johnnyfive

"are we friends?", she asks with her eyelids batting at a low idle, barely letting the fingertips of her eyelashes untangle as she tried to meet my stare.
"yes, we're friends."
"do you just want to fuck me?"
i look back, wondering how much validity the truth will have in this situation.
"well, i do think you're attractive, but no, i don't just want to fuck you."
"'cause most guys just wanna fuck me.", she implores.
"is that so?", i say, the conversation was starting to weigh me down like some drunken, perverted albatross.
"yeah, but you're my friend, right?"
"yeah, i'm your friend."
with a big swig of jagermeister in mouth, feeling like christmas dancing on my palate, i let my mind become numb. as numb as the stare of the drunk girl sitting lopsided on the stool beside me. she drunkenly saunters into my lap and drops her beer on the floor.
"i'm glad you're my friend, because sometimes i need someone to take care of me.", she says as she slips from my scrawny lap and lands not-so-solidly on the hardwood floor, "most of the time i need someone to take care of me.", she adds with a whiskey chortle.
scared that nobody is as they seem; that no one is their true self, i excuse my self, puke in the toliet out of sheer disgust, and leave thinking that i'll always be disappointed.