“Okay, the black shirt or the white shirt? Black is slimming, right?”
Diane looks up from the magazine she’s reading on my bed and shrugs. “Both are nice.”
“Yeah, I’ll go for the black. Oh, wait a second, that means I’m wearing an all black outfit.” I scrutinize my appearance in the mirror and frown. “Shit, I look like I’ve stepped out of a Ozzy Osbourne video. Should I go for the white?”
I look over at her again and she repeats the shrug, before returning to her magazine. “Hey look, there’s a new Harry Potter film coming out soon. Wanna go see it?”
I spin round to face at her, my expression furious. No, I don’t want to see eleven year olds prancing around with a few twigs in their hand, I want to focus at the task at hand. I’m supposed to be at Justin’s in less than two hours. Do you know how little time that is for me to get ready?
“Diane, could you please just focus on me for a second?” I snap.
“Oh yeah, sure.” She closes the magazine and sits up straight. “The white is nice. But aren’t you a little overdressed for just lounging around and watching Friends?”
That’s true. “What do you suggest I wear, then?”
She shrugs. That’s really beginning to annoy me. “Why not what you’re wearing now?”
Yeah, greet Justin Timberlake in sweat pants and a baggy sweater. Stupid girl. “Because I look like a cow, that’s why.”
Diane does her hurt look. I hate that look; it always makes me feel guilty even when I’ve done nothing wrong. “Cat, you’re so beautiful, and you don’t even know it.”
Diane, you’re so full of shit, and you don’t even know it. I might have mildly believed her if she wasn’t so slim and gorgeous, and I wasn’t so completely jealous and nervous.
Yeah, that’s right, I’m nervous, as much I hate to admit it. He’s having a wholly negative effect on me so far, what with all this caring about my appearance and whatnot…maybe I shouldn’t go.
“This is a bad idea,” I say, chewing on my fingernail.
“No it’s not. It’s a good chance for you to get a new friend,” says Diane, getting off my bed and putting her arm around my shoulder. She nudges me. “And a hot one at that.”
I smile despite myself. “I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am. Now,” she flings open my closet door. “You are going to look fabulous!”
--
Jeans and a cute t-shirt, that’s okay, right? You can’t go wrong with a pair of jeans and a cute t-shirt, can you? I don’t know, I really can’t tell my ass from my elbow when it comes to shopping. Diane said the t-shirt was funny and I looked nice, but I’m beginning to regret the sweater coat…thing, I have on top. It’s just really an oversized sweater with a belt, but does that mean only oversized people can wear it? Is it a tag for fat people? Oh my god, what have I done? I knew I should have gone with the track jacket, but I didn’t want him to think I was sporty for Christ’s sake. Damn January for being so cold, I could’ve just gone in the t-shirt. But the coat does hide my arms…
Dear god, listen to me. I wasn’t always such a loser, promise. See what that man has turned me into? A goddamn bimbo, that’s what.
But what about my ass? That is in no way hidden in the tight pair of jeans I chose for today. Christ, I’d need a small country to hide it, but why I chose to highlight it I don’t know. Diane said I was like J-Lo, yeah, more like Jello. I look like a whale, which I guess is expected when I’ve never even been in a gym, let alone made the effort to join one. And as for that calorie counting crap, please.
Oh sorry, I was doing it again. Okay, positive thoughts create a positive attitude. I look nice, he likes me, he is my friend and we are going to watch Friends together. I am wonderful and amazing.
And too chicken shit to ring the doorbell.
------------------------------------
Christ, I never knew Trace and I could create such a mess in such a little space of time. It’s taken me two long hours to get this place looking nice for Cat’s visit. Thank god she’s a bit late, otherwise I would have never finished it. And plus, cleaning is just something to do until someone else is here, the house is so…barren, with just me in it. I know Trace and I spend half our time arguing, but I miss the little bastard already. Damn him for going to New York and leaving me all alone.
I don’t like being alone. All it does is reinforce the feeling of solitude that’s settled in my body since Britney and I broke up. A feeling so strong nothing I can do or no amount of one night stands or drugs or drink can shake off.
Oh no, I’ve started all that again. I hate it when I do this. I hate it when I go all…all…female and gush about my past. Ah good, there’s the ding-dong of the bell. Cat’s here, and I sincerely doubt she would be interested in my pathetic melodrama; she doesn’t seem like a very emotional girl.
I swing the door open and grin at the person on the other side. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she says happily. She holds up a bag. “I bring entertainment,” she holds up a bag of nachos. “And supplies.”
I laugh and invite her in. “Thank you. I’ve got a crapload of food in here too, so let’s be pigs.”
“Excellent idea,” she says, coming in and tying her coat/jumper thing around her hips. “Nice house,” she comments, taking in the foyer.
“Thanks,” I shrug. “This isn’t my favorite house, it’s kinda small compared to my other ones.”
She laughs and spins around, arms outstretched. “This is small?”
I laugh and shrug again. I guess she’s right, it is quite big. It’s just so…southern. Everything about it, from the humble size, to the earthy tones of the walls and furniture make it so much like the house I grew up in, it’s scary. That was probably the appeal of it when I decided to take time off, it's so "unhollywood" compared to some of my other houses.
I quickly spin her around the rooms, giving her the basic idea of the house, before we finish in the foyer again.
“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” I ask politely.
She turns from the piece of art I have on the wall that means jackshit to me, but she seems enthralled in it. “Sure. Where did you get this?”
Her fingers run over the confused mesh of colors. “It was a present. I think it’s from London, though.”
She stands back and admires it. “It’s pretty.” She silent for a second, before spinning around to face me. “So yeah, what have you got to drink?”
“Silly question my dear,” I smirk, linking my arm with hers and leading her to the kitchen. She jumps slightly as my skin touches hers, I wonder why?
I open the fridge door and she gasps. “Do you have every kind of soda and beer in here?”
I chuckle. “Maybe.”
She giggles. “How about you pick the drinks, and I’ll start the videos?”
I nod. “Sure thang, sweet thang.”
She blushes before heading into the living room. Ha, I just made her blush. It feels oddly satisfying making a girl like Cat blush. In fact, I’m going to make a mental note to do it more often. I quickly pour two cans of coke into glasses and put the nachos onto a dish and manage to carry it all into the living room at once. I am a genius.
She’s kneeling in front of the TV, skipping the previews, but turns to me when she hears me come in. I hand her a coke and a smile.
“Thank you,” she replies, taking a small sip of it before setting it on the table. “Oh, sorry. Do you want me to get a coaster for that?”
I snort. “Get real.”
She smacks my leg before going back to the TV. “Okay, I’ve decided we may as well start with the very first episode, you know, to refresh your memory,” she says happily. She’s so cute when she talks about Friends. It gets her so excited.
She puts it on play and grabs her coke, before sitting down on the couch beside me and snatching a few nachos.
“Cool shirt by the way,” I add, looking down at her top.
“Oh, thanks,” she giggles. Her t-shirt reads, “Blondes have more fun, but Brunettes can read”.
“In fact,” I lean back to take a good look at her. I just realized she’s not wearing her work uniform, which is the only thing I’ve ever seen her in. She looks better like this, with a little make-up on and her hair down instead of up. “You look very nice.”
She blushes again. Score. “Thanks, so do you. You’re a walking Abercrombie and Fitch advertisement,” she teases, folding her legs up onto the sofa.
I nudge her in the side. “Don’t pretend you haven’t wanted to throw me down and do dirty things to me the minute you met me.”
Her head spins to look at me, her eyes wide. “Wha-what?”
I laugh and tap her leg. “I’m just kidding girl, now let’s watch some Friends!”
-------------------------------------
Fucker. That is the only word I could use to describe him, complete and utter fucker. Goddamn ass, does he know what he’s doing to me now, with his arm casually draped over my shoulder, or what he’s been doing to me since the moment I walked in?
Fucker.
How dare he, how dare he make me feel like this? So excited and yet so frightened at the same time. I hate this, I hate him.
No I don’t, I think he’s great.
Oh shut up, subconscious. I can’t even concentrate on Friends because I’m so infatuated by the feeling of his thigh lightly brushing against my own. My only comfort is that it’s a purely physical thing. I only feel fluttery and stupid shit of that nature around him because he’s just so gorgeous and quite frankly, I’d be blind not to. I’m thinking I should keep my distance from this guy, before I end up too deep and just get my heart stomped on, again. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Distance is the key Cat, distance.
“Hey,” Justin puts the video on pause and turns to me. “How about we talk for a while? You know, get to know each other a little better?”
“Sure,” I gush.
Oh yeah, good distancing Cat.
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