Admitting // Christy & Charlie
Charlie rolled her eyes and her lis curled into a sarcastic smile. “Well, clearly the normal reaction to something you don’t like when you’re ten is to set fire to it. I mean it’s a normal reaction, I did it all the time. Didn’t like what we had for dinner? Chainsawed it to pieces. My parents bought me a Barbie I didn’t like? I poured gasoline on it and set it on for with a flamethrower. Normal fourth grade behaviour.”
“Besides, it’s not like I remember the actual torching of the book, I was way too angry over the stupidity written within.” Charlie clenched her teeth and took a calming breath, to prevent herself from slapping Christy right on the face. This had been her favorite book goddamn it. She had lashed out at first, pure anger driving her responses, but when she got home she had cried so hard her mother actually thought someone had died. So Christy insisted on being such a bitch even now? Very well. Two could play that game.
“You know, sometimes I can’t help but wonder why you reacted that way. But then again, how could you understand someone trying to be your friend? It’s not like you ever had any.”
Gritting her teeth, Christy really was on the fucking verge of loudly cussing out the girl if she didn’t just order the fucking book so she could go. Her snarky up-tight you gave me mental scars-behavior made Christy want to rip the blonde hair off Charlie’s head. The only funny part with this situation was that Charlie actually described things that Christy had done — or similar things, at least, without knowing it. Or maybe she did. Maybe she’d stalked Christy ever since she torched her book. By the look of the situation, it sincerely looked like Charlie had stalked Christy.
And then she had the fucking nerve to step on her toes. No, Christy had actually never had any god damn friends. Maybe the one or two. Maybe. But they’d run off when they saw how brutally honest and harsh with life Christy could be. And Christy had expected everyone to run off ever since, and never gotten close to anyone. Charlie didn’t know how close she hit with that one, but Christy wasn’t going to tell her that. After all, they danced a dance and when you dance you have to act, even though you’re sweating through your tights.
“I wasn’t about to surround myself with friends with a taste as fucking bad as yours, psycho,” Christy snapped, her arms folded across her chest. Alright, so now she was scowling. But not in a wounded way. Only in her infamously angry way. “And I was teaching innocent little Charlie a fucking lesson. Don’t read bad fucking books.”
So maybe that wasn’t exactly true, but if Charlie wanted Christy to push it, Christy damn well could.
“Could you just order that bloody book before I channel my inner fouth-grade-self and set fire to this fucking place? I’m not of a fucking mind to stay and listen to you bitch over something that happened eleven fucking years ago,” she growled at Charlie, stepping away from the counter to turn half-away. Giving up all pretense of that this day was ending in a good way, and that she could keep this bitch in a good mood so as not to refuse her the service of the bookstore (though Christy was pretty sure Charlie wasn’t allowed to do that, and if she defied rules, Christy’d make sure Charlie would regret it), Christy made sure to keep her dark scowl at Charlie.