’t answer. 

“‘Dear Jude,’” She recites, “‘Happy thirteenth birthday! I hope you have an amazing day! I just want to say that being your friend is the best! You’re so nice and funny and talented, I’m glad all of the time that you started going to our school because you make our friend group so much better. I hope you like the gel pens, I know you hate drawing with yellow colours because they don’t show up on the page, but I couldn’t exactly take it out of the packet or it would look pretty strange! Maybe you can use them to draw more comics. I look at the one you drew for me with the cowboy cats every day and it still makes me laugh. Is that weird? I hope not. Anyway, I hope you have an amazing birthday because you’re an amazing friend! xxx Michelle.’” She glares at me. The way she positively spat that message at me threw me off a bit, but the essence of it still comes across and makes my stomach sink with shame all of the same. It really was a nice card, and I wish for the millionth time in my seventeen-and-a-half years that I wasn’t such a fucking idiot. 

“I remember the cowboy cat comic,” I mutter, “Do you still have it?”

It seems as though my stupidity is confounding her, “No, I fucked it into the bin. Obviously. I was heartbroken.”

“Heartbroken?” A bit dramatic, surely. 

“Yeah. Holly and her friends bullied me for years, and you just went and abandoned me for them.”

“That’s not fair, I didn’t. You pushed me away, remember? You accused me of choosing them, I never chose them. You chose not to be my friend.” 

“Yeah, I wonder why.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“So stubborn. You can't let this go.”

“Uh! Yeah! Because it’s humiliating.”

“What is? That you fancied me?”

She brings her hands to her cheeks, burning not with rage, but embarrassment. She takes a shaky breath, “did you know?”

“About you-”

“Yes.”

I chew on my lip. Of course I did. It was written all over her, the way she was so eager to sit next to me in class or in the car, squeezing into the middle seat just so that her leg could rest against mine. How she jumped at the chance to help me out with something before anybody else could, her laugh, a little bit harder and longer than everyone else's when I told a joke, but not addressing it was always easier. Maybe I liked the attention a little bit, enjoyed being admired by a cute girl, or maybe it was easier, less disruptive than admitting my own uncomfortable, friendship-group-ruining feelings. 

“No, I had no idea,” I say. 

Her eyes are fixed upon the carpet between our feet as though by looking so intently at the looped fibres she can transport herself anywhere other than here with me and my interrogations. 

“Hey, look at me.”

“No.”

I sigh, “Look, Michelle, I did think you were pretty. That’s why Holly was so jealous. Our friendship made her insecure, and she hated how much I liked hanging out with you. She could sense that I liked you.”

“Oh, come on, that’s the kind of thing you say to those stupid girls at school so that they’ll let you borrow their homework or something.”

“I really did!”

“You used to throw potato wedges at me outside the deli!”

“Yeah! That’s how you show a girl you fancy her when you’re twelve!”

Her laugh is humourless, “Please.”

“I’m telling you I did,” I take her wrist, with her pulse jumping under my fingers and hold her like that, for reasons I’m not sure of, perhaps just for connection. Close like this I can feel the heat of her body. I am desperate to show her how serious I am. “And if I wasn’t so stupid I might have done something about it.”

“Too late.”

“It’s not.”

I bend and kiss her before she can argue any more. Once, just once, but insistently, and I pull back hard with a smack expecting outrage on her face but I find only surprise, desire, and eyes that flick from my eyes to my mouth and back. I kiss her again, slow this time, deep, sure, as my hands hold her hips close to mine, willing for this kiss to wipe it all away, all of the years of hurt and anguish between us, and she lets me kiss her, and she kisses me back with hands that thread through my hair and lips that part so I can slide my tongue inside her mouth.

My knees knock against hers in our clumsy waltz towards her bed and we come down on it together, my body pressing against hers and my fingers finding the warm skin beneath her t-shirt. I draw back to look at her again, dark eyes and full lips and skin, as is mine, blushed amber with the first rays of dawn that stream through the window. 

“Do you want to stop?” I say, and she shakes her head. 

“No.”

And outside, as the sun creeps up over Clontarf, the branches of the cherry blossom trees hold their leafy arms up in surrender. 

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Lucky Boy 2009/Lucky Girl crossovers

I love doing this self indulgent shit

Leah, the old crowd and the loss of his virginity.

2. Jen's mother

3. Alison

(bit sad to see her reduced to just one line, but oh well - time moves on etc)

4. Michelle

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“What?”

“I said, you tore me out of this photo. I was there too,” I unpin it and hold it out to point to the crooked edge next to Jen where my eleven year old self once stood, tanned and grinning in red swimming shorts, “There, I was there.”

She looks at it, then me, but says nothing. 

“You can still see my shoulder.”

“Yeah.”

“You tore me out of it.”

Again, nothing. 

I let my arm drop, limply holding the photo between two fingers, speechless I just stare at her as though she might explain herself, give me some reason that makes sense, but she doesn’t, she just stands there chewing on her lip. 

I tug my shoulders sharply toward my ears, “Why did you do that? That was a nice day. We went swimming in the sea, I rescued you from a jellyfish, remember? I grabbed a piece of driftwood and flung it out of the water for you.”

“Yeah,”

“And later your mam brought us back to my house and we had a water fight on the lawn and made ice cream and coke floats,” I hold the photo out to her in a last ditch appeal, “It was a great day.”

“Yeah it was nice, we had fun.” She won’t meet my eyes and looks everywhere but at me, like acknowledgement is unbearable.

“What, Michelle? I don’t get it. What did I do that was so horrible?”

She scoffs and turns away. 

“C’mon, just tell me. I’ve had enough of all this bullshit between us, I’m serious. What is it?”

“Oh come on.”

“No, what?” I toss the photo onto her desk and approach her, my hand on her arm makes her flinch as I spin her to look at me, eyes livid, as I insist upon her, “What?” 

“My God, you’re awful,” she hisses, “Why do you need to hear me saying it? Is it an ego thing? Is it because you’re all single and sad again?”

���What are you on about?”

“You already know what this is all about, it just gives you a thrill to bring it up.”

“No! I don’t know!”

“Oh cop on,” She slaps my hand off her, “That stuff with Holly, you just don’t remember? That’s convenient.”

“Holly?”

“Oh my God,” she tries to twist away from me but I stop her, “What did Holly say to you?”

Michelle glares right into my face with a fury that would make a lesser man cower, but I don’t budge. “Tell me!” 

“That you don’t fancy me,” she grinds out, “and that I’m not even pretty.”

I hesitate. 

She tosses her hand at me and hacks out a laugh, “See, you don’t even deny it.”

“Yeah, I was thirteen and stupid, she was jealous and I suppose I was just telling her what she wanted to hear. Shell!” she backs off and I follow, trying to insert myself into her eye line, “I didn’t mean it, she just didn’t get it, the way it wasn’t like that between us, but I don’t know why she told you that.”

“It’s because she knew I fancied you, and she thought it was funny how you didn’t fancy me back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You didn’t, you fancied Holly.” 

I sigh, “Holly was… everyone expected that of me.”

“What does that even mean?” 

“She liked me, and she was the sort of girl that all the other boys talked about all the time, I felt like I should just go out with her because it’d be the most normal thing to do.”

“Oh my God, that’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I know, but I was still a kid and, I don’t know, you, Jen and I had a good thing going, I just didn’t want to risk ruining it.”

“Well obviously you did, by saying I was ugly and throwing your birthday gifts back in my face.”

“I never said you were ugly, and the birthday gifts… she told me I couldn’t have them because they were from you, but I still liked them! Those pens were better than her gift, you know, I didn’t even like the movie she took me to see,” my attempt at a laugh sounds very weird and tight, “It was actually so shit.”

Michelle is unmoved, with her arms crossed over her chest she says, “You read what I said in the card and you still threw it away like it was nothing.”

“No, I didn’t- I skimmed- I barely read it.”

She reels back like I’ve spit in her face, “Is that supposed to be better?”

I don’t answer. 

“‘Dear Jude,’” She recites, “‘Happy thirteenth birthday! I hope you have an amazing day! I just want to say that being your friend is the best! You’re so nice and funny and talented, I’m glad all of the time that you started going to our school because you make our friend group so much better. I hope you like the gel pens, I know you hate drawing with yellow colours because they don’t show up on the page, but I couldn’t exactly take it out of the packet or it would look pretty strange! Maybe you can use them to draw more comics. I look at the one you drew for me with the cowboy cats every day and it still makes me laugh. Is that weird? I hope not. Anyway, I hope you have an amazing birthday because you’re an amazing friend! xxx Michelle.’” She glares at me. The way she positively spat that message at me threw me off a bit, but the essence of it still comes across and makes my stomach sink with shame all of the same. It really was a nice card, and I wish for the millionth time in my seventeen-and-a-half years that I wasn’t such a fucking idiot. 

“I remember the cowboy cat comic,” I mutter, “Do you still have it?”

It seems as though my stupidity is confounding her, “No, I fucked it into the bin. Obviously. I was heartbroken.”

“Heartbroken?” A bit dramatic, surely. 

“Yeah. Holly and her friends bullied me for years, and you just went and abandoned me for them.”

“That’s not fair, I didn’t. You pushed me away, remember? You accused me of choosing them, I never chose them. You chose not to be my friend.” 

“Yeah, I wonder why.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“So stubborn. You can't let this go.”

“Uh! Yeah! Because it’s humiliating.”

“What is? That you fancied me?”

She brings her hands to her cheeks, burning not with rage, but embarrassment. She takes a shaky breath, “did you know?”

“About you-”

“Yes.”

I chew on my lip. Of course I did. It was written all over her, the way she was so eager to sit next to me in class or in the car, squeezing into the middle seat just so that her leg could rest against mine. How she jumped at the chance to help me out with something before anybody else could, her laugh, a little bit harder and longer than everyone else's when I told a joke, but not addressing it was always easier. Maybe I liked the attention a little bit, enjoyed being admired by a cute girl, or maybe it was easier, less disruptive than admitting my own uncomfortable, friendship-group-ruining feelings. 

“No, I had no idea,” I say. 

Her eyes are fixed upon the carpet between our feet as though by looking so intently at the looped fibres she can transport herself anywhere other than here with me and my interrogations. 

“Hey, look at me.”

“No.”

I sigh, “Look, Michelle, I did think you were pretty. That’s why Holly was so jealous. Our friendship made her insecure, and she hated how much I liked hanging out with you. She could sense that I liked you.”

“Oh, come on, that’s the kind of thing you say to those stupid girls at school so that they’ll let you borrow their homework or something.”

“I really did!”

“You used to throw potato wedges at me outside the deli!”

“Yeah! That’s how you show a girl you fancy her when you’re twelve!”

Her laugh is humourless, “Please.”

“I’m telling you I did,” I take her wrist, with her pulse jumping under my fingers and hold her like that, for reasons I’m not sure of, perhaps just for connection. Close like this I can feel the heat of her body. I am desperate to show her how serious I am. “And if I wasn’t so stupid I might have done something about it.”

“Too late.”

“It’s not.”

I bend and kiss her before she can argue any more. Once, just once, but insistently, and I pull back hard with a smack expecting outrage on her face but I find only surprise, desire, and eyes that flick from my eyes to my mouth and back. I kiss her again, slow this time, deep, sure, as my hands hold her hips close to mine, willing for this kiss to wipe it all away, all of the years of hurt and anguish between us, and she lets me kiss her, and she kisses me back with hands that thread through my hair and lips that part so I can slide my tongue inside her mouth.

My knees knock against hers in our clumsy waltz towards her bed and we come down on it together, my body pressing against hers and my fingers finding the warm skin beneath her t-shirt. I draw back to look at her again, dark eyes and full lips and skin, as is mine, blushed amber with the first rays of dawn that stream through the window. 

“Do you want to stop?” I say, and she shakes her head. 

“No.”

And outside, as the sun creeps up over Clontarf, the branches of the cherry blossom trees hold their leafy arms up in surrender. 

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I am afraid, even, to start eating tortillas from the packet in case the rustling is as annoying as everything else I do, so I ignore my craving for them and let the time crawl on with the speed of creeping molasses, as above the garden, the edge of the sky, a deep, moonless blue, is tinged rosy with the first blush of dawn. It’s that hour of the morning that people always swear they are the only ones awake, but I know better. Too many times I have walked the streets at this time, somewhere between four and five, when the streetlights tint the city sepia. I’ve watched the sunrise in dew soaked clothes in somebody’s back garden, from a bench on the seafront, cocaine eyes manic and unblinking while nurses, bin men, delivery drivers climbed into their vehicles on the silent residential street and started their day where I ended mine.

Somehow, at this table with Michelle I feel entirely alone, invisible, like some ghost that insists upon haunting her with annoyances, knocking over a glass here, opening a door there that she’ll only have to get up and close. There is no silence more deathly than the one between us tonight in the absence of our only mutual friend, and I can’t ignore the sting of it. I don’t really understand why it is like this, it just is. 

My mind drifts to King Lear, of a quote from the second act that I can’t fully recall, and in that desperate, panicked manner of someone hours away from an exam, I toss my maths book to the side and fan through the text books on the table in search of the play. I find poetry, I find exam papers, I find the text book but the play is not here. 

“Do you have your King Lear on you?”

Michelle glances up from her notebook, “Not here.”

“Is it… in the house?”

“Yeah, my room.”

“Okay, will you get it for me? I left mine at home, I think, and I really need to look over something for the exam.”

She pauses reluctantly, but sighs as she rises from her seat, “Yeah, hang on.”

When she’s gone I take the opportunity to polish off the cheese tortillas and a penguin bar or two, then, thirsty, I head back into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. The coffee machine is plugged in, its filters stacked in a little bowl upon the counter, and I surmise that Debra wouldn’t mind, she told me earlier to help myself to anything in the kitchen. I take a cup back into the dining room and sip it, staring blankly at the wall as my brain buzzes so restlessly with information that I can almost hear it aloud. 

The notebook Michelle has been writing in is open across the table, and I flip it around to read, nosily, though nothing very interesting is written in it. Something about Oliver Cromwell. Her handwriting is nice though, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen something she’s written, and… she’s been gone a while. 

I lift my eyes to the ceiling and listen, though I can’t hear her walking around up there, and all ideas I have about texting her go out the window as soon as I see her phone is still lying on the table next to her pen, so I debate going up to find her. What if she succumbed to exhaustion like Jen and collapsed into bed? The last thing I want to do is go up and disturb her, but what if she’s still looking for King Lear? What if she’s forgotten about it? I picture her rifling helplessly through an impossibly large, overwhelming stack of textbooks while growing increasingly distressed, and I feel bad for even asking her to go.

Perhaps it’s my own exhaustion overtaking the already poorly functioning rational part of my brain, but I leave my cup of coffee on the table and go up the stairs to find her. 

Hers is the only bedroom with stickers on the door. They’re not recognisable anymore, after years of being bleached by the sun that comes in through the south facing landing window all day, and half peeled away, but I remember they were flowers and stars once, and little bubbly letters that spelled out her name in a silver arc. 

MI HELL 

It says now, missing letters and all, considering this room is where she spent six full weeks wailing over Evan is pretty apt, but this is probably hilarious to me alone. 

I knock gently.

Her voice is muffled from within, “Yes?”

“Did you… did you find the play?”

“Oh. No, sorry, I was-” she comes to open the door, “Shh! I don’t want to talk too loudly, no, I couldn’t find it.”

“You couldn’t?” I peer into the bedroom behind her to where a notebook is open on the duvet, “and then what? Were you reading your own diary or something?”

She scowls, “none of your business, I just got distracted.”

I hesitate, “Okay, but like, King Lear?”

“Ugh, King Lear. Look for it yourself,” she steps away from the door and I’m not sure what to do. Has she given me permission to enter? Hesitantly, I let myself in.

“Shut the door,” she commands as she snaps the notebook shut and stows it away beneath her bed, “I don’t want everyone waking up with you talking in the hall.”

“Well I was whispering.”

“You don’t know how to whisper.”

“What? Yes I do, I’m whispering right now.”

“You aren’t, you’re just talking in a quiet voice, that’s not whispering.”

“It is whispering. If I was talking in a quiet voice I’d be talking like this.”

“Oh my God, shut up.Just grab the play and go back downstairs.”

“Yeah. Okay. Where is it usually?”

“Over there somewhere,” she gestures vaguely to the corner of her room with a shelf and a desk, both stacked high with a mound of various books, which isn’t an encouraging sight. 

“Uh, okay,” I try to muster up the strength to search for Shakespeare, but my sleepy eyes drift aimlessly from the shelf to the desk, where a laptop sits next to a cup of paintbrushes and pencils. There are clean clothes folded and stacked on the chair and a wicker basket on the floor beneath the desk. It’s full of crumpled up pieces of note paper, like she’s written and thrown away a hundred furious notes about someone. Evan, probably, but potentially me. Michelle, who is fussing with the pillows on her bed, turns to stare at me. 

“What are you gawking at?”

“I’ve just realised that I’ve never been in your room before.”

“Well that’s because my dad didn’t want you to be.”

“Yeah. I always wondered what you and Jen got up to here.”

“Nothing, really, we usually just grabbed whatever games or magazines we came for and went back down to hang out with you,” she folds her arms, adding, “I suppose we didn’t really get why you couldn’t even just come up back then. It all seemed a bit dramatic.”

“I don’t think your dad liked me.”

“He does.”

“Back then though, I think he thought I’d get up to some freaky shit if he let me in your room.”

“I don’t think he thought that.”

I  huff out a laugh, “I’m pretty sure he did.”

“No, he always calls you ‘that nice American boy’, and lectures me about how I should study hard and focus on my school work to be more like you.”

“He doesn’t know me very well then, apparently. Maybe I would have tried something freaky.”

The corner of her mouth curls up, “No, I suppose he doesn’t know you. You’ve fooled him. I think that he just hated Evan so much that you were like, the preference. He definitely started coming around on you when you were tutoring Jen.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

With her frosty demeanour somewhat thawed I seize permission to look around the room a little bit more. It’s odd, I often pictured what this room might look like as I sat in the living room below and made strained conversation with Michelle’s parents, but it wasn’t like I had many girls' bedrooms to compare it to. I guessed that she had purple walls, because purple seemed like a Michelle colour. Her school bag was purple, and the clips she wore to pin back her hair. I imagined that maybe she’d have glow in the dark stars and a funky, wavy mirror on the wall.

Michelle’s walls are blue. The room is nothing like how I’d pictured it, but she’s seventeen now and this room is like all teenage bedrooms, a hybrid between a child and an adult space. Her favourite toy, a fluffy tiger, is perched on a shelf next to a series of fantasy novels and a pink, childish bedside locker has The Bell Jar on top of it, along with her reading glasses and a digital alarm clock. I’m struck with the knowledge that I will never know what it looked like back then, like the child version of Michelle herself, it is gone. I turn to a cork board on the wall behind me, filled with concert tickets, wrist bands, postcards, photographs, a map of the things she’s done with her life in all of the time that I sort of imagined her sitting around being angry and miserable. I touch a picture pinned to the bottom corner, of her and Jen at the sea when they were eleven. I know exactly where they are, it’s seapoint. I know because I was there too. 

I bend so I am level with it and give it one, sharp flick, “You tore me out of this photo.”

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The nights of the last gasp of study season seem as though they go on forever, and as I watch the clock on the wall of Michelle's cluttered dining room, I could swear on my life that time is slowing down. It takes an hour for five minutes to pass, while the numbers on the maths book in my hands seem to merge together into some sort of mathematical soup right in front of my eyes. 

For some reason, with Michelle and Jen nattering history facts to one another on the other side of the table, I think about Alison and what she might be doing right now on the eve of the summer exams. Is she pulling an all-nighter too? Maybe, but not for studying. Alison hardly needed to study at all, that’s how clever she was. Even in those party frenzied days of early winter when she and I would pop a molly and stay up until dawn gurning she would still appear in class the next day and answer the teachers questions perfectly with a bored nonchalance about her while I sweated in the seat behind her, fighting a battle that I would inevitably lose to the boys toilets by the eleven o’clock break. 

Alison won’t be studying, but maybe she’s popped a molly without me and is dancing somewhere, singing along to whatever pop song is charting right now and whipping her fiery hair about while I sit here for the eighth night in a row, making my way steadily through a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits that I foraged from the Tengu’s pantry. 

Maybe she’s even getting laid. I peer across the table at Jen and Michelle, pulling faces at one another and arguing over their bullet points for the battle of Stalingrad, and am struck with a reminder of the barren wasteland my sex life has become. It’s been months since I’ve been touched by someone who wasn’t myself and the outlook looks bleak. It’s doubtful that will change any time soon, so while there is every chance Alison is having sex literally right now, the chances for me are worse than being stuck down by a thunderbolt. 

Debra, pokes her head through the door, “I’m off to bed now, loves, is there anything you need before I go?”

Michelle rifles through a handful of flashcards, “No, mam, we’re fine.” 

“Right well, don’t stay up too late.”

“Uh, it’s an all-nighter. That means we’re staying up all night.”

“Well alright, Michelle, there’s no need to take that tone with me.”

“I’m not taking a tone, I'm just explaining something to you.”

“Well I feel like you’re taking a tone, Michelle, and I don’t appreciate it, especially in front of your friend.”

“Him? He’s Jen’s friend, and by the way-”

“Alright!” Jen interrupts, “Goodnight, Debra, we’ll see you in the morning.”

Debra steps back into the living room with a hassled, “Goodnight.”

I glance at Michelle, who stares back at me with the same naked fury simmering in her eyes that has been there since the library, daring me to speak to her, but I couldn't be bothered to traverse that landscape. Not a hope. These days I only speak to her when strictly necessary. I turn back to my books and start pencilling out another equation. 

As the night drags on, my eyelids become weighty as my focus slowly wavers, and Jen, in tandem, becomes lethargic in her seat, head lolling over the back of it, bleary eyes on the cornicing on the ceiling as though they hold the answers to the questions that Michelle is grilling her with. She will resign soon. I flip a page of my maths book and reach for another chocolate biscuit, only for my hand to connect with empty packaging. Did I really eat all that? Oh well, I’m still growing. 

My voice is croaky from disuse when I speak, “You have other snacks?”

Michelle acknowledges me reluctantly, “Cupboard above the microwave.” 

I raid her kitchen for half a packet of cheese tortillas, some penguin bars and some salted peanuts. At the back of the cupboard I spy Michelle’s precious Nutella, of which she started a war against her parents over during those fraught early days of her break up, and for some strange, vengeful moment I feel compelled to unscrew the lid and dunk my whole finger in it, lick it clean and then toss it back, hoping that by the time she notices what I have done I’ll be long gone. 

I return and throw a penguin bar across the spread of papers to Jen, who misses and it thwacks against the wall behind her. She groans at the prospect of picking it up, shifting her body like it is composed of lead and slumping to half heartedly scoop it from the floorboards with limp fingers. “I’m sleepy,” she groans, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Michelle is stern, “You’re not sleepy, you’re fine, just have more sugar.”

“No, I am. I can’t think anymore. I feel drunk.”

“Come on, Jenny,” I say with gentle encouragement as she hoists herself like a sack of potatoes back into the chair, “You can manage, just another hour, huh?”

“An hour? It’s already three in the morning. I can’t.”

Michelle places a hand on Jen’s, still clutching the chocolate, “We just have a few more things to get through, just to make sure we really have the best chance of good marks tomorrow, yeah?”

“And I’m, like, eighty percent through this maths stuff,” I chime in, “I want to have a look over quadratic equations and then just do a quick refresh on trig…”

Jen looks at us as though we’ve gone insane, “Then study that stuff,” she says incredulously, “I’m not stopping you.”

Michelle and I exchange guilty looks. 

“Why do you need me here to study? Are you afraid to be alone in the same room or something? God.”

Jen’s eyes are sunken and heavy, her makeup smudged from where she has been rubbing them, the same way she did as a child when everything got too much for her. “If you don’t let me sleep I am going to break down crying, so either study on your own or stop studying, I don’t care.” She heaves herself from the table and staggers towards the door, “Goodnight, losers. Talk or don’t talk, I couldn’t give less of a shit,” and with a yank on the french doors she is gone. 

And the clock ticks. 

And a page flips. 

And we don’t say a word.

Beginning // Prev // Next

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HI I GOT RELIGHT AND I'M OBSESSED

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tagged by @sirianasims

oc deep dive with Jude Turner

What uncommon/common fear do they have? If you ask him, he'll try to convince you it's something stupid like bicycles or his teacher's pinky toe after the time she wore sandals to class and it poked out over the strap, but actually he's afraid of his own thoughts and dying alone. Speaking of, anyone single? Wanna make out for a while?

Do they have any pet peeves? People who take everything so seriously. Painful bores. People who are obsessed with World War 2

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom? Rugby boots with mud still in the studs and getting all over the hardwood floor. Charcoal dust and mounds of sketchbooks, three coffee cups he neglected to return to the kitchen two weeks ago.

What do they notice first in a person? Something in their eye that tells him they know how to have fun and get up to trouble. A sense of humour, a nice mouth and teeth.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance? 5. Average, baby!

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? Flight. Oh things are hard? Brb deleting my socials again. Forgot to text back. Oh? Did you email me? Sorry I've been super busy...

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person? It's him and Ivy and their parents really. He's not a family person with regards to his fathers side (they are weird) or his mother's Dublin family. He yearns for the peaceful days at great aunt Maureen's and her four adult children....

What animal represents them best? Monkey.

What is a smell that they dislike? Tequila, Weed, Vomit, in that order.

Have they broken any bones? Of course. He got his hands on a skateboard at 10 and immediately tripped down a flight of concrete steps and shattered his arm bone. Being in a cast was cool though, everyone like, signed it and shit.

How would a stranger likely describe them? Wild, manic, troublesome (words taken directly from parent teacher reports)

Are they a night owl or a morning bird? Surprisingly, a morning person. He got used to being up early to get Ivy ready for school when his mom started going to work at 7:30. He stays up late sometimes, sure, but his inner alarm clock always has him wide awake at 7.

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? Jude is not picky, he's an eater, but don't come at him with those big, wet, brown mushrooms they give you with your hotel breakfast. Not in a million years. Flavours he loves is broad, so I'll choose his ice cream preferences. Pistachio, sea salt, raspberry, cherry.

Do they have any hobbies? Drawing, rugby, playstation, hanging out with friends.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises? He is overjoyed! You guys did this for me? Whaaaaat?

Do they like to wear jewelry? Have you seen his cute lil earrings?

Do they have neat or messy handwriting? Neat enough, c'mon, he's an artiste. His pen control is exemplary

What are two emotions they feel the most? Boredom and melancholy (in private only, thanks)

Do they have a favorite fabric? Plain old cotton. None of that poly-whatever shit. He doesn't need to be the yellow-sweat-stains guy.

What kind of accent do they have? The weirdest Dublin/American hybrid. At this stage of the story he's pretty much just an Irish guy who says a couple of vowels in a weird-ish way.

This was fun! I'll tag @lynzishell @elderwisp @earthmoonz @stillgotme @rebouks @daniigh0ul @scrapplesims

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📩 Simblr question of the day: Does your sim/s or oc/s mispronounce any words? Why? Is it on purpose or on accident?

( p.s freely share this SQOTD around, anon or not, and use the hashtag " SQOTD " ! ~ 💛) ( p.p.s I also made a SQOTD blog! " simblr-question-of-the-day " feel free to share the name about :) )

Haha according to his friends he does! Sometimes with less common words he slips up and pronounces them the American way - especially words for food - he gets weird looks when he goes to the local supermarket and accidentally asks for cilantro instead of coriander, but he’s very careful after the great aluminium/aluminum incident of ‘04. (His classmates didn’t let him hear the end of it for weeks - what’s your sandwich wrapped in, Turner?)

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shout out to my proofreaders for helping me distinguish a line between Jude being a bit wild, and absolutely psychopathic and unforgivably weird, which I apparently cannot do all on my own <3

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I'm finally prepping the last part of LB 2009 and I thought this edit was cute!

Drama implied, obviously

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📩 Simblr question of the day: Choose as many sims/ocs as you'd like for this question, What's something INCREDIBLY obscure and/or out-of-pocket about your sim/oc? Something that nobody (fellow sims and/or your followers and mutuals) knows 👀 (This could be things about their social skills, physicality and/or birth defects, or it could be something they vaguely remember, a dream they had that actually predicted the future, etc etc... whatever you come up with)

( p.s I'm [the SQOTD anon] planning on starting a separate SQOTD blog for these asks/questions, and I'm open for input on this :) ) ( p.p.s freely share this SQOTD around, anon or not, and use the # SQOTD ~ 💛 )

hmmmm! this is a really good one! I'm going to choose Jude (obviously)

He once broke the screen of the family TV at great aunt Maureen's because he tried to shoot Skeletor from He-Man with a pellet gun

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Ask Game: List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who liked or reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers :)

weeee thanks for the ask <3 <3

Spring time and long evenings - I swear I never realise I have spent months borderline depressed until the sun shines again

Swimming in the sea - specifically august when it's nice and warm

Making stuff! Whether it's writing my story or knitting or sewing or whatever, I need to be creating something every spare minute!

Music - the joy i get from playing music is unparalleled.

My lil doggy Luna - well, she's my parents' dog but i love her so much I could SCREAM

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⭐ For Evie & Jude! 🥰

Any routines/rituals before bed?

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?

Do they have any fears for their future?

<3 thank you!!

They're a bit too chaotic for rituals, bed time comes whenever they feel like it, but on a good night they'll snack in front of their favourite TV show and Jude will carry a sleeping Evie to bed with him.

answered here!

3. here

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for ✩ : your choice of 2-3 prompts from the ‘misc’ section for ………. jude’s parents 🤠

oh god! hahah this is such a good choice!

Okay - Christopher and Colette

Where did they first meet?

At a bar near Chris' college in Albuquerque - he was a med student, she was on a working visa and staying with her aunt. One thing lead to another and... Jude arrived nine months later. Eek!

Who spends the most money when out shopping?

Christopher - he won't stop buying books about WWII??

Their favourite place?

For Chris - his office, and for Colette, anywhere but in the house

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OK, so, for Liam and Evie… just kidding! For Jude and Evie who are obviously together forever in my heart:

Their favourite place?

Who rakes in the highest income?

Who kills the spiders around the house? (this answer may vary depending on whether they're in the US or the UK!)

Spicy bonus question: Any kinks? 🌶️

hahaha Evie and Liam 4 ever <3 thanks for the questiioooons!

anywhere with a beach, though of course the one where they met and spent that first summer will always have a special place in both of their hearts <3

Jude, by far. In LA he was making around $90'000 per year, whereas Evie's income is more sporadic. It depends on the amount of work she can score as a freelancer, so her bank account fluctuates more dramatically.

Neither is afraid of them, so they'll probably just live alongside them for a while. Anything offensively big gets squished or drowned in the sink by whoever is closest though.

Remember this:

(The answer is yes - she liked it. She likes when he tells her what to do ;) ;) )

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For CURRENT Jude and Evie who I'm (totally one-hundred percent rightly) assuming are together and happy right this very moment PLZ & TY >.>

Who is the first to apologise? Ever had sex in public? Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Who mows the lawn? Do they have any fears for their future?

eeee of COURSE they're still together........ and super happy... 1. Evie is the first! She can't stand when somebody is mad at her and even if she's in the right she will jump in to make it all better - Jude is slightly more stubborn and holds a grudge for longer, he'd definitely sulk for a while.

2. Omg yes, they're so feral, but it's always been Jude's idea. Like, hey.. that nightclub toilet looks pretty romantic...

3. I always imagined that they would! I think they'd long to give their kids really happy, carefree childhoods. I think they'd be really good parents.

4. Give Evie half an hour and she yearns for her personal space. Jude runs way too hot!

5. Limb wrappers - though as I've said, temperature is an issue. Even in the heat of summer Jude will always make sure to at least have an ankle hooked over Evie's

6. Yeah they like them! Evie wishes she made more money and Jude wishes for shorter days and more vacations, but they recognise that they're lucky to work in the fields they do.

7. Haha! Jude - though badly. He never goes back over it to pick up the damn grass.

8. Yeah! The trajectory of their careers always feels like an issue, with Evie travelling and Jude always on a contract basis there's bound to be instability. The most they can hope for is to be able to live and work close to one another. I guess they're still figuring it out

This was so fun omg <3 thank you for the questions!

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so good! ask me some so I can waste more time not working <3

The Ultimate Relationship Tag

Send ‘✩’ for the following:

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice? Who threatens to leave but never actually does? Who actually keeps their word and leaves? Who trashes the house? Do either of them get physical? How often do they argue/disagree? Who is the first to apologise?

Sex:

Who is on top? Who is on the bottom? Who has the strangest desires? Any kinks? Who’s dominant in bed? Is head ever in the equation? If so, who is better at performing it? Ever had sex in public? Who moans the most? Who leaves the most marks? Who screams the loudest? Who is the more experienced of the two? Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’? Rough or soft? How long do they usually last? Is protection used? Does it ever get boring? Where is the strangest place they’d have sex? 

Family:

Do your muses plan on having children/or have children? If so, how many children do your muses want/have? Who is the favorite parent? Who is the authoritative parent? Who is more likely to allow the children to have a day off school? Who lets the children indulge in sweets and junk food when the other isn’t around? Who turns up to extra curricular activities to support their children? Who goes to parent teacher interviews? Who changes the diapers? Who gets up in the middle of the night to feed the baby? Who spends the most time with the children? Who packs their lunch boxes? Who gives their children ‘the talk’? Who cleans up after the kids? Who worries the most? Who are the children more likely to learn their first swear word from?

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle? Who is the little spoon? Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places? Who struggles to keep their hands to themself?   How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable? Who gives the most kisses? What is their favourite non-sexual activity? Where is their favourite place to cuddle? Who is more likely to playfully grope the other?  How often do they get time to themselves?

Sleeping:

Who snores? If both do, who snores the loudest? Do they share a bed or sleep separately? If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart? Who talks in their sleep? What do they wear to bed? Are either of your muses insomniacs? Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside? Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side? Who wakes up with bed hair? Who wakes up first? Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other? What is their favourite sleeping position? Who hogs the sheets? Do they set an alarm each night? Can a television be found in their bedroom? Who has nightmares? Who has ridiculous dreams? Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?  Who makes the bed?  What time is bed time?  Any routines/rituals before bed? Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up? 

Work:

Who is the busiest? Who rakes in the highest income? Are any of your muses unemployed? Who takes the most sick days? Who is more likely to turn up late to work? Who sucks up to their boss? What are their jobs? Who stresses the most? Do your muses enjoy or despise their careers/occupations? Are your muses financially stable? 

Home:

Who does the washing? Who takes out the trash? Who does the ironing? Who does the cooking? Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying? Who is messier?  Who leaves the toilet roll empty? Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor? Who forgets to flush the toilet? Who is the prankster around the house? Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere? Who mows the lawn? Who answers the telephone? Who does the vacuuming? Who does the groceries? Who takes the longest to shower? Who spends the most time in the bathroom?

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem? How many cars do they own? Do they own their home or do they rent? Do they live near the coast or deep in the countryside? Do they live in the city or in the country?  Do they enjoy their surroundings? What’s their song? What do they do when they’re away from each other? Where did they first meet? How did they first meet? Who spends the most money when out shopping? Who’s more likely to flash their assets? Who finds it amusing when the other trips over? Any mental issues? Who’s terrified of bugs? Who kills the spiders around the house? Their favourite place? Who pays the bills? Do they have any fears for their future? Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner? Who uses up all of the hot water?  Who’s the tallest? Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other? Who wanders around in their underwear? Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio? What do they tease each other about? Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times? Do they have mutual friends? Who crushed first?  Any alcohol or substance related problems? Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3am? Who swears the most?