Work Text:
Wonder Boy,
I know you thought that you blocked me on everything, but hey, moron? Guess you forgot the burner email we set up in high school (and do not even try to pretend you are not seeing this, I know you keep notifications on for literally everything).
(Also, is it professional to answer the phone and call someone a bitch? I do not think Steve would like that very much.)
Seriously, what the actual hell? You know, I considered coming at this from a place of understanding and compassion, but then, when I opened this account and had to face how absurdly stupid it is that my only means of communication with my TWIN BROTHER is a freaking burner email, I remembered just why, exactly, you blocked me in the first place, and plot twist- I got mad again.
Have you talked to Jonathan? I know that pushover will not be as frank with you, but even he would tell you how ridiculous you are being. Not about the whole going-through-with-the-wedding part (I would bet money I do not have you have not told him anything that is going on), but the ridiculousness that is your attitude. You are being mean and closed off and, oh, what was that other thing? Right, you BLOCKED YOUR SISTER. I AM HURT, WONDER BOY. MY FEELINGS ARE HURT HURT HURT HURT HURT.
And before you say ‘Well, you hurt my feelings too’- I am sorry. I have apologized ten MILLION times already, but honestly, Will, I think no amount of apologies will ever be enough for you because the truth is, you will not be happy again until I take back what I said, and I will not take it back. I meant it when I said you have changed and Carlton is not good for you. Because he is not. In fact, he is very very bad for you. Do you remember when you two first started dating when we lived in Milwaukee, and you stopped drinking for a while there because he thought that people who drank were unattractive, and not only did he not want you to drink, but he did not want me to drink either? Well guess what? I am drinking now. AND the only reason you started drinking again was because he suddenly decided that it was cool one day- not because you realized how stupid it was not to do it just because some MAN thought it was not hot. Or, how about the fact that you pitched us moving to Indiana in the first place was because he wanted to live closer to his family, and when you said maybe we could all move to Ohio (first of all, seriously? Ohio???) so we could also be closer to our parents. He said no and you just let him???? What??? I mean, it all worked out fine and life is good and all, but you let him do whatever he wants and treat you like trash and have no respect for you (which he does not, and getting married will not change that) and that is why you changed.
You used to be cool, Wonder Boy. We used to dance on bars and wear glitter on our faces, and I know you say that you do not do that anymore because you are a grown up and grown up men do not wear glitter, but I am a grown up woman and I say fuck that. I say that the reason you do not do that anymore is because he does not like it, and you would rather die than do something he does not like. And I can no longer convince you- in fact, I think the only person who can is Michael.
Yes, I went there, because if we never speak to each other again and this is the last of me you will ever hear, then I will go down fighting because I love you, and people who love each other do not just give up when things get hard. Or maybe sometimes they do, if they think it will make everything better. But me being quiet will not make things better. Will, you cannot marry Carlton because you love Michael Wheeler. I know you do because he will talk you into breaking into your office building at three in the morning and when we talk on the phone, you go on and on and on about how funny and charming and goofy he is until we run out of minutes, and at the casino night, you had freaking hearts in your eyes when he walked in and you got all red when I teased you about him. You do not get red heart eyes for Carlton, in fact, your eyes get cold, like sad, cold ice. And I am sure that you think you are doing a good job of hiding it, but trust me, Wonder Boy, you are not. Everyone knows it. At least, Max and Lucas do. I think even Baby Suzy does. She is smarter than she lets on. And whatever happened between you two that you are not talking about, I am sure had to do with you loving him and him loving you too (he totally loves you too) so really you are just hurting everyone by going through with this wedding and not trying to go find him wherever he ran off to. See? See how running away from your problems hurts people? How Mike running away hurt you, and how now you are hurting me because now YOU are running away?
Except you are not actually running with your legs, but you ran with your mouth when you made me cry because I told you that this wedding is a bad idea. And I am sure that deep down, buried underneath all of your anger and your sadness and your frustration (I know you are frustrated, Wonder Boy. It is okay.) you know that I am right. I also know that when you apologize, you will also apologize for saying I would not understand anything because I have never been in a serious relationship. First of all, ow, bitch, mean. Second of all, you are my serious relationship. You are the most important person in my life, even if I fall in love and get married, even if we never speak again, I will always love you the most.
So I guess if you are still reading (though I would not be surprised if you are not) I want you to know that even after everything, even after you ruined my favorite purple dress with wine (which is not coming out. Once we are friends again I will send you the dry cleaning bill), I still love you, and I want you to be happy. And I know you think this wedding will make you happy, but it will not. I can tell you that now. And you can choose not to believe me, but before you delete this forever, I want you to put some glitter on your cheeks, look in a mirror, and think about the last time you were really, truly happy. I think it is more long ago than you realize.
I still love you forever and ever and ever,
Wonder Girl
“Are you seriously texting right now?”
El dropped her phone, and it bounced on the silky grey sheets. She blinked back into reality, into the white popcorned ceiling (who willingly has a popcorned ceiling? Psychopaths, that’s who), into the slick sensation between her legs that was turning annoyingly tacky annoyingly fast.
“Sorry.” She pushed herself up onto her elbows, peering down to the foot on the bed.
Dustin laid two big hands on her thighs, pushing himself up. “You know, I think I was doing a pretty good job, if I do say so myself, and you were giving me nothing. What, did the dance school catch on fire?”
“No, no, everything is fine, it’s just… I was thinking about Will and how mad I am and how-”
“Insane he’s being.”
“Exactly! And I wanted to tell him.”
“And you decided that me eating you out was the perfect time for that?”
“I did not want to forget.”
“You’re drunk,” he decided, pulling her all the way up and pushing hair out of her face. She smiled- he looked so handsome like this, lips shiny, cheeks flushed.
“I am not.”
“You forget how to use contractions when you’re drunk. And wait, didn’t he block you on everything?”
“Old email account.”
“Right. Come on, let me take you home.”
“No,” she groaned, wrapping her arms around him. All of her limbs were so heavy. “I am sorry. You can go back to doing what you were doing.”
“Well if you’re not going to appreciate it-”
“I will! I promise. I cross my heart.” She demonstrated and clapped her hands together, sticking out her bottom lip. “I will be so loud.”
He cocked an eyebrow, but his lips were pinched in a thinly-veiled smile. “This is starting to feel kind of rape-y. Seriously, you’re smashed-”
“We can smash.”
“Let me drive you home.” She tried to go limp, but he scooped her up like a bride. “I’m never taking you to a jazz club again.”
As he carried her through the living room, a familiar cover on the shelf caught her eye. “You have The Wedding Singer? I love The Wedding Singer! Can we watch The Wedding Singer?”
He slowed and seemed to actually consider it, and she took the moment to kiss his neck, leaving a magenta smear on his tanned skin. When she looked at him again, his eyes had gone soft. She would beg if she needed to- she wanted nothing more in the world than to stay in this apartment, surrounded by the all-consumingness of Dustin Henderson, a man who, if she wasn’t careful, she might actually start to fall in love with. “If we do, I’m probably going to fall asleep.”
“That is okay.”
“You would have to spend the night.”
“That is okay.”
“I thought we didn’t do sleepovers. I thought it was too complicated, because I work with your brother and we’re keeping this between us.” But he hadn’t moved towards the door- in fact, he was already plucking the bright case from the shelf. She giggled and clung tighter as he struggled to get the disc into the DVD player, strong arms flexing against the backs of her knees.
He placed her on the couch gently, like he was dropping a baby bird, and said, “I’ll go get you some pajamas- unless you want to sleep in that?”
She looked down at her beaded yellow dress- as incredible as it made her boobs look, the beads had scratched up her armpits and she had honestly been looking forward to having sex as an excuse to take it off. “T-shirt?”
“On it.”
He seemed to be restaining himself as she slipped out of her dress and stretched, pulling the soft white shirt over her head. When she caught his eye and smirked, he blushed, busying himself with the remote.
“We could still screw,” she said casually, sitting next to him.
He wordlessly held up an arm, and she tucked into his side, dropping her head into the crook of his neck. He felt so… solid against her, in a way that shouldn’t have felt as right as it did.
This was casual. Just sex, really, with a few intermittent activities sprinkled throughout. Nothing more. She had her life, and Dustin had his, and based off of pretty much every moment they’d spent together post-casino night, those two lives had very little chance of successfully merging. A seventy-nine percent chance of failure, as he’d oh-so-romantically put it.
But as his breathing slowly, warm chest rising and falling under her, that twenty-one percent was suddenly looking pretty appealing.