o1 | fayre
One step. Two step. Three step.
Four step. “Patricia!”
The blonde lioness raises her eyebrow at me.
A feisty species. Tsk tsk.
“Why is it that whenever I take a couple steps forward, I’m fine? But when I take just one step back, it feels like I’m out of balance?”
She groans and rests her head against a pillar, rolling her eyes at me in disinterest.
Watch those balls get stuck in one place, you spontaneous eye roller.
“Can you please get down from there, Fay? I’d really like to watch at least one episode of The Nanny before bed.”
Oh, the British amuse me.
“Cun ya plez get down frum there, Fa-ehhh?” I mimic her.
Five step. Six step.
“I do not sound like that, and do you realize what you’re doing is extremely dangerous?”
Right. You don’t sound like that. You sound worse.
“As much as your British accent is quite entertaining, it doesn’t make you my mum. This bridge needs attention and I’m going to give it some.”
She scoffs.
“Except, my lovely, you have the attention span of a fuckboy. Non-existent.”
False. Fuckboys pay a lot of attention. Especially to what they’re hitting.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Captain Obvious.”
“That’s because it’s bloody stupid!”
False again. No question is a stupid question. It’s only a stupid question if people can’t stop coming up with stupid answers.
“Answer me, Patty.”
I hop on my right foot, arms reaching out to both sides for balance and a small smile forms on my lips.
In the distance, I can hear the blonde lioness rawr in fatigue.
The feisty temptress is tired.
“I don’t know, okay? Maybe it’s because you had a little too much vodka?”
True.
But false.
Even sober idiots lose balance when they back up just a tiny bit.
I hop again, this time on my left foot. The one closer to the edge, just barely skidding the side of the non-metal bridge railing thingy.
Can you see that, Patty? The ground is dancing with me.
“Would you like to know what I think?” I yell, doing a one-eighty twist.
Her eyes practically bulge out of their sockets and I feel a ridiculous sense of satisfaction.
“If it means you’ll stop this madness then do tell.”
“I think...you should stop running away from Dan.” I glance up at the midnight clouds and hum a soft tune under my breath. “It’s putting you out of balance.”
Silence.
“He’s a good boy. I know you like him. Everyone gets scared of commitment, but don’t let go of an opportunity doing the salsa right in front of you. If it’s doing the salsa, fuck, you better start doing the flamenco.”
And then she’s laughing. Full-blown, wheezing-to-death, laughter.
First, there’s just one quacking. Soon two.
I crouch down to maintain myself as we wake the quiet country of maple syrup with our chimpanzee imitations.
“You really have...a way...with words.” She takes a deep breath, slight giggles playing in between her speech.
I make slow attempt to get ahold of my breath. Palms reaching out for the rough texture of the non-metal bridge railing thingy.
Nah. Vodka and I just have a blossoming relationship, Patty.
•••
A / N
Sometimes it’s not just the pain that leaves you breathless.
The feeling of recklessness helps.
