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If Quilla June could stop picking at her nails, she would. Her cuticles are all bloodied but no matter how much she picks, it's not enough. The blood curls and pools around her neatly manicured nails. They're painted pink as it was her boyfriend's request. He's obsessed with them, she figures that it's something to do with the lack of cleanliness on the surface and the fascination with girls being delicate rather than the predators on the surface. However, if she really opened her eyes and listened, she'd realise that he's getting too into it. He always has a grin that's just a bit too wide when waving the tiny glass bottle a new colour of polish in her face. His voice is too strained when he says "Junie... What about this one, huh?" With a small nervous smile and his spare hand clutched around his stomach.
She looks over to the boy, he's staring at himself in her pretty vanity as he bandages himself and cleans his wounds. His eye is surrounded with a deep purple as he cleans a large cut on his cheek. "Who did it this time?" She bravely asks him. There's a long silence which she's unfortunately used to. He eventually says "it doesn't matter." Quietly. Fucking useless. She just huffs and looks at her nails again. "You're gonna lose your handsome charming face at this rate if you let yourself get beaten up by these boys again. Wouldn't want that, would we?"
Quilla June grins as Jacques turns around. His facial expression is weirdly calm, same with his demeanor. Usually he just ignores her or gets angry. "And you're gonna lose those pretty nails, aren't you?" He grins and if Quilla June was actually looking at him instead of her bloody fingers, she'd notice that he's drooling at the corner of his mouth. "Awwh... And after I picked out such a pretty colour... You should let them grow out more..." He tries to chuckle but it really just comes out as a strangled groan. He moves away from the vanity and holds her face, his fingers pressing just a bit too hard into her sensitive skin. She hates his rough skin, the clamps around her face making it feel like sandpaper. "You're so pretty... You're my girl, and you're so pretty." Quilla June holds back a glare. She looks up at him with her big brown eyes, the eyes that he's described as "alien-like". Eyes that boys used to compare to cuter things like deers or owls.
"...you're very... Loving tonight, aren't you? Is it because I called you handsome and charming?" She grins, ignoring the way her stomach is twisting and turning in fear. She flinches when he lets go of her face and grasps her shoulders instead. He chuckles in his gross strained voice again and grins. Quilla June could swear that the corners of his lips really did reach his ears. "Am I not allowed to love my girlfriend?" He says. Now the fear has spread to her throat, closing it partially as she tries to hide her trembling hands in her lap. She now regrets being in her pyjamas. Small shorts that just about aren't underwear and a thin tank top that hugs her frame, a little bow on her décolletage. She feels naked under him, despite the fact that Jacques is only wearing a pair of shorts, his scarred arms and chest on display.
He kisses her forehead and goes back to stand at her vanity. She chooses not to look at him this time. She stares at her notes and ideas for her dream version of Topeka. Fair values, training Micheal in a new way, and getting rid of all of the mutts people somehow have. Filthy animals that bring nothing to the table and are just extra mouths to feed. Quilla June is surprised this place is still running. She questions whether or not to go back to God, because everyone who believes seems to be doing well. She glances at her atheist boyfriend. Fuck, he's disgusting. He's too bony, his skin is weirdly stretchy. Well... It wasn't that stretchy before... His scars have gone a dark purple underneath the lights in Topeka. His behaviour has declined. He used to be such a good little boy for her.
He used to be her mutt, effectively. He's so desperate for love, it's disgusting. He's never forced anything but he's constantly suggesting sex, his language is filthy. He constantly talks about how she's older than him and how it's "fucked up... But so hot, and oh, Junie, you're so beautiful, please keep me"
... Yuck. The filth is a nice difference from the strict purity culture of Topeka but sometimes she misses when boys would pray after touching her thighs.
Jacques is no longer a mutt. He's just a creature now. He's getting more uncanny by the day. Getting thinner, sunken eyes, more scars. He's resorted to making noises rather than responding to her most of the time.
He now stands at her vanity, cleaning a large gash on his arm with her supplies. He's clean with the products, can't be wasting anything during this state of the world.
"I suppose I can't be mad at love." She eventually speaks up, biting down on her shaking hand to try to steady it. Dear god, the silence is horrible. There's nothing Quilla June wants to do more than leave, but she's afraid of what he'll do, also it's her room! He can leave! She looks back up at him to see him scanning over her makeup and nail polish again. "I don't think you need any of this, baby. I mean, with you decorating yourself with bite marks and blood, there'll be no dry skin to put this on... We'll have to peel you apart." He turns around with a proud smile. He's all bandaged up but seems to be ignoring how all of the bandages seem to be turning red, his blood seeping into the soft material.
She wants to feel worried. She wants to care about him but at this moment, she really can't bring herself to get up and help him, she can't even bring herself to scold him. There's a feeling of hopelessness filling the room. The feeling sits in Quilla June's gut and makes her stomach twist, she's usually so confident.
So, so confident.