Making melodies // Christy & Chris

thechrischapman: 

Chris wondered why she was so desperate to play music in public if she didn’t really play guitar. It was kind of a weird contradiction, but an interesting one. He’d met his fair share of people who owned guitars without knowing how to play them, and he’d built up a bit of resentment for them after he’d had to sell one of his guitars for rent a while back, but Christy at least looked like she wanted to learn. And hey, if she could sing, and he could play guitar, then they could team up and make it work. Giving guitar lessons wasn’t a bad idea, though Chris definitely couldn’t afford to do them for free. He filed the idea away. 

“How about we start with ‘Fat Bottom Girls’?” he said, mentally running through the chords. “The chords are pretty basic, and it should be pretty easy for you to pick it up, if you want.” It was a simple progression—D, C, G, and A, which were some of the first chords he’d learned—and it would definitely be easier for Christy to learn if she already knew the song, which, judging by the gleam in her eyes, she definitely did.

Nodding enthusiastically calmly, Christy scooted closer to him almost hoppingly, sort of ignoring the fact that they were actually going to play for the people walking by, and earn some cash. Not that wasn’t still active in a part of her mind, but Christy was more excited that somebody had actually turned up. 

“Well, sure, you can start and I’ll just… tune in,” she said, confidently leaning forth to watch him eagerly, but not intently. Truth be told she wasn’t worthless with a guitar, she had just, never really had the time to learn. She had never had idle leisure she could have been able to fill with guitar-lessons, but she wasn’t a total stranger to the thing. But then again, her singing lessons had rendered her with a good ear, so music came easily. 

Straddling her guitar across her lap, she grinned eagerly at Chris. “Whenever you’re ready, maestro,” she said, winking somewhat. 

The guy was nice, he played in a band she liked, and he’d actually showed up. Maybe this wasn’t going to go too badly after all.  

(Source: christyrossi)

As per usual // Christy & Penny

pencefoster:

Penny’s eyes lit up at the girl’s request. “You mean, like, an old-fashioned jewelry box? With a ballerina? Oh my gosh, I have the perfect one! Just a sec.”

Penny scampered to the back of the store and through the “EMPLOYEES ONLY” door. Sometimes, when customers came in and Penny saw them eyeing something special, but they couldn’t afford it, Penny would stash it back with the storage. She knew this was totally against the rules, but she couldn’t help it. She loved making people happy more than anything else in the world, and she never forgot a face. So when the people would come back to the store, Penny would rush to the back and bring forth their prize. And, oh, the way their faces would light up!

This pastel pink jewelry box wasn’t being stored for anyone in particular. It had been slow one night a couple of weeks ago and Penny had helped stock the second-hand shelves with the toys from the donation box. When she’d come across the jewelry box decorated with tiny, golden, hand-painted roses, she’d actually gasped aloud. She knew it couldn’t be the one she’d had as a child, which had sat in a box in the attic for years before finally being sold at a garage sale before her parents moved to Dublin with their retirement money. But… it looked the same, it felt the same… and when she opened it, the same petite, brunette ballerina had a paint chip at the top of her bun (just like Penny’s used to have!) as it spun daintily on its pedestal to “Fur Elise”.

It couldn’t be Penny’s toy. It just couldn’t. The odds were too high. The manufacturer had misjudged the height of the ballerina; her head barely brushed the inside wall of the box as it closed. Any beloved one such as hers would surely have a paint chip in the same spot. Surely.

Penny had been saving the jewelry box for someone special, someone who truly deserved it. That’s why she’d hidden it — she didn’t want just anybody to take home such a magical toy.

To be fair, she’d forgotten all about it. But as soon as this girl mentioned it, Penny knew she was the one. Sure, she was a bit moody and ‘tudey, but Penny was a firm believer that if given the opportunity, people would rise to others’ expectations of them. As silly as it sounded, maybe this little box was exactly what Penny’s customer needed.

Penny grabbed the jewelry box from its hiding spot behind some storage boxes and hurried back out to the girl. She was surely grinning like a huge idiot, but she didn’t care. She was under the ridiculous notion that somehow this old toy would mean a lot to this girl, would touch her heart in some way like it had Penny’s.

Meanwhile, the girl was looking at Penny like she had three heads.

“Here, have a look at this!!” Penny handed the box over. “The ballerina has a small paint chip, but we can easily add a dab of paint to it should you choose to purchase it. It’s only $4.50!” She sighed dreamily as the girl opened the box and the familiar melody began to play. “Isn’t it fantastical?”

It was. It really was fantastical. Christy’s eyes widened calmly as the girl brought just what she had requested. Her cousin would surely appreciate it, and maybe even wouldn’t mind the little defect the girl talked about. But this was the sort of thing Christy had wished for as a child. She wished her parents had found her a special, one of a kind box to give to her, as a token of their love, and to make her remember them. But then she remembered she didn’t want to remember either of them that much. Positive sides they had, sure, but to Christy they’d ever only been negative. Or at least it felt like it. The box was, in short, absolutely perfect. As her entire life erupted in her eyes, Christy had to suffocate some of the emotions to look at the girl with a smile which the ghost of a scowl still lingered upon. 

“Yeah… it’s fantastical,” she said, pulling herself together. The smile faded, but did not entirely vanish. Christy reverted to stiff, polite indifference. “I’ll take it.”

Taking it carefully in her hands, she waited for the girl to lead the way to the register. “If that little brat breaks this, she’s not even going to have the common fucking sense to take it back here and pay for reparation. She’ll throw it in the trash like all the other things she breaks.”

Christy eyed the girl, somewhat harshly again, though did not quite direct the harshness at the girl. “Could be I find her some clothes in some store and keep this for myself.”

The effect was slightly ruined thanks to Christy neither smiling nor grinning at what she said, but waited to be able to pay with thoughtful indifference.  

(Source: christyrossi)

As per usual // Christy & Penny

pencefoster:

Penny listened intently to this girl’s story, hearing the pain beneath it. She idly wondered if the girl had been somewhat neglected by her parents, or maybe she’d had a less-than-wealthy upbringing and therefore resented her little friend, maybe for one or both. She quickly pushed the thought away. That was surely none of her business.

The two girls stopped in front of rows of second-hand toys lining several shelves. Penny ran her hand over a few porcelain dolls, straightening their hats and fluffing their skirts. She repositioned a few Bop-Its and Rubix Cubes, sending the funkier-looking ones to the back of the shelf and the newer ones to the front.

Penny turned to the girl, hopeful… maybe it bit too hopeful. “Anything catching your eye?”

Christy narrowed her eyes in her scowl at the girl, biting her lower lip. She made sure to scan the shelves first, but only shook her head. They were full of dolls and bears and fat little angels looking like God only created them yesterday, and she knew those were no good to give to her cousin. She knew those were the kind of toys the little brat smashed against walls and said she’d gotten for her cheaply as some kind of jape.

“Have you got any of those… boxes with little drawers that you open, and when you open the main one something pops out real pretty and plays some diddly-doodly music?”

Biting her lower lip, Christy couldn’t help but scowl a bit. Partially at the thought of her little devil cousin, but partially at the girl working in the shop. Wasn’t she supposed to collect some kind of toy for Christy, seeing as Christy couldn’t exactly decide what to buy herself? She’d given her more than enough information.

(Source: christyrossi)

Admitting // Christy & Charlie

charlie-milton:

She was the psycho? Yeah, that much was obvious. At least the scowl had returned, and now Charlie was seeing the Chrosty she remembered: Angry, angry, angry, in a way a ten year old should not be. “Don’t read bad books? How exactly do you know, smartass? Did you ever bother to open it? Hell, did you even know how to read?

Okay she was probably being childish at this point. But why the fuck couldn’t she just apologise and leave? If she had just said I’m sorry about your book Charlie, none of this would have had to happen. But then again, Charlie had a feeling that Christy was not one of the people that owned up to their mistakes. She hated those people.

When Christy stopped facing her, she clenched her teeth and finally turned back to the computer to see the result of her search: Tunred out they had copies of the book in Dublin, and from what she knew it would take them a while to send the book all the way to Sawyer. She made a mental note to ask them  exactly when the book would arrive when she’d call to make the order, so she wouldn’t be at the bookstore. If she never saw Christy again, it would be too soon. For a moment she considered telling her she hadn’t found the book in the database, nd get rid of her. But then she thought of the money Christy would pay for her purchase, and recollected herself. “Your book is gonna be here in a few days. We’ll call you when we get it.” She tried to make her tone neutral and professional, so that Christy would leave the bookstore, but there were traces of anger in her voice that she couldn’t hide.

Christy surely was going to grit her teeth down to nothing by the way Charlie spoke to her. The girl had no more insight in the story than that it had been her book Christy had torched, but other than that, all the jipes and snide remarks only made Christy more and more angry, the more Charlie used them. Of course she could read. That’s why she’d torched the book in the first place. It was shit. To be honest Christy hadn’t expected Charlie to go off like she did. She had thought, in some crazy way, that Charlie would have thanked her, would have wanted to become her friend. She thought the girl was playing a prank on her, like all the other children always did. It was shit because she’d thought it was a prank being pulled on her. And that Charlie never seemed to have taken Christy’s history as a victim of pranks into consideration, Christy could only argue with herself that Charlie had been one of those pulling yet another prank, and was now playing on the “I was innocent”-card.

But Christy wasn’t going to tell Charlie that. Oh, no. Absolutely not.

“Fine. Great. Splendid. Let me know when the fucking book is here, and be sure you’re not here when I come to pay and pick it up.”

And with that, she left the store abruptly, so as not to give Charlie any room to reply.

(Source: christyrossi)

Admitting // Christy & Charlie

charlie-milton:

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. 

(Source: christyrossi)

Making melodies // Christy & Chris

thechrischapman:

Chris was a little taken aback. He’d never encountered someone so enthusiastic about his band before. Especially since they weren’t exactly big. They’d mostly just started playing out of their drummer’s garage a couple of times a week a few months ago, because he’d liked the lyrics he’d seen Chris scribbling on napkins at the bar. It was more of a hobby than anything any of them were sticking with. So it was kind of insane to have some girl practically start beaming when she recognized him.

It wasn’t a bad feeling, though. Chris laughed at her excited bow, a little incredulous, and said, “Nice to meet you, Christy.” She seemed like a sweet kid. He was feeling a lot better about this whole situation now. He sat down cross-legged beside her and pulled his guitar into his lap. He started playing a few notes absently, as he had a tendency to do any time he had a guitar in his hands. 

“What do you want to start with?” Chris asked. He’d practiced a few songs from the bands she’d mentioned—refreshing his memory more than anything, really—and he was good to pick up anywhere. He was curious about how well Christy could play, though.

Truth be told, Christy couldn’t recognize the guy from anywhere but those two concert-thingies she’d been to. Other than that, she’d never really bothered to visit the Tavern at all, since sitting in the bar drinking by herself wasn’t a good way to advertise her… non-existing popularity, and most people that hung out at the bar seemed to have fallen out with her when they were younger, since most of the young people there had attended the same school as her, albeit most were maybe two-three years older than her. Either way, remembering a thundering little kid who threw rocks at them always seemed to put people on edge around Christy. She wasn’t a kid anymore, and she wasn’t… well alright, she was as harsh, but definitely not as childishly harsh. It wasn’t You know Santa doesn’t exist, you dumbhead? but more of What the fuck do you want, and why are you wasting my time? What’s the matter, lost your spine, can’t connect it to your tongue? 

 Alright, so maybe she wasn’t much more mature now. But it didn’t matter. She sat by the corner of the supermarket, having gone from last week’s disaster to the lead singer of UNTITLED ARTIST. If this wasn’t a sign that something — anything — was bound to happen, Christy would start worshipping Satan as soon as possible. 

“Well,” she started, putting the hat more comfortably in front of them, “truth be told I can’t actually play unless you want to give me free lessons, but I’m a hell of a singer.”
The easy way she said it made it sound more of a joke than Christy had first wanted, but in the end she decided it was better to let the guy interpret what she meant by the bold words himself. She was a hell of a good singer, and if those lessons from when she was younger hadn’t helped, she’d still sound pretty neat. Despite her tiny appearance and how people always assumed she was a minor, her voice really made for a nice paradox. Or something like it.
It was bright, alright, but hoarse and raspy when low, and strong and chant-y when high. Not squeaky, not pop-girl-ish. It was probably the only thing about herself Christy put full and honest confidence in.  Folding a test of hair behind her ear, Christy grinned excitedly at the guy. 

“To win people over we should definitely start with some standard you all love them even though you weren’t born when the singer snuffed it,” she said half-musing and half-sarcastically, grinning more broadly as it… almost applied to her. Only almost. “Queen. Maybe it’s a long shot, but I was wondering if you knew Crazy little thing called love, or Spread your wings, or Fat bottomed girls. Alright, so maybe the last one isn’t a long shot, but still.”

Christy felt slightly light-headed, excited and happy that something, at very last, actually went right. It made her actually smile genuinely at the guy. It was surreal. It was weird. It was almost wrong for her to feel like this; it felt awkwardly out of place. But at the same time, she liked it. It felt like a sea of flowers exploded in her heart, like a kid skipping across a flowery field kicking the flowers off of their stalks. 

Alright, so maybe it was an exaggeration. But even so; that’s what it felt like. She pulled off her jeans jacket and placed it behind her, smiling still at the guy.  

(Source: christyrossi)

Making melodies // Christy & Chris

thechrischapman:

Chris wandered into town with his acoustic strapped to his back. He was a little nervous to be playing out in town like this, since he usually had the home-court advantage of playing at the Tavern, surrounded by people who generally liked him. But this Christy girl had seemed alright on the phone, and she had decent taste in music. And anyway, he could really use both the distraction and hopefully the cash that this would bring in.

He spotted who he assumed was Christy sitting by the supermarket. She looked vaguely familiar, and he wondered if she had a fake ID up on the Wall of Shame at the bar. She looked young enough, at least. He couldn’t help but smile at her clothes—it was the same kind of faux-punk uniform he’d worn in high school. Of course, his look had come with bleached, straightened hair and studded wristbands, which wasn’t a look he liked to think back on.

“Hey,” he said when he drew even with Christy. He shrugged his guitar off of his back and gave her a grin. “This seat taken?”

A miracle happened, right there and then: Christy Rossi smiled whole-heartedly (and perhaps a wee bit nervously) at a complete stranger she’d never really met before. Not even a trace of a scowl was visible in her face, and when she actually saw who he was; when that pang of recognition told her this guy was not only the lead singer, but guitarist in a band, a local Sawyer band, that she actually listened to, the smile turned to a shocked expression of joy. Getting up faster than a canon ball, Christy pointed a finger at him. Keeping calm, however, she grinned broadly at him. 

“You — you’re…,” she stuttered calmly, not sure how to really express herself. She had actually seen his band live at least twice; it wasn’t hard in a town like Sawyer. “Well, holy shit. You’re in UNTITLED ARTIST. Bloody hell, how lucky aren’t I to have gotten the number of that Chris?”

She put her hands on her sides, smiling happily up at him (and actually adding a wink), Christy couldn’t help but just assume that a guy walking by with a guitar wondering whether he could sit down next to her was the same guy whom she’d texted. Either that, or the other guy would turn up and find his place occupied — but as it was to be occupied by someone from a band she whole-heartedly listened to, Christy wouldn’t care less. Though her shoes wore heels, lifting her up above her usual height, she was still short and skinny. Jokingly pulling the hem of an invisible skirt, she bowed before him, and then made a presentative gesture toward the ground. 

“This seat is all ours,” she said, grinning broadly, sitting down again and crossing her legs. Pulling that classical black round Chaplin-hat from behind her, she held it up for Chris to see. “I’m, well, Christy. Christy Rossi. Brought with me this. Let’s earn those cash by making some sweet melodies, eh?”

(Source: christyrossi)

Making melodies // Christy & Chris

Christy was… urgh, oh, what was that feeling, really?  She’d never quite felt it before. Not this strongly, not about such a thing. She was… it felt like she was wearing a corsette, her chest tight around the ribs, her heart beating the bloody crap out of them. Sweat threatened to trickle down her brow. She was nervous. 

Last time she’d decided to meet up with a musician he hadn’t showed up. She hadn’t done anything wrong except being herself. She figured Nick had mentioned her name to him and he knew who she was, because he sure as hell seemed scared away somehow. That was why she wrote her name with reluctance to this Chris, and also took care to leave out her surname. Who knows, maybe he knew her from somewhere? She didn’t know what he looked like, how old he was… really, who he was. Just a musician. 

Christy sat by that same, sharp corner made by the pointy building of the supermarket, for the second time in one week, and, well, feeling nervous. She didn’t want to be stood up, and this Chris guy had seemed like a decent guy. Christy wore black, tight jeans to a zebra-striped black-and-white tank top, only covered by a jeans-jacket, her hair as per usual up in a bobbing ponytail. For once, she was actually not scowling at everyone, but, biting her lower lip, she looked right nervous. 

Blame it on the innocent // Christy & Luke

luke-holt:

Luke had to admit he was a little impressed by Christy’s handling of the cashier, watching her quietly for a few moments. She was a skinny chick, short but with nice, round tits that he was pretty sure would feel damn good underneath his hands if he could get her top off, and he was sure she’d be hella kinky in bed. He didn’t actually want to sleep with her, though; he didn’t exactly get a one-night stand vibe from her, and there was no way he was going to attempt to try a relationship with this chick. She was snobby and rude and the fact that her only endearing quality was the way her shirt clung to her breasts was kind of shitty.

He might have been an asshole himself, but trying anything out with someone who was also an asshole was like tossing a starving tiger and an equally hungry lion in a cage and watching them fight to the death over a slab of meat. Luke wanted someone he could bang without worrying about, and Christy was not that chick.

The cashier came back with a couple cups of coffee and Luke set the twenty down on the counter, the girl handing his change rather shakily. Luke picked up the tray of coffee and shoved it at Christy, an eyebrow arched incredulously. “All right, there’s your fucking coffee. You spill it on some other guy, don’t fucking come crying to me, got it? Fucking clumsy-ass bitch.”

Looking decidedly unimpressed with the whole situation, Christy watched the cashier come back darkly, watching the relieved sort of way she put the tray on the counter and accepted the money. It annoyed her somewhat that the girl lacked any kind of spine at all. Had Christy been the one standing behind the counter, she would have poured coffee all over the rude assholes demanding way too little money for way too many cups of coffee. Turning to the guy, she barely had time to catch the tray before scowling darkly at him. The way he spoke made her want to pour a cup over him, but common sense told her that wasn’t the best of ideas. Not to say her hand didn’t twitch while holding the tray, but still. It was a bad idea to go with that instinct. Telling him I hope you fucking get hit by a car, wasn’t maybe the best way to go about it either.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” she said coolly, giving him a two-fingered, rather lazy salute, before leading the way out of the cafe. Well, she was still wearing his shirt, and if he wanted it back, he’d have to wait, or follow her home. That’s if her own shirt hadn’t dried up enough yet, but she’d left that in the bank.
Going ahead to open the door for him again, Christy scowled nastily at some older lady who thought she’d be welcome to weasel her way into the bank.
Christy figured she could at least escort Luke back into the bank’s inner offices. Well inside, when no longer caring whether or not Luke was at her heels, she slammed the tray of coffee down on her colleague’s desk.
“Never a-fucking-gain am I going to run around like a fucking page,” by this point Christy was hoarsely screaming at her colleague, “because our actual fucking page is off having sex with her nasty fucking boyfriend. You got that?”
Looking shocked, though not surprised, the colleague grabbed their cup of coffee, stammering something inaudible.
“Shut your fucking mouth,” Christy snapped, only narrowly resisting the urge to knock the coffee out of his hands. She was lucky if their boss wasn’t standing in some far off corner watching her, because though her colleagues were mildly afraid of her, her boss could fire her in the blink of an eye due to her tantrums. Pointing one finger at her colleague, she barely managed to keep her voice low and dark. “I’m going to go home for an hour or so, so as to change. I don’t want to fucking hear a single word from you from now on when that stupid whore doesn’t show up for work. Get your own fucking coffee.”
Turning around, she bumped into another person, though didn’t pay nearly enough attention to whomever that was before starting to curse loudly.

(Source: christyrossi, via luke-holt-deactivated20120710)

Admitting // Christy & Charlie

charlie-milton:

Childish grudge? Charlie loved that book. She had been reading it every night before the incident, and she only parted with it when she decided to offer some help to that stupid bitch. And it wasn’t like Christy had rejected her offer, or had yelled at her, or had thrown the book back at her, or even torn a fucking page. She had set fire to it. And for Charlie there was nothing more scariligeous than burning a book. Not to mention the trauma she had gotten.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest to hide her shaky hands. “Yes, because I am clearly the one that is mentally unstable here. What kind of ten year-old burns the book of her classmate? I mean, OK, I knew you were batshit crazy, but I was expecting some common courtesy. And if you didn’t want it you could give it back.” What agitated her the most was that Christy didn’t seem the least bit remorseful for her act. Not even upset, or proud or something. Charlie’s blood was boiling, and the other girl looked like she was watching a mildly interesting documentary.

Christy’s scowl didn’t get any angrier, because the anger she felt now wasn’t the usual passionate one. Somehow, in an attempt to keep this a good day, she had averted from the blind, blazing white rage she always tended to achieve when bothered, but now she just wanted to order the fucking book and leave. There was still a part of her that wanted to hang about and argue with Charlie, but she didn’t seem to connect to it as much. This was one of those days Christy just felt like actually giving her mother a hug. Where other people had bad days, Christy had good ones. With someone as… passionate as Christy, that was pure and simple logic. And now this bitch in front of her wanted to ruin it.
“I was fucking ten, you lunatic,” Christy said sharply, the annoyed, bored scowl still on her face, her eyes growing darker. “A fucking child. Why don’t you time-travel back and take it up with me then? It was eleven fucking years ago. Besides, it’s not like I remember the actual torching of the book, I was way too angry over the stupidity written within.”
Christy didn’t avert her eyes even by an inch, and every time she blinked she wished she hadn’t, just so she could stare darkly at Charlie.

Alright. So maybe Christy actually knew she hadn’t been a stable ten-year-old. So maybe she knew the tantrums she had made her black out in anger (and still did, sometimes). And maybe she knew that torching the book had been childish. But if this girl wanted to pick a fucking fight, Christy decided she wasn’t going to try and stop it. Not even to keep her good day good. It was too late now either way, it was already spoiled.

(Source: christyrossi)