Chapter Text
Prim is currently half-drunk and cleaning out her purse. Old receipts stick to the bottom, some stained at the edges with coffee or alcohol. A couple of torn scraps of paper have numbers scribbled in sharpie or pen. They smell like different types of perfume: vanilla, strawberry, and coconut. She considers calling one of them, even though she can’t remember which is whose at the moment. She plucks at one randomly and sticks it in her pocket. The rest she’ll throw away.
She had a small brown book that held organized numbers. The ones that weren’t slipped under a table or into her back pocket went in here. They had names listed next to them, along with whatever company each person was under. She didn’t need to use it often; it was more to have comfort in keeping it with her. She flipped to the last page through force of habit. The head of a deer was poorly drawn; it had a small teardrop under its left eye.
A couple different lipsticks roll in all directions. One was a typical matte nude pink. She had a liquid one in a similar color. Then, there is a glossy cylinder that is shiny and red. Not hers, but she still kept it. Just in case someone would ask for it. She has a couple other loose makeup items as well. A black eyeliner that she remembers when she bought, and then another where she had no idea. She would throw the older one out. And an old tube of concealer that she had to fight to re-open.
A few candy wrappers are automatically pushed to the trash pile. A cigarette that seemingly fell out of a pack is tempting to light up now, but not exactly helpful. The last time she had a cigarette was because it was handed to her. A young woman with bleached hair and a downturned nose gave it to her. It tasted awful; she never really liked menthol, but she finished it anyway. She didn’t think she said a word to that girl.
A loose hair tie can go on her wrist. A strip-eyelash can go in the trash. She didn’t think that was hers. The black glove in here definitely wasn’t hers either. A couple dollars and coins can go in her wallet, which was given as a gift on her last birthday.
Her phone started buzzing, and she refused to pick it up. Late last night, while she was half awake and searching for a glass of water, she knocked her phone off her counter. The screen shattered, and she can barely even text properly. She accidentally deleted a shopping app while trying to open YouTube. Looking at the shattered glass is only going to give her a headache. Let it ring.
She grabbed a stack of sticky notes and a sticky pen left on the desk and wrote down ‘replace phone screen’. She thought for a second and then wrote ‘better band-aids’ under it. The cut on the back of her foot wasn’t healing. She took her shoe off and sat it on the ground next to her. It’s not like anyone else was here.
Her empty studio stood in complete silence, apart from the sound of things falling out of her back. She hadn’t locked the place up yet. An hour ago she had gone to the store next door and got a couple cans of beer. They were accompanying her in getting her life together (the first step of that obviously being to clean out one's purse).
The clock on the wall said it was almost midnight. But that clock is always slow, so it has to be some time after that. A couple of tissues were stuffed into an inner pocket, which was gross. She had a cold a couple of weeks ago. Prim had gotten it from an actor who wouldn’t stop sneezing into the air instead of his elbow. For some reason, when she got it, it had hit her three times worse. It took her nearly two weeks to recover. She was going to be sick of soup for the next couple months.
The same time she grabbed another can to crack open, her phone began to ring again. She pressed the off button to silence it. Maybe this was punishment for being an asshole; not that she thought she was an asshole, just that others sometimes told her that she was one. For example, if Min saw her throw away all these numbers, that is what she would call her. It’s worse to keep them though, isn’t it? She didn’t even remember the girls’ names.
A small digital camera hit the table with a sharp thud. She knew every picture that was in the camera. Bambi outside in a white dress. She’s smiling and spinning around. Bambi with puffy eyes at the airport. She cried the whole car ride there. Her and Bambi drunk off their ass in a dingy bathroom. Crude remarks were written in sharpie on the wall behind them.
That night, Bambi had ordered the strongest drinks at the bar for Prim. Bambi took a bunch of light shots to try and convince her they were drinking the same amount of alcohol. Prim had ended up wasted an hour in, and Bambi kept taking pictures with the small camera. When she got up to go to the restroom, Bambi even followed her into the stall.
They had taken a cab to Bambi’s place that night. Prim could barely stand up in the shower, so she had helped her. She even let her lean back on her and keep her eyes closed. After they got out, the mirrors were all fogged up, and the room was humid and damp. Bambi had held her hand and walked her into her bedroom, picking out her own clothes for Prim to wear. She then towel-dried both of their hair.
That night, Prim had loved her. She loved her with her eyes closed and then open, and she loved her with her hands on her or off. Bambi had rubbed lavender-scented lotion onto her arms and hands. Her nails were some bright and sparkly color. She felt thankful for this angel dropped into her lap with nice nails and nice scented perfume. They had fallen asleep nearly nose-to-nose, Prim’s arm hooked under Bambi’s neck.
Currently, Prim’s hair is not washed. She needed to get a new bottle of dry shampoo. She rarely had time to use actual shampoo. These are the same jeans she wore yesterday as well. Who knew it was easier when there was someone who wanted you to take care of yourself?
“Prim.”
Prim whipped her head around. At least that’s what it felt like. Bambi saw an obviously drunken turnaround.
“You’re drunk?”
“I’m not.”
“Why didn’t you pick up the phone?”
“That was you? I didn’t know.” Prim picked up her phone and showed the other party her shattered screen. “I broke it.”
“Do you want me to pay for a new one?”
“A new screen?”
“A new phone.”
Haa.. what did she want? “Why are you here?”
“I’m here because you didn’t answer. I wanted to make sure you didn’t drink yourself to death.”
“Not dead. Still here.” She held a can of half-empty beer up and shook it.
Bambi walked further into the room and sat down in front of her. “Give me one.”
Prim obediently pushed a can toward her. “M’Lady.”
Bambi didn’t reward that with a smile. “What’s with all the stuff on the desk?”
Prim suddenly remembered that all of her belongings were sitting out in the open for Bambi to see; Bambi’s stuff was here too. “Oh, just cleaning my bag out. I haven’t emptied it in like a year, or something.”
Bambi reached out and grabbed her lipstick. “I was looking for this. Turns out you had it.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know until now.”
“Hm.” Bambi twirled the small cylinder between her fingers. “Whose numbers are those?”
Can you be in the doghouse when you’re not even dating someone? She answered honestly, “I don’t know.”
“Should I feel better or worse about that?”
“I know what your number is.”
“I guess better then. You value me over those strange women you barely know.”
Prim felt that pit in her stomach that she always got whenever Bambi wasn’t happy with her. Especially when she didn’t know what she was doing wrong.
“Are you happy?”
Bambi scoffed.
“Guess not.” Prim lifted the can up to her lips and looked away.