"You look like shit."

"Thanks, asshole."

"Best friends don't lie."

"It isn't lying if I didn't ask for your opinion, cunt."  Taylor was always such a classy lady.

"I ordered you a water." I slid the condensation covered glass her way across the slick table. She had taken so long to get her that she'd probably be better off licking the outside of the glass.

She smiled appreciatively and removed her sunglasses from her eyes, "I take back the 'cunt'."

"And the 'asshole'?"

"Nope, that stays." I wanted to strangle her but not in public, so I decided to wait for a better time. This restaurant was too classy. Besides, by the way she looked today, she wasn't going to be putting up any sort of fight. I needed her to fight back so that my victory would feel sweeter. She really did look like complete shit, though. I guess those extra hours of partying while I was falling asleep with douchebag really did her in.

"I called out of work today." She admitted while digging around in her purse. I think I was meant to act surprised and ask why. Then I think she was going to inform me of the rest of last night's events to me in deep detail. Then I suppose she would ask me where I went after the club and why I wasn't partying with her and the rest of her drug addled buddies. Then I guess I would lie. After all, it was only three hours ago that I had been rudely kicked out of douchebag's house. Okay, so it wasn't rude. It was actually as polite as far as one night stands go.  Except that I hadn't been a one night stand. Well, at least not that night. 

"Tay, you go in at 5pm. It's two and you're already up. Why not just go in?" I knew this was a losing battle and I had already lost before I opened my mouth. I'm not sure why I do these sorts of things. Perhaps I'm sadomasochistic. Besides, it didn't matter if Taylor went in to work or not. She waited tables at a restaurant in town and would always have a job because her manager was in love with her. Or he was in love with her chest. Or ass. Or the fact that she always had drugs on her. Whatever the case was, she didn't have to show up ever and she would still probably get paid. Plus, her appearance made her enough tips a night to be able to skip the rest of the week altogether.

I think it should be said that Tay and I look nothing alike. Taylor has curves for days with still managing to look really fit. She has fake boobs, naturally blonde hair, and an ass to die for. She also has the confidence to match it. I, on the other hand, have unnaturally black hair and pale skin that is sporadically covered in a few brightly colored tattoos. Besides the drugs we both take recreationally, I think it's fair to say that we have nothing in common other than the fact that we've been friends for a while. We're an odd match to see together. He blond hair, blue-eyed, tan skin covered in the shortest of in-style dresses clashes obnoxiously with my black hair, pale skin, and my affinity to wear the same black jeans and matching black tank top every day. I suspect she likes it, though. Us being so different, I mean. It gets her attention from a whole other type of people that wouldn't normally give her attention.

She scoffed, "I feel like shit, Luce." She emphasize 'shit' just in case I was unaware of the context. My best friend thinks I'm a dumbass, "And I don't know why you're sitting here acting like a positive Pam, ready to take on the day. You were just as fucked up as I was last night." She finally pulled out of her bag what she had been searching for: a bottle of Advil and some MAC powder. Taylor was always on some sort of chemical, even when she was sober.

"Well, I wouldn't say I was aaaas fucked up. . ." I let that sentence linger in the air for a while. After all, there's no way that's true. I stopped after two hits of that cheap coke she set up for me. Taylor, however, undoubtedly kept going after the bar closed.

She looked up from powdering her nose, "Oh okay, because you weren't there beside me taking hits off the mirror like everyone else. You might have a high tolerance, Lucy May, but don't act like you weren't just as fucked up." Apparently, she felt like she had proved her point, because she went right back to her make up. Which, in my opinion, is something you do at home or at least in the restroom, but Taylor played by her own rules.

"I wasn--" I almost corrected her until I realized that that was my cover. I would never have to bring up the fact that I went home with Justin Timberlake. Ever. And though, I was royally offended that she didn't even notice my non-presence at her own party, I was also completely relieved not to have to relive this morning's events over again. He did kick me out of his house, after all. That's really embarrassing.

"What I don't understand is how you managed to get your wits about you and leave so early." This time she didn't look up for her favorite hobby, "If you went home with Lip, I swear to god."

I had spent all morning trying to get my heart to stop racing from anxiety and I had finally succeeded, but this sent my heart right back into cocaine mode, "Lip was there?" 

"Yes, Lip was there. He's back in town and wanted to party. I told you were just as fucked up as I was!" She yelled triumphantly. She loves getting the best of me. Sometimes I wonder how we're even friends. Okay, that's a lie. I wonder all the time why we're friends. 

Lip was my one time boyfriend who had left six months ago to tour around the country in his shitty ass van with three other males just as idealistically dumb as he was. He did this right after he cheated on me with some blonde in a bar. He text messaged me this fact his second day on tour. They had driven through the night and were most likely in Arizona by then, so that kept me from finding and slitting his throat. There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't wake up hoping that awful Astro Van broke down and stranded him in the middle of nowhere. Away from bars and blondes. I never found out who the blonde was because I couldn't bare it. What if she was smarter than I was? Or prettier? Or more successful? I couldn't take it. 

"Oh." 

"Oh geez, Lucy May don't tell me you're still not over him!" Taylor was such a supportive friend.

"No, of course, I'm over him." I lied, "It's just. . .I didn't know he was back. .and stuff."  

"Of course he's back. He lives here."

I was actually hoping he had taken up residence elsewhere these past few months, but I couldn't say that out loud. I was remaining as neutral as possible, "Yea, totally." I'm so convincing.

We gave our orders to the waiter. Tay ordered some fruit filled salad while I ordered a hamburger. I was naturally thin whereas she had to work to keep weight off. It was the universe's way of balancing out the fact that she came out ahead in every other aspect of our lives.

"Oh, and before I completely forget, can we talk about how weird it was that you were sitting next to Justin Timberlake at the bar last night?"

Fuckfuckfuck, she knows. My breath caught in my throat and I was trying desperately to keep my eyes at their normal size, "Well, he sat next to me." Good. Stay neutral. Neutral is good.

"Still it was pretty weird." She shrugged, "Maybe he wants to sleep with you."

There was no controlling my eyeballs with that sentence, "WHAT?!" The level of my voice went up pretty high with that one, so I cleared my throat and brought it down, "I mean, that's absurd. There's no, I mean, no way Justin Timberlake would ever think of doing that. He's just, you know, like, not thinking. . .that. You know, maybe he was bored. The bar was pretty empty and maybe he gets bored. . " God, I was an idiot. 

Taylor was laughing hysterically. At least someone was enjoying this.

"Damn girl, I was kidding." Covering her mouth with her hand to calm herself she said, "I was kidding. I know Justin doesn't want to sleep with you."

"How do you know that? He wanted to sleep with everyone. Why not me?" I asked, my face red. Why the hell was I getting defensive? Was I trying to sell myself out?

"He wants to sleep with people who want to sleep with him. You hate him. He would never approach you."

"He's approached me before." I pointed out. I picked at my french fries to seem indifferent.

Taking a leafy bite of her salad she said simply, "Yea, but he's always kidding. He would never seriously want to sleep with you."

I was so pissed off by that comment that I had half a mind to tell her that there was a possibility that he wanted to sleep with me because he did it. I would never say that, though. The fact that I knew Justin and I knew we had sex was already two people too many. However, her comment got me thinking. We slept together when we were really high and he made sure to tell me that we didn't sleep together last night, so maybe he didn't want to sleep with me. He also kicked me out of his bed this morning which could mean he realized it was all a huge mistake. The thought made me feel sicker than I think I should have felt. After all, I think having sex with him was a huge mistake, so why shouldn't he feel the same, right?

I'll tell you why, he shouldn't feel the same because he wasn't living in fear of catching an STD from me. I haven't slept with this entire town, he has. People finding out about us sleeping together wasn't going to result in social suicide for him.  . . Unless ht thought it was. Was sleeping with me considered social suicide? Is that why he kicked me out of his place this morning? Oh, damnit.