ditto
still kicking :)
MICHAEL K. REID
The smile on Gen’s face said that, unsurprisingly, somewhere along the way of giving her an answer, Mike’d made some kind of fucking misstep that’d dissatisfied her just enough to piss her off. You couldn’t blame it on his pessimism assuming the worst meaning of that smile, you couldn’t blame it on the heat of the moment making it seem worse than it really was. The fact of the matter was that Mike Reid was a relative expert about pissed off Gen. The smile on her face wasn’t small, wasn’t awkward like you’d expect from someone who’d just been rejected by someone who they so obviously had some kind of feelings for.
It’d been a while since this Gen had appeared — the Gen who wore this kind of smile, the Gen who he anticipated would do nothing but be an utter bitch to him. It was that weekend, the one after the first hookup Halloween, that he’d last seen her, really. He simultaneously understood why she was coming out now — he hadn’t let her down gently — and was mildly confused.
That Gen had only ever really shown her face when things were rocky — when things were gray about whether they were friends or enemies or something entirely different — so seeing her wasn’t exactly a welcome sign.
It was just a one-eighty flip from who she was moments ago.
Great. What brand of wrath had he incurred this time? He tried to make a small gamble with himself: five bucks that she went the you’re a little bitch and it’s your privilege to be in my presence route.
“Oh Michael,” she giggled. She turned to face the mirror, her hands tracing down her sides to push down the sides of her dress before slinging the fabric across her chest and over her shoulders. “Michael, Michael, Michael.”
Little bitch route’s already in the lead.
“Here I was making a very simple offer to you out of courtesy,” she said. “School dances are meaningless, good for nothing more than a quick dance and some free entertainment. If I genuinely wanted a date from you, I would have offered to tae you somewhere a bit nicer.”
Mike raised an eyebrow, watching her as she opened a velvet case, and he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Yeah, why didn’t he buy that, exactly?
She brushed her hair aside, clasping the jewelry around her neck. “Perhaps I would have taken you to Providence, maybe brought you along as an attractive accessory to a gala. But a school event? Seriously? That’s a low blow, even by your pitiful standards.”
Mike breathed out a sigh. Of all days for her to pull this shit, she chose right now. He didn’t get it. Not even three full minutes ago, she was asking him to the dance with what were obviously ulterior motives, and now…she was playing like he was so far below her. An accessory with “pitiful standards”. Classy.
No one was fucking buying it.
“Yeah, Gen, it’s a meaningless dance,” Mike agreed, nodding. He grinned slightly. He didn’t necessarily think that he could diffuse the situation — she seemed fucking pissed off — but he needed to avoid as much conflict as possible for once. They were about to go fucking on, and the last thing he wanted was for her to make a big deal out of her asking him to a petty fucking dance that would just be packed with acne-ridden students in desperate need of deodorant and extra-small condoms. “You blow a couple bucks, spike your punch with spirits, and hookup with someone hot enough in the backseat of a shitty clunker that makes a one-star motel’s lumpy, ancient, bedbug-ridden sack look like chiffon sheets on pillows of clouds. Far cry from, what…fucking Providence,” he laughed slightly, “but you did still ask me to it.” He shook his head slightly. “Still, you mean you thought I thought you were asking me out asking me out? You said that we were more than friends with benefits, Gen. You can say you meant something different, but I’m stupid, not an idiot — get it straight.”
That last part wasn’t going to help him get out of this situation, but it had to be fucking said.
“Are you done needing my help?” he asked as he watched her pull a shoebox out from beneath a bench. He watched in irritated, impatient silence.
Could she move any fucking slower? He knew the slow, forced indifference of her movements was all part of the facade she’d put on, but he didn’t have time for that right now — they didn’t have time for it. Maybe if he phrased it in the way of, You’re wasting your time, she’d listen.
Yadda yadda, self-absorption required particular phrasing to satisfy it, could we just skip past this situation that Mike shouldn’t’ve been in in the first place and head to the stage? Forget this shit ever happened? Just spare him one goddamn time — one time? Was that too much to fucking ask?
She lifted her dress and slipped her feet into the white, crystalloid shoes, and then she stood. He’d already had to look up to her face, but now, he had to look up a matter of several inches.
He sighed softly, poising up an eyebrow again.
“But since you brought up the topic of relationships —“
He rolled his eyes, letting out a soft sigh involuntarily.
Great. Just great. She wasn’t shutting up. Yay, lucky him, whoopty-fucking-doo.
“— I suppose I should elaborate on what I meant. I don’t blame you for not understanding, of course,” she condescended. “You don’t have any experience in people actually giving a shit about you, hmm? Always kept around for the eye candy or the sex and never because anyone ever actually gives a shit if you stay or go.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder at Mike.
Mike’s brows lowered, furrowing in frustration. “You got it, babe,” he drawled sarcastically. “Is it obvious from the way I talk or the way I stand that betrays the fact that I’m the standard high school standardless slut with issues because Mommy didn’t hug him enough?”
“Must be unfortunate to be the person no one cares about.”
Said the bitch who’d been crying over Evie and crying over how everyone hated her two weeks ago.
Damn, he should have gotten that on tape.
He should’ve felt bad for thinking that, right? Bad for thinking that he should’ve taped the girl he called his friend — the girl who he was aware that he felt some kind of way about — breaking down. But he fucking didn’t.
Because now she was pissing him off, too. He didn’t get why she was acting this fucking way. Sure, he’d rejected her harshly. Yeah, he didn’t expect her to not react — she was Gen, after all. But this shit? A sudden attempt at a full reversal of everything that she’d been saying and acting like for the past fucking two weeks?
This felt like a soap opera level overreaction. They knew each other — she knew him. Him rejecting her was just another thing — or could’ve been just another thing. They were friends (with benefits, sure, but still friends), and his rejection, though not nice, really, had been gentle enough coming from him. He got her having a reaction, but this?
This was just bullshit.
Melodrama pissed him off. She needed to knock it off. He didn’t know what she wanted to accomplish by this, but he was already sick of it.
They were friends. She could talk to him if she wanted to. This? This wasn’t fucking funny, this wasn’t fucking accomplishing anything.
“So, allow me to give you a quick lesson in emotional connection since you assumed my offer was a marriage proposal, okay?” Gen said, and she took a few casual steps towards him. She put a hand on the collar of his shirt, and he breathed in deeply, straightening his back. She adjusted his collar and nodded, then smoothed out the creases in his shirt.
Just hurry up and enlighten me, Johannes, he thought, looking forward, the look in his eyes stern though he wasn’t looking anywhere near her face. Impart your O Holy Wisdom upon the confused, sorry fucking schmuck.
She was just talking about going to the ball with him; now she was doing the patronization shit that she always did to convince herself of her superiority, and he wasn’t going to deal with this kind of shit.
“My offer was one of civility, Michael,” Gen said, “nothing else.”
“Civility?” he repeated in a steady, calm, somewhat pensive voice.
That was bullshit.
Was she going to act like it was some kind of peace treaty now? Was she going to try and play it like he was fooled and that they’d never changed the feud going between them? That he was crazy to think that she felt something towards him that she obviously fucking did?
Because he was the dumb one here. Because he was the child, desperate for attention.
Because he was crazy. Because he had it all wrong.
Gaslighting. Huzzah.
“You really aren’t the kind of person I would ever choose to associate with. I mean imagine the headlines: Genevieve Johannes Putting Out for a Charity Case and more on page 4. Imagine that, seriously, take a second to think about it.”
Don’t forget the subtitle: “HA’s Queen Bee Reveals the Secret to Taming the Fucking Bitch to Do Her Bidding!”. Apparently, that’s also part of the deal — an integral fucking section. Must’ve been in the fine print on the contract I signed by fucking you on that desk. A verbal agreement we made when we were moaning each other’s names, huh?
Gen giggled warmly, stepping past him and into the main room. Once the curtains fell, Mike stared at them for a moment, and then he reached out to pull them aside and follow after her. He spared a glance at Darrington, giving him a slight nod and sighing.
Maybe she’d finally shut up now, but probably not.
Who was he fucking kidding, the answer was absolutely not. She took every fucking opportunity she could to degrade him.
Great fucking friend she was. Just an outstanding individual. She should really be awarded Person of the Year.
“And I also don’t tend to make a habit of dating clones.” Surprise, he was right — she just kept fucking talking. “If I wanted you, there are a thousand of you out there. You are so fucking replaceable because there’s nothing unique about you. The bad guy act? Been there, seen that. The ‘pity me, Genevieve’ act? Stale, boring, overplayed. The ‘I’m better than you because I’m afraid to admit that I’m flawed’ thing? Seriously, not winning any Oscars here.”
Was that supposed to hurt? Was that supposed to sting?
Oh, I so fucking agree, Miss Genevieve. Find it in your big, warm heart to forgive this sorry fucking bottomfeeder for being a jackass like all of the other boys, won’t you? Because you’re so different. Because I couldn’t meet another rich parent-made bitch with too much emotional cargo if I walked out on the street, because your personality wasn’t ripped straight from a Gossip Girl episode.
And yeah, I agree, the act you’ve got going right now is really not fucking it. ‘I’m better than you because I’m afraid to admit that I’m flawed’…oof, yeah. Realizing you’ve got a problem is the first part to fixing the issue, so I’m glad you’re growing self-aware.
He didn’t say that aloud, though. He thought, maybe if he shut up for once, so would she. It wasn’t as much fun to kick around someone docile and quiet, and so if he let her just kick him around for a minute, maybe she’d finally fucking run out of steam or some shit.
It was wishful thinking, but fuck it. As much as he’d love to blow up, they had a show to put on. Gen knew that, so maybe things would be different for once with her.
She’d moved past him, still playing indifference, and she was now applying another coat of cherry red lipstick. “There are a thousand boys out there just like you Michael Reid, do you know that?”
He averted his eyes, looking at Darrington. “Hm?” he hummed in response to Gen’s rhetorical question, and he nodded his head in her direction. He lifted up a hand pinched his hand together, then made it look as though it was talking, trying to convey to the other boy, She won’t stop fucking nagging. He dropped his hand and looked at Gen. “A thousand boys out there, huh?” he said, his voice disinterested and dull.
It was obvious that he was sick of this.
She looked at him in the mirror, running her tongue across her teeth. “Boys with the same act, the same sob story, the same lack of emotional range, the same tendency to push people away. It’s cute, really, that you can’t just be yourself when people threaten to break through. What a shame.”
“Oh no, that factoid never occurred to me, babe.” His voice was obviously sarcastic. Thank you, Wise Whimsical Whore. Your intelligent readings rival that of the discount Hibachi food truck’s fortune cookies.
She turned on her heels, flicking her hair over her shoulder, and Mike looked at her, face stoic.
She was really fucking pissing him off.
“What?” she asked. “Don’t look at me like that, we both know that’s what you’re doing. You’re afraid of getting close, of having to drop the act, of having to finally be vulnerable. You’re so used to people even giving a fuck if you’re here or not that your itty bitty brain can’t comprehend when people care and want to keep you around.” She laughed as though she’d just said the funniest shit ever.
“You’re so funny,” he deadpanned.
“Don’t you worry, Michael,” she said, “your secret is safe with me. I don’t vouch for Mr Darrington, though. But you can’t lie to me, babe.”
“Mmhm.”
He knew what she was doing — saying shit to hurt him, trying to play some mind games with him and shit.
He’d remain composed, though.
Mike was never one with much poise. Not really one for “respect” or shit like that. But for once, he was going to try and avoid this conflict.
He wasn’t about to fuck up his last Arts Fest — even if that would, apparently, satisfy Gen.
She took a few quick steps towards him. She was much taller than him, which gave her the oh-so-perfect opportunity to quite literally look down her nose at him and grin like he was some kind of fucking prey to her.
Ooh, so spooky. Was he supposed to be scared? Yeah, sure. Yeah, Gen, he was shaking in his fucking designer shoes.
Listen, all he saw was a goddamn facade. You could drop the fucking act — and you should, before he finally fucking lost his temper.
“You can pretend you don’t care, pretend you don’t want me around, but you can’t pretend you didn’t beg me to be with you.” She spoke surely, cockily. “You can’t pretend that you spent just a little bit more time with me before and after we would hook up. You can say that you don’t want me all you want —“ She looked away to laugh before meeting his eyes again. “— but just remember that you can’t unmoan my name, Michael, can’t get my name off of your lips, can’t get my touch off your skin. You were fucking addicted for someone who vowed they wouldn’t keep coming back. Hell, I bet I was even on your mind when you were all alone in your cute little bed, hmm?” She giggled, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “So much for no attachment. And here you are. All that effort and you’re still fucking alone.”
Anger was rising in his throat, and he could feel his body and his face growing hot.
She’s just saying this stuff to piss you off.
She wants you to react.
Don’t fucking react.
“But you know me, I’m a people pleaser. I mean, you were so pleased that you came back for seconds. And thirds. And fourths and fifths and…do I need to carry on? Right.” She moved towards the door, and she placed her hand on the doorknob. ”You want me gone Michael? Consider it done. I thought you knew better than to make an enemy of me. You could have just said no, could have admitted weakness, but alas, even you’re too pathetic to do that.”
She poised a finger towards Darrington, then grinned over at Mike. “Come now, Jared, we have a performance to do,” she said sweetly, twisting the knob. “Don’t bother tagging along, Michael. I have no interest in a fucking charity case being on my stage. Who knows? I can probably find someone just like you in the crowd. Heard carbon copies of little mewling assholes like yourself are in massive supply these days.”
She caught his eyes, and he caught it — the playful, taunting, pissed off glint.
And he finally gave her what she wanted: he laughed.
The laugh was more of a bark. It escaped him involuntarily, split the air and cut through the silence, leaving a deafening tension in its wake.
A grin spread across his face, the anger blossoming throughout his body, and he held out his hand to stop the girl from opening the door. “Genevieve Johannes,” he said, and he looked at her again, and he laughed another couple of barks. “God, the raging bitch — and you found your rival in Michael Reid, the raging asshole, huh?”
He let out a soft chuckle, and he walked a few, slow steps towards the door as he began to speak in a steady, amused voice. “I was an escape at first, wasn’t I? A…’warm body’, a toy you were going to use and discard.” He bounced air quotes on a couple of words, then used his hands to gesture to himself. “Yeah, I’m well fucking aware of what I was to you. I’m pretty sure we said that in blunt terms, several times. You were using me, just playing with me until you got bored or needed some greater escape. And I knew what I was, too.”
He chuckled again, stopping his walking. “Maybe you think I should be…” He folded his hands, looking up towards the ceiling. “…sobbing and praying at your feet in thankfulness for seeing as I got to be the Genevieve Johannes’ own personal fucktoy for…it’s been a whole fucking month, I guess.” He unfolded his hands and used them to flatten out his suit now, going quiet for a few moments before looking back over at Gen.
The toothy grin found its place on his face again, pumped full of vitriol. “You can pretend that you don’t care, Gen,” he said. “You can act like I’m really something disposable, like you can toss me aside and just fucking forget about me, but I know what we both know — you were the one who was addicted to me. I was your escapism. I was a jackass, but someone who could help you get away. Someone who made you feel like someone cared about you for a second.” The glint that Gen’d had in her eyes moments ago found itself making a home in his eyes. “You thought you had the power,” he said. “You thought you were in control. You thought, because you could have had anyone, you were the one with the upper hand. But who’s the one who’s hurt now? Who’s the one who fucked the fire, and who’s the one burning, Gen?”
He was saying what he felt, saying the truth, no matter how bad it hurt her.
She wanted him to bring the big guns? He was going to.
“When you kissed me in that photography room, it told me everything I needed to know,” he said. “About how you felt. About how you felt more. More than you should. More than you told yourself you would.” He barked a laugh, reaching up to prod his hair. “God, you had to fucking loathe yourself, I mean — Michael K. Reid?” He gestured to himself. “That pile of shit?” He dropped his hand, swaggering towards her to a slow beat as he continued. “Barely surviving from paycheck to paycheck, wears Walmart clothes, talks to girls with the express purpose of sleeping with them and never speaking to them again outside of that context? Yeah, if I ended up catching feelings for that inconsiderate asshole — quite literally the bottom of the barrel — I’d be fucking ashamed, too.”
He gave her a pitiful look, stopping a few steps away from her. “And even after that — even after you realized that — instead of pushing me away, you just tried to pull me closer. And you’ve got the balls to call me pathetic, do you?”
He glared into her eyes, shifting his focus from one eye to the next before breaking eye contact and waving a hand dismissively, making his way back over to the wall-length vanity. “But you know me,” he said, meeting his reflection’s gaze as he approached the mirror. “I’m a people-pleaser, babe. I mean, you were so pleased that you came back for seconds of the one-time angry fuck, the one who you constantly rejected, swore off sleeping with, no matter how hot he was.” He turned around and leaned his backside against the table. “Oh, and thirds, too, just like me. And fourths…” He put a finger to his chin. “Hmmm…and fifths, and then…do I need to carry on?”
He was obviously mocking her, taking her words and turning them back towards her.
He laughed, looking from the ceiling to her. “So much for no attachment. And here you are, you massive goddamn hypocrite, playing superior, trying to fuck with me mentally so you can seem so fucking right about everything.” He shook his head, chuckling. “So you can be the right one here. So you, Genevieve Johannes, the rich bitch who’s had her whole life fucking handed to her, can be in the right, once again — as always.”
He turned to face his reflection, pulling out the chair to set his elbows on it. He crossed his arms, his grin fading slightly. “I never said I wanted you gone.” His voice was more serious now — suddenly lacking the angered humor it’d had before. “All I said was that I didn’t want to go to the goddamn dance with you. This feels like such a fucking fifth grade discussion. You said it yourself — it’s a fucking meaningless dance. If it means that much to you that I said fucking no, then you’re just confirming more and more what you’re trying to deny — that you care about me. That you care about this disgusting sonuvabitch — and that you want me. And you’re feeling it, and you know it, so to make yourself feel better you’re cutting me off, making me the villain here, making me your public enemy number one because I didn’t…” He looked at her reflection in the vanity, making eye contact with her figure.
And then he asked, “Literally, what the fuck is this about, Gen?”
He turned back to her, his brows furrowed. “You said that I could’ve just said no — I did fucking say no, Gen. Maybe you misunderstood me, but I said it pretty bluntly — ’I have no interest in going with you, babe.’ Did I offend you because I thought you were joking before? Because I cracked my own jokes even once I realized you weren’t? I’m an asshole, Gen, as you said. Sorry, wrong term — little mewling asshole. What did you expect? But I just said fucking no. I could’ve been nicer, sure, that’s not a revolutionary assessment, but I didn’t say anything fucking more than no, thank you. I rejected you. I shot you down. Ouchie, I dare defy you.”
Sighing, he crossed his arms, leaning back again the vanity’s edge again. “You’re not used to hearing no, are you? Not used to people having the fucking balls to tell you that they’re not going to do exactly what you want them to do, huh? Not used to people telling you you’re not going to get your way, that not everything’s always kosher, peachy-keen, a-okay just because you want it to be? It’s big and fucking dramatic because your hot hookup said no, because no one says no to Gen — no one dares to.”
He began to walk towards her again, his steps slow. “This superiority? Yeah, I know it’s all fucking performative. You know you and I are the exact fucking same, but you’re scared to admit it.”
Breathing out another soft sigh, he said what everyone had to been afraid to fucking say in the past: “You’re such a fucking control freak.”
He met her eyes, a serious, angry expression on his face. “One thing goes awry — one person does something that you don’t want them to do, reacts in a way you don’t want them to — and it’s the end of the world. I say no, and now you jump into defense mode. Downplay me, downplay all this shit, because if you can’t control other people, then you have to force them to bow to your fucking will and when they don’t? You get scared. You go into defense mode. You try and go hard bitch, play better than. Slip into the condescension, slip into that aura, that damn lie that I’ve somehow wronged you by…reacting differently, yeah. Suddenly you don’t give a single fuck about me.”
As he continued, he pointed to himself each time he referenced himself, a slight, disbelieving smile coming across his face. “Suddenly I mean nothing. Makes sense. I’m little, I’m pitiful, I’m this and that only because I told you what you didn’t want to fucking hear. I’m your charity case, I’m the little fucking dog lucky enough to piss at your feet because I…laughed at you? Because I told you no thanks? Because you don’t want to hear my fucking rejection?” He dropped his hand, his tone becoming firmer, surer, angrier. “Because you can’t handle it. Because you can’t handle shit like that. Because your whole life, you’ve never been able to handle people disagreeing with you — because no one can tell you no. No one can not agree with you. When they do, it’s a personal affront on you, so you have to launch a personal affront on them to make them react in a way that you, in your godlike wisdom, knew that they were going to react, just so you look so much more correct in comparison. Textbook manipulation — or, I guess more accurately, textbook control freak mental crisis. Congratulations, you’re page seven-twenty-three, figure fucking one.”
He barked a laugh at his joke, and then looked towards the ceiling. “You either go that route, or suddenly you’re the victim. Suddenly you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Suddenly I’m comforting you while you fucking cry instead of working on a project my livelihood depends on because everything you thought you had under control slipped through your fingers and you can’t fucking handle losing your grip. You lost Liv, Gen. Big fucking whoop. You couldn’t control Liv, you couldn’t control how she lives — you couldn’t control that shit, and you didn’t seem to accept that, and so you flipped the fuck out on Halloween, broke down, made the mistake of banging community cesspool Reid on your office table. You lost Evie, too, same fucking shit — you thought you had control. You thought that no one would know about you and Landon — you had that shit managed. But news flash, Gen —“ He looked back at her. “— life doesn’t bend to your will, babe. Novel idea, I know. Surprise, Gen, but people? Yeah, they aren’t pawns. I let you use me, I was aware you were using me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a say in shit. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have the right to feel shit differently than you do, to react fucking differently than you want me to. If I want to run away, then I can fucking run away. And you can’t tell me that I can’t, and you can’t try and guilt me into apologizing for it. You got that, Gen?”
He walked up to her, looking up into her face. “Read my lips: I’m not your fucking toy, and I’m not your goddamn charity case. If you didn’t want to fucking work with me, that was a decision to make fucking months ago, Gen. I’m not going to back out of this shit and refuse to fucking go on because some attached, in-denial bitch told me not to. That stage isn’t yours, this charity case isn’t yours, this fucking project isn’t even fucking yours. I’ve got shit riding on this, too. I’ve contributed my part, Darrington’s contributed his part, you’ve contributed your part. Just because you decided you wanted to bitch and boss everyone around doesn’t mean this is yours to fucking control — Gen, you don’t have control over everything. You don’t have control over that stage, you don’t have control over this project, you don’t have control over little fucking me, and you don’t even have control over your own goddamn life.”
He laughed harshly. “Jesus, fuck, that’s right, and, ouch, ouch, ouch, Johannes, that’s got to hurt to hear, huh? I'd offer my condolences, but I'm going to pull a card from your book of tricks and pretend like I actually don't give a shit." He chuckled, smiling amusedly. "I mean, just look at you. God! The pathetic control freak’s trying to bear her claws, trying to force the boy who’s supposed to be her little pet into submission when the truth is she’s lost all grip of everything, she has no fucking claws, and all the things she ever thought that she had under control and the whole empire she thought that she'd built are all fucking crumbling beneath her...huh, really makes you think, doesn't it?”
It’d been a while since this Gen had appeared — the Gen who wore this kind of smile, the Gen who he anticipated would do nothing but be an utter bitch to him. It was that weekend, the one after the first hookup Halloween, that he’d last seen her, really. He simultaneously understood why she was coming out now — he hadn’t let her down gently — and was mildly confused.
That Gen had only ever really shown her face when things were rocky — when things were gray about whether they were friends or enemies or something entirely different — so seeing her wasn’t exactly a welcome sign.
It was just a one-eighty flip from who she was moments ago.
Great. What brand of wrath had he incurred this time? He tried to make a small gamble with himself: five bucks that she went the you’re a little bitch and it’s your privilege to be in my presence route.
“Oh Michael,” she giggled. She turned to face the mirror, her hands tracing down her sides to push down the sides of her dress before slinging the fabric across her chest and over her shoulders. “Michael, Michael, Michael.”
Little bitch route’s already in the lead.
“Here I was making a very simple offer to you out of courtesy,” she said. “School dances are meaningless, good for nothing more than a quick dance and some free entertainment. If I genuinely wanted a date from you, I would have offered to tae you somewhere a bit nicer.”
Mike raised an eyebrow, watching her as she opened a velvet case, and he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Yeah, why didn’t he buy that, exactly?
She brushed her hair aside, clasping the jewelry around her neck. “Perhaps I would have taken you to Providence, maybe brought you along as an attractive accessory to a gala. But a school event? Seriously? That’s a low blow, even by your pitiful standards.”
Mike breathed out a sigh. Of all days for her to pull this shit, she chose right now. He didn’t get it. Not even three full minutes ago, she was asking him to the dance with what were obviously ulterior motives, and now…she was playing like he was so far below her. An accessory with “pitiful standards”. Classy.
No one was fucking buying it.
“Yeah, Gen, it’s a meaningless dance,” Mike agreed, nodding. He grinned slightly. He didn’t necessarily think that he could diffuse the situation — she seemed fucking pissed off — but he needed to avoid as much conflict as possible for once. They were about to go fucking on, and the last thing he wanted was for her to make a big deal out of her asking him to a petty fucking dance that would just be packed with acne-ridden students in desperate need of deodorant and extra-small condoms. “You blow a couple bucks, spike your punch with spirits, and hookup with someone hot enough in the backseat of a shitty clunker that makes a one-star motel’s lumpy, ancient, bedbug-ridden sack look like chiffon sheets on pillows of clouds. Far cry from, what…fucking Providence,” he laughed slightly, “but you did still ask me to it.” He shook his head slightly. “Still, you mean you thought I thought you were asking me out asking me out? You said that we were more than friends with benefits, Gen. You can say you meant something different, but I’m stupid, not an idiot — get it straight.”
That last part wasn’t going to help him get out of this situation, but it had to be fucking said.
“Are you done needing my help?” he asked as he watched her pull a shoebox out from beneath a bench. He watched in irritated, impatient silence.
Could she move any fucking slower? He knew the slow, forced indifference of her movements was all part of the facade she’d put on, but he didn’t have time for that right now — they didn’t have time for it. Maybe if he phrased it in the way of, You’re wasting your time, she’d listen.
Yadda yadda, self-absorption required particular phrasing to satisfy it, could we just skip past this situation that Mike shouldn’t’ve been in in the first place and head to the stage? Forget this shit ever happened? Just spare him one goddamn time — one time? Was that too much to fucking ask?
She lifted her dress and slipped her feet into the white, crystalloid shoes, and then she stood. He’d already had to look up to her face, but now, he had to look up a matter of several inches.
He sighed softly, poising up an eyebrow again.
“But since you brought up the topic of relationships —“
He rolled his eyes, letting out a soft sigh involuntarily.
Great. Just great. She wasn’t shutting up. Yay, lucky him, whoopty-fucking-doo.
“— I suppose I should elaborate on what I meant. I don’t blame you for not understanding, of course,” she condescended. “You don’t have any experience in people actually giving a shit about you, hmm? Always kept around for the eye candy or the sex and never because anyone ever actually gives a shit if you stay or go.” She paused, glancing over her shoulder at Mike.
Mike’s brows lowered, furrowing in frustration. “You got it, babe,” he drawled sarcastically. “Is it obvious from the way I talk or the way I stand that betrays the fact that I’m the standard high school standardless slut with issues because Mommy didn’t hug him enough?”
“Must be unfortunate to be the person no one cares about.”
Said the bitch who’d been crying over Evie and crying over how everyone hated her two weeks ago.
Damn, he should have gotten that on tape.
He should’ve felt bad for thinking that, right? Bad for thinking that he should’ve taped the girl he called his friend — the girl who he was aware that he felt some kind of way about — breaking down. But he fucking didn’t.
Because now she was pissing him off, too. He didn’t get why she was acting this fucking way. Sure, he’d rejected her harshly. Yeah, he didn’t expect her to not react — she was Gen, after all. But this shit? A sudden attempt at a full reversal of everything that she’d been saying and acting like for the past fucking two weeks?
This felt like a soap opera level overreaction. They knew each other — she knew him. Him rejecting her was just another thing — or could’ve been just another thing. They were friends (with benefits, sure, but still friends), and his rejection, though not nice, really, had been gentle enough coming from him. He got her having a reaction, but this?
This was just bullshit.
Melodrama pissed him off. She needed to knock it off. He didn’t know what she wanted to accomplish by this, but he was already sick of it.
They were friends. She could talk to him if she wanted to. This? This wasn’t fucking funny, this wasn’t fucking accomplishing anything.
“So, allow me to give you a quick lesson in emotional connection since you assumed my offer was a marriage proposal, okay?” Gen said, and she took a few casual steps towards him. She put a hand on the collar of his shirt, and he breathed in deeply, straightening his back. She adjusted his collar and nodded, then smoothed out the creases in his shirt.
Just hurry up and enlighten me, Johannes, he thought, looking forward, the look in his eyes stern though he wasn’t looking anywhere near her face. Impart your O Holy Wisdom upon the confused, sorry fucking schmuck.
She was just talking about going to the ball with him; now she was doing the patronization shit that she always did to convince herself of her superiority, and he wasn’t going to deal with this kind of shit.
“My offer was one of civility, Michael,” Gen said, “nothing else.”
“Civility?” he repeated in a steady, calm, somewhat pensive voice.
That was bullshit.
Was she going to act like it was some kind of peace treaty now? Was she going to try and play it like he was fooled and that they’d never changed the feud going between them? That he was crazy to think that she felt something towards him that she obviously fucking did?
Because he was the dumb one here. Because he was the child, desperate for attention.
Because he was crazy. Because he had it all wrong.
Gaslighting. Huzzah.
“You really aren’t the kind of person I would ever choose to associate with. I mean imagine the headlines: Genevieve Johannes Putting Out for a Charity Case and more on page 4. Imagine that, seriously, take a second to think about it.”
Don’t forget the subtitle: “HA’s Queen Bee Reveals the Secret to Taming the Fucking Bitch to Do Her Bidding!”. Apparently, that’s also part of the deal — an integral fucking section. Must’ve been in the fine print on the contract I signed by fucking you on that desk. A verbal agreement we made when we were moaning each other’s names, huh?
Gen giggled warmly, stepping past him and into the main room. Once the curtains fell, Mike stared at them for a moment, and then he reached out to pull them aside and follow after her. He spared a glance at Darrington, giving him a slight nod and sighing.
Maybe she’d finally shut up now, but probably not.
Who was he fucking kidding, the answer was absolutely not. She took every fucking opportunity she could to degrade him.
Great fucking friend she was. Just an outstanding individual. She should really be awarded Person of the Year.
“And I also don’t tend to make a habit of dating clones.” Surprise, he was right — she just kept fucking talking. “If I wanted you, there are a thousand of you out there. You are so fucking replaceable because there’s nothing unique about you. The bad guy act? Been there, seen that. The ‘pity me, Genevieve’ act? Stale, boring, overplayed. The ‘I’m better than you because I’m afraid to admit that I’m flawed’ thing? Seriously, not winning any Oscars here.”
Was that supposed to hurt? Was that supposed to sting?
Oh, I so fucking agree, Miss Genevieve. Find it in your big, warm heart to forgive this sorry fucking bottomfeeder for being a jackass like all of the other boys, won’t you? Because you’re so different. Because I couldn’t meet another rich parent-made bitch with too much emotional cargo if I walked out on the street, because your personality wasn’t ripped straight from a Gossip Girl episode.
And yeah, I agree, the act you’ve got going right now is really not fucking it. ‘I’m better than you because I’m afraid to admit that I’m flawed’…oof, yeah. Realizing you’ve got a problem is the first part to fixing the issue, so I’m glad you’re growing self-aware.
He didn’t say that aloud, though. He thought, maybe if he shut up for once, so would she. It wasn’t as much fun to kick around someone docile and quiet, and so if he let her just kick him around for a minute, maybe she’d finally fucking run out of steam or some shit.
It was wishful thinking, but fuck it. As much as he’d love to blow up, they had a show to put on. Gen knew that, so maybe things would be different for once with her.
She’d moved past him, still playing indifference, and she was now applying another coat of cherry red lipstick. “There are a thousand boys out there just like you Michael Reid, do you know that?”
He averted his eyes, looking at Darrington. “Hm?” he hummed in response to Gen’s rhetorical question, and he nodded his head in her direction. He lifted up a hand pinched his hand together, then made it look as though it was talking, trying to convey to the other boy, She won’t stop fucking nagging. He dropped his hand and looked at Gen. “A thousand boys out there, huh?” he said, his voice disinterested and dull.
It was obvious that he was sick of this.
She looked at him in the mirror, running her tongue across her teeth. “Boys with the same act, the same sob story, the same lack of emotional range, the same tendency to push people away. It’s cute, really, that you can’t just be yourself when people threaten to break through. What a shame.”
“Oh no, that factoid never occurred to me, babe.” His voice was obviously sarcastic. Thank you, Wise Whimsical Whore. Your intelligent readings rival that of the discount Hibachi food truck’s fortune cookies.
She turned on her heels, flicking her hair over her shoulder, and Mike looked at her, face stoic.
She was really fucking pissing him off.
“What?” she asked. “Don’t look at me like that, we both know that’s what you’re doing. You’re afraid of getting close, of having to drop the act, of having to finally be vulnerable. You’re so used to people even giving a fuck if you’re here or not that your itty bitty brain can’t comprehend when people care and want to keep you around.” She laughed as though she’d just said the funniest shit ever.
“You’re so funny,” he deadpanned.
“Don’t you worry, Michael,” she said, “your secret is safe with me. I don’t vouch for Mr Darrington, though. But you can’t lie to me, babe.”
“Mmhm.”
He knew what she was doing — saying shit to hurt him, trying to play some mind games with him and shit.
He’d remain composed, though.
Mike was never one with much poise. Not really one for “respect” or shit like that. But for once, he was going to try and avoid this conflict.
He wasn’t about to fuck up his last Arts Fest — even if that would, apparently, satisfy Gen.
She took a few quick steps towards him. She was much taller than him, which gave her the oh-so-perfect opportunity to quite literally look down her nose at him and grin like he was some kind of fucking prey to her.
Ooh, so spooky. Was he supposed to be scared? Yeah, sure. Yeah, Gen, he was shaking in his fucking designer shoes.
Listen, all he saw was a goddamn facade. You could drop the fucking act — and you should, before he finally fucking lost his temper.
“You can pretend you don’t care, pretend you don’t want me around, but you can’t pretend you didn’t beg me to be with you.” She spoke surely, cockily. “You can’t pretend that you spent just a little bit more time with me before and after we would hook up. You can say that you don’t want me all you want —“ She looked away to laugh before meeting his eyes again. “— but just remember that you can’t unmoan my name, Michael, can’t get my name off of your lips, can’t get my touch off your skin. You were fucking addicted for someone who vowed they wouldn’t keep coming back. Hell, I bet I was even on your mind when you were all alone in your cute little bed, hmm?” She giggled, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “So much for no attachment. And here you are. All that effort and you’re still fucking alone.”
Anger was rising in his throat, and he could feel his body and his face growing hot.
She’s just saying this stuff to piss you off.
She wants you to react.
Don’t fucking react.
“But you know me, I’m a people pleaser. I mean, you were so pleased that you came back for seconds. And thirds. And fourths and fifths and…do I need to carry on? Right.” She moved towards the door, and she placed her hand on the doorknob. ”You want me gone Michael? Consider it done. I thought you knew better than to make an enemy of me. You could have just said no, could have admitted weakness, but alas, even you’re too pathetic to do that.”
She poised a finger towards Darrington, then grinned over at Mike. “Come now, Jared, we have a performance to do,” she said sweetly, twisting the knob. “Don’t bother tagging along, Michael. I have no interest in a fucking charity case being on my stage. Who knows? I can probably find someone just like you in the crowd. Heard carbon copies of little mewling assholes like yourself are in massive supply these days.”
She caught his eyes, and he caught it — the playful, taunting, pissed off glint.
And he finally gave her what she wanted: he laughed.
The laugh was more of a bark. It escaped him involuntarily, split the air and cut through the silence, leaving a deafening tension in its wake.
A grin spread across his face, the anger blossoming throughout his body, and he held out his hand to stop the girl from opening the door. “Genevieve Johannes,” he said, and he looked at her again, and he laughed another couple of barks. “God, the raging bitch — and you found your rival in Michael Reid, the raging asshole, huh?”
He let out a soft chuckle, and he walked a few, slow steps towards the door as he began to speak in a steady, amused voice. “I was an escape at first, wasn’t I? A…’warm body’, a toy you were going to use and discard.” He bounced air quotes on a couple of words, then used his hands to gesture to himself. “Yeah, I’m well fucking aware of what I was to you. I’m pretty sure we said that in blunt terms, several times. You were using me, just playing with me until you got bored or needed some greater escape. And I knew what I was, too.”
He chuckled again, stopping his walking. “Maybe you think I should be…” He folded his hands, looking up towards the ceiling. “…sobbing and praying at your feet in thankfulness for seeing as I got to be the Genevieve Johannes’ own personal fucktoy for…it’s been a whole fucking month, I guess.” He unfolded his hands and used them to flatten out his suit now, going quiet for a few moments before looking back over at Gen.
The toothy grin found its place on his face again, pumped full of vitriol. “You can pretend that you don’t care, Gen,” he said. “You can act like I’m really something disposable, like you can toss me aside and just fucking forget about me, but I know what we both know — you were the one who was addicted to me. I was your escapism. I was a jackass, but someone who could help you get away. Someone who made you feel like someone cared about you for a second.” The glint that Gen’d had in her eyes moments ago found itself making a home in his eyes. “You thought you had the power,” he said. “You thought you were in control. You thought, because you could have had anyone, you were the one with the upper hand. But who’s the one who’s hurt now? Who’s the one who fucked the fire, and who’s the one burning, Gen?”
He was saying what he felt, saying the truth, no matter how bad it hurt her.
She wanted him to bring the big guns? He was going to.
“When you kissed me in that photography room, it told me everything I needed to know,” he said. “About how you felt. About how you felt more. More than you should. More than you told yourself you would.” He barked a laugh, reaching up to prod his hair. “God, you had to fucking loathe yourself, I mean — Michael K. Reid?” He gestured to himself. “That pile of shit?” He dropped his hand, swaggering towards her to a slow beat as he continued. “Barely surviving from paycheck to paycheck, wears Walmart clothes, talks to girls with the express purpose of sleeping with them and never speaking to them again outside of that context? Yeah, if I ended up catching feelings for that inconsiderate asshole — quite literally the bottom of the barrel — I’d be fucking ashamed, too.”
He gave her a pitiful look, stopping a few steps away from her. “And even after that — even after you realized that — instead of pushing me away, you just tried to pull me closer. And you’ve got the balls to call me pathetic, do you?”
He glared into her eyes, shifting his focus from one eye to the next before breaking eye contact and waving a hand dismissively, making his way back over to the wall-length vanity. “But you know me,” he said, meeting his reflection’s gaze as he approached the mirror. “I’m a people-pleaser, babe. I mean, you were so pleased that you came back for seconds of the one-time angry fuck, the one who you constantly rejected, swore off sleeping with, no matter how hot he was.” He turned around and leaned his backside against the table. “Oh, and thirds, too, just like me. And fourths…” He put a finger to his chin. “Hmmm…and fifths, and then…do I need to carry on?”
He was obviously mocking her, taking her words and turning them back towards her.
He laughed, looking from the ceiling to her. “So much for no attachment. And here you are, you massive goddamn hypocrite, playing superior, trying to fuck with me mentally so you can seem so fucking right about everything.” He shook his head, chuckling. “So you can be the right one here. So you, Genevieve Johannes, the rich bitch who’s had her whole life fucking handed to her, can be in the right, once again — as always.”
He turned to face his reflection, pulling out the chair to set his elbows on it. He crossed his arms, his grin fading slightly. “I never said I wanted you gone.” His voice was more serious now — suddenly lacking the angered humor it’d had before. “All I said was that I didn’t want to go to the goddamn dance with you. This feels like such a fucking fifth grade discussion. You said it yourself — it’s a fucking meaningless dance. If it means that much to you that I said fucking no, then you’re just confirming more and more what you’re trying to deny — that you care about me. That you care about this disgusting sonuvabitch — and that you want me. And you’re feeling it, and you know it, so to make yourself feel better you’re cutting me off, making me the villain here, making me your public enemy number one because I didn’t…” He looked at her reflection in the vanity, making eye contact with her figure.
And then he asked, “Literally, what the fuck is this about, Gen?”
He turned back to her, his brows furrowed. “You said that I could’ve just said no — I did fucking say no, Gen. Maybe you misunderstood me, but I said it pretty bluntly — ’I have no interest in going with you, babe.’ Did I offend you because I thought you were joking before? Because I cracked my own jokes even once I realized you weren’t? I’m an asshole, Gen, as you said. Sorry, wrong term — little mewling asshole. What did you expect? But I just said fucking no. I could’ve been nicer, sure, that’s not a revolutionary assessment, but I didn’t say anything fucking more than no, thank you. I rejected you. I shot you down. Ouchie, I dare defy you.”
Sighing, he crossed his arms, leaning back again the vanity’s edge again. “You’re not used to hearing no, are you? Not used to people having the fucking balls to tell you that they’re not going to do exactly what you want them to do, huh? Not used to people telling you you’re not going to get your way, that not everything’s always kosher, peachy-keen, a-okay just because you want it to be? It’s big and fucking dramatic because your hot hookup said no, because no one says no to Gen — no one dares to.”
He began to walk towards her again, his steps slow. “This superiority? Yeah, I know it’s all fucking performative. You know you and I are the exact fucking same, but you’re scared to admit it.”
Breathing out another soft sigh, he said what everyone had to been afraid to fucking say in the past: “You’re such a fucking control freak.”
He met her eyes, a serious, angry expression on his face. “One thing goes awry — one person does something that you don’t want them to do, reacts in a way you don’t want them to — and it’s the end of the world. I say no, and now you jump into defense mode. Downplay me, downplay all this shit, because if you can’t control other people, then you have to force them to bow to your fucking will and when they don’t? You get scared. You go into defense mode. You try and go hard bitch, play better than. Slip into the condescension, slip into that aura, that damn lie that I’ve somehow wronged you by…reacting differently, yeah. Suddenly you don’t give a single fuck about me.”
As he continued, he pointed to himself each time he referenced himself, a slight, disbelieving smile coming across his face. “Suddenly I mean nothing. Makes sense. I’m little, I’m pitiful, I’m this and that only because I told you what you didn’t want to fucking hear. I’m your charity case, I’m the little fucking dog lucky enough to piss at your feet because I…laughed at you? Because I told you no thanks? Because you don’t want to hear my fucking rejection?” He dropped his hand, his tone becoming firmer, surer, angrier. “Because you can’t handle it. Because you can’t handle shit like that. Because your whole life, you’ve never been able to handle people disagreeing with you — because no one can tell you no. No one can not agree with you. When they do, it’s a personal affront on you, so you have to launch a personal affront on them to make them react in a way that you, in your godlike wisdom, knew that they were going to react, just so you look so much more correct in comparison. Textbook manipulation — or, I guess more accurately, textbook control freak mental crisis. Congratulations, you’re page seven-twenty-three, figure fucking one.”
He barked a laugh at his joke, and then looked towards the ceiling. “You either go that route, or suddenly you’re the victim. Suddenly you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Suddenly I’m comforting you while you fucking cry instead of working on a project my livelihood depends on because everything you thought you had under control slipped through your fingers and you can’t fucking handle losing your grip. You lost Liv, Gen. Big fucking whoop. You couldn’t control Liv, you couldn’t control how she lives — you couldn’t control that shit, and you didn’t seem to accept that, and so you flipped the fuck out on Halloween, broke down, made the mistake of banging community cesspool Reid on your office table. You lost Evie, too, same fucking shit — you thought you had control. You thought that no one would know about you and Landon — you had that shit managed. But news flash, Gen —“ He looked back at her. “— life doesn’t bend to your will, babe. Novel idea, I know. Surprise, Gen, but people? Yeah, they aren’t pawns. I let you use me, I was aware you were using me. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a say in shit. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have the right to feel shit differently than you do, to react fucking differently than you want me to. If I want to run away, then I can fucking run away. And you can’t tell me that I can’t, and you can’t try and guilt me into apologizing for it. You got that, Gen?”
He walked up to her, looking up into her face. “Read my lips: I’m not your fucking toy, and I’m not your goddamn charity case. If you didn’t want to fucking work with me, that was a decision to make fucking months ago, Gen. I’m not going to back out of this shit and refuse to fucking go on because some attached, in-denial bitch told me not to. That stage isn’t yours, this charity case isn’t yours, this fucking project isn’t even fucking yours. I’ve got shit riding on this, too. I’ve contributed my part, Darrington’s contributed his part, you’ve contributed your part. Just because you decided you wanted to bitch and boss everyone around doesn’t mean this is yours to fucking control — Gen, you don’t have control over everything. You don’t have control over that stage, you don’t have control over this project, you don’t have control over little fucking me, and you don’t even have control over your own goddamn life.”
He laughed harshly. “Jesus, fuck, that’s right, and, ouch, ouch, ouch, Johannes, that’s got to hurt to hear, huh? I'd offer my condolences, but I'm going to pull a card from your book of tricks and pretend like I actually don't give a shit." He chuckled, smiling amusedly. "I mean, just look at you. God! The pathetic control freak’s trying to bear her claws, trying to force the boy who’s supposed to be her little pet into submission when the truth is she’s lost all grip of everything, she has no fucking claws, and all the things she ever thought that she had under control and the whole empire she thought that she'd built are all fucking crumbling beneath her...huh, really makes you think, doesn't it?”
mood
what the fuck?!
location
the celestial theater
outfit
dressy
what the fuck?!
location
the celestial theater
outfit
dressy
playing...
drunk face
drunk face
by machine gun kelly
mentions
liv, landon, & evie
interactions
gen & jared
tags
geminiy
Kitsune2202
liv, landon, & evie
interactions
gen & jared
tags
geminiy
Kitsune2202
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