Day 48.

story from three different perspectives about a thief. i realized later all the voices sounded the same, but haaayyy.

Stealing Molly Lamone

I. The Thief

There you are, watching some dick with a body attached take your girl. The one you've loved for years now. The one you were planning to tell. You had your speech all worked out; she would have laughed if she had seen the thought you put into it, the post-its strewn over the floor.
You had told her everything except the most important thing on the day Bill asked her out. She said yes, but then, no girl said no to Bill.
You had a theory: girls actually judged boys based on what other girls thought. After all, they walked to the bathroom in packs; why not pick their dates the same way? But when you told her this she accused you of sexism, rudeness. Then she threw you a massive curveball: you're jealous, she said.
What? you said, not dense or deaf, just stalling. She thought you were in love with Bill. You swallowed the remaining crumb of your dignity and walked away, your hair in your eyes. But the two of you were best-best friends. You don't just forget about your best-best friend after some dumb comment. And soon enough she was telling you everything, things you only half wanted to know: about Bill's explosive chest hair (you furtively checked your own,) about Bill's annoying habit of saying, "I understand" after everything she said.
She watched as you self-consciously flirted with other girls, whose names you could never remember afterwards. And when you ran into each other at the city pool, both about to jump in the deep end, you lost your senses and grabbed her hand, seeing Bill out of the corner of your eye and feeling so triumphant you forgot to hold your breath. You came up spluttering, still holding Molly Lamone's left hand.

II. The Boyfriend

Bill had a habit of biting the side of his thumb when he was nervous. Once, in math class, during a derivation problem, he thought he saw that Molly girl staring at it, but he wasn't really sure. His friends, who apparently watched his love life like a hawk, elbowed him and said her name a lot, usually right as she was passing him in the hallway, her long brown braid almost swinging into his face.
It's easy to talk to someone you don't really know who likes you, he thought. If you don't fuck it up, hey, they like you, and if you do, well it didn't matter. He had friends already. But he didn't fuck it up, and sometimes now he bit his thumb when he wasn't nervous, just to watch her watch him.
But lately she'd seemed quiet. Bill filled the time thinking about Jenna. She'd nixed his plans for hanging out yesterday, but he could have sworn she smiled, and Bill was pretty sure he knew what that meant. He knew what to expect from girls: neatly folded notes with curly writing and more hearts than an organ bank. Philosophical "conversations" that consisted of him talking about Fight Club or his views on Nietzsche, lifted straight from the Wikipedia page, with the girl contributing only "Mm" or "that's so deep." Girls fixing their hair or reapplying lip gloss around him. Girls cutting their food into tiny pieces and eating none of them.
What he didn't expect to see was Molly Lamone, his girlfriend, holding Tom Kirby's hand and jumping into the pool, after he went for drinks. Was she trying to make him jealous? The soda cans he was holding crashed onto the pavement and burst, fizzing joyfully.

III. The Girl

I'm not some piece of meat, okay? You don't own any of this. I'm not your baby, and don't ever describe me with any of these words: pretty, nice, beautiful. I'd rather be called whore, or slut, or even slore: dirty words that mean something. I don't dress for you, or put my hair in a ponytail for you, and I definitely don't play games for you. I wasn't trying to make you jealous, so just stop pretending that I'm some predictable paper girl in your doll world. When Tom grabbed my hand, I held on because he holds it like a person holds a hand, not like a trash compactor holds trash. I held on because he's my best friend, and that's what you do with best friends. I held on because you macked on Jenna Flowers when you were coming back with sodas and you didn't think I saw. I held on because when I threw up on him that one time he took pictures to blackmail me with later but cleaned me up right after. I held on because you weren't there to hold on to, but I also held on because Tom is Tom, and I am Molly Lamone, and I cannot be stolen but I can be lost.