by Liberty

Most of the time you envy her because she has her own image and she plays people so well. It's blinding, sometimes, when you can feel yourself fading away and she's only more golden and beautiful. It makes it worth the effort.

You sit next to her on the couch, watching as the boys play video games, your leg pressing against hers. The warmth seeps into you and you scratch a long red line down her leg, as she shudders.

You know the real game. You know if you want to last, you have to make your mark, wherever you can.



When you first met her she was wearing Hard Candy nail polish in `erogenous'. You thought it was cheap and sexy but so wasshe.

She's told you it's a business standard, like the Cover Girllips and Maybelline eyes, which she flaunts, shamelessly.

In your head you call her a tease.

When she's pushed against the peeling walls in a rest room stalland you scrape her bottom lip between your teeth, you realize you were wrong.

Her lips are sharp and aching as they cut you and she laughs, hotly, against you ear. "You're just a dirty whore, aren't ya?"

You nod.


The Game

You should be able to say no to her. Never mind her eyes, her hair, her not quite smile.

You've earned the right to say no to anyone.

She licks a line down your neck, soft and slippery like silk. You breathe in carefully, arching up against her thigh and she smiles against your skin. You've lost.


You're lost.

The camera hums inside your head. All you can see is the lens and your failure.

You should be able to say no but it's already black on black, andnow she's kissing up your thighs with stains of scarlet. Red.



You call her while she's in rehearsal and tell her to meet you after the VMA's the next night. She sputters, saying, "you know I'm with Justin" and you laugh because it's not like that wasn't the first thing you knew about her.

"And I'm with JC."

It's something you have in common.

"But I still want to lick your cunt."

She chokes like some virgin and says, "we can't do this," as if it matters.

"We can do anything." You hate that she doesn't get that. She's part of you now.

It may not be envy but you still admire her when she bites back, "maybe you're not as good as you think you are."

You uncap a lipstick and look at your reflection.

"Maybe I am," you hang up and draw a fresh line of red acrossyour bottom lip.



"Baby, you're so beautiful," she murmurs and touches a hand to your cheek.

You try not to flinch and nip playfully at her fingers. You know all this is just a game and you think she does too because you've never said otherwise.

But you're addicted to her.

And she calls you Roberta when she thinks you can't hear.

You wake in the morning to find JC watching you from the doorway. A familiar body is still tucked into your arm and you smile sleepily at him as if he should have expected this. You know afterwards he won't mention it, ever, and that when Britney wakes up you won't either.

Not that it would matter now.

You've made far too sure she can't forget you.


Silverlake: Authors / Mediums / Titles / Links / List / About / Plain Style / Fancy Style