Andy rolled her eyes and scoffed at his idiotic remarks, particularly in concern to his mother and bodily fluids as she knocked back that second drink, holding off on another for now as she let those two settle in her gut. She should look into replacing her lungs with robitic ones here soon, she thought, because it seemed a worthy investment. She stared fixatedly at a small knick in the countertop, the dim lights barely bright enough to highlight its polished surface covered in hairline scratches.
How fitting.
"Oi oi, don't go putting words in my mouth and making me sound like I actually give a shit, bud. You're stretching way too far for those insults. I'd tell ya to try harder but then they'd just get worse."
She didn't look at him as she said it; her mind was running around a race track, and to her he was merely a bystander sitting in the bleachers she passed by on every lap. Only getting a portion of her thoughts and attention. The faces kept playing across her mind and the sting of realization and misjudgement kept plaguing her, making her chest clench. Her ribcage felt tight, and the shortness of breath didn't go away no matter how much or how little she exercised.
She just couldn't fucking win.
She glanced up at the wall on the other side of the bar, catching her reflection skulking back at her. Her shoulders were tense, hunched as she leaned heavily on her forearms on the counter. Her hair was drying, fluffy and far prettier than the look on her face. The way she was sitting made the light hit her starkly, highlighting her strong cheekbones, brows, nose and lips, while shadows consumed the rest of her. Her eyes had that glow in them like always, but it was faint. She looked like a villain in a children's movie where the princess gets the prince and her happy ending.
What'd the villain ever get? Usually death. Mostly death.
And the princess right now was that shithead bamboo-legged--no. Stop.
She put her head in her hands, rubbing at her temples as she shut her eyes tight, remembering vaguely a song in a musical tv series she'd caught one time on a day off at home spent flipping through channels.
I'm the villain in my own story
I'm the witch in my own tale
Though I insist I'm the protagonist
It's clear that my soul is up for sale
Fuck.
Fuck.
Only sparing a quick glance up through her fingertips she waved down the bartender again, the warm tingles starting to work there way up from her fingertips and toes to the rest of her and she knew that definitely was not enough fucking alcohol.
"What do you do when you have a song stuck in your head that's really fucking annoying and you want it to go away?" She asked, looking over at Theo and his burger and wondering if that was a good enough idea for her to copy.
Court decision ruled no.