She looks amazing in these lights. Who even keeps burgundy lights in their rooms? I’ve known her all this while, and she’s always been pretty. But this evening she’s some beauty. And I’ve met so many beautiful people.
The lights make the hairs on her upper lip look stubborn – the ones that women usually wax/shave to get rid of. I wonder if I should ask her about them but decide against. (I patted myself on the back when I wrote this after, half-drunk and half-hungover.) I was not stupid. Yet.
“Men are horrible.” It sounds like she isn’t looking for an opinion.
“Yes,” I confirm.
The world is black and white under these burgundy lights. So far so good.
“It’s true what they say.” Her voice trails off. Not NOW, ugh.
“What do they say?” I’m patient as ever, fighting the headache rising from my neck and about to lodge itself on the back of my head.
“Women wouldn’t be straight if orientation were a choice.” While I am impressed by her clarity of thought at this hour, this is going to be borderline sad. Why are we doing it again?
“Yes,” I do not dissent. I’m not heartbroken, although it does feel like nothing could break my heart at this point. I tuck it away so it can come back to bother me later. Not here, not now.
She’s resting her head against my bed now and her hair falls across her face. I should probably stop her but I only watch as she takes another sip.
Yes, women can be horrible too.
Trust Me, You're Alive 