i'm not your friend. i don't give a shit about you. you're just a nobody, nothing, punk-ass kid.
ind. bullet of amc's the killing.
private as hell. low activity.

CRAVESFREEDOM.

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           fists remain tightened, the news burrowing deep into her heart, causing a searing feeling in her chest. she’d heard about the killings on the news but the REALITY never hit until now ; those girls were people she knew. her stomach lurches at the thought. she didn’t know kallie well, but she could tell she was a valuable friend & she had a good soul ( way better than that lyric chick bullet used to go on about. ) octavia shivers, though it could very well be due to the cold morning that seeps into the diner every time the front door is opened ( the chime of the bell irritating her sensitive ears every time ),  ❛  i’m so sorry, bullet.  ❜  her voice is tender but her body stands awkwardly still, paralyzed by uncertainty. should she reach out to comfort her? she tries ; hand unfurling, fingers moving to reach across the table & take bullet’s hand, but before she can get that far, she chickens out, her hand instead diving into her own hair, running through the tangles.  figuring they both struggle with being INTIMATE ; she settles for softening her eyes & using words as her sentiment,  ❛  i know you two were really close.  ❜  

           her eyes find the partially healed scar across bullet’s throat ; they rest there for a while before she lifts her sight back to her blue eyes. she wants to ASK ; she has to keep biting the inside of her cheek to keep the questions from flooding out.  ❛  where are you staying now?  ❜  she knows if she doesn’t keep busy her eyes will find their way back again, so she shifts focus to the menu, feeling the cracked laminate & how dirty it felt ; like syrup tainted fingers had touched it before her.

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she never wanted  sympathy.    didn’t quite know how to respond to it and that hasn’t changed,  even now,  sitting across the table from a friend.    one of the few she has left after  everything  that’s happened.    one of the few that didn’t end up in a biohazard bag.    didn’t abandon her,  shut her out because she got  too friendly  with the pigs and squealed.    on the other hand,  octavia can’t  react  to something she doesn’t  know  about.    people talk.    it won’t take long for word to spread like a disease    (    if it hasn’t already.    )    she breathes in,  avoids eye - contact and glances at the menu.    catches a glimpse of movement through peripheral vision and,  on  impulse,  jerks her own hand back.    isn’t  ready  to be touched yet,  not just by octavia,  but by anyone.    maybe when she’s less sober and the prospect of comfort doesn’t make her skin crawl.    she’s relieved when octavia plays it off.    it means she doesn’t have to give an excuse.     ❛     we were at beacon the night it happened.    crazy bitch should’ve just  taken  my damn ticket.     ❜     guilt is making her  rot  from the inside out.

their waitress has to be in her mid - fifties.    red hair tied up in a knot on top of her head.    makeup caked on.    she pops a piece of bubblegum as she approaches the table and bullet sends her off again.    hasn’t given the  menu items  much consideration,  but a diner’s a diner and nothing sets one apart from the other in seattle except for the specials.    she doesn’t care for pancakes and grits.     ❛     you know how i do.    wherever there’s a place t’ sleep at night.    beacon’s shut down ‘cause pastor mike’s a quack,  so the shelter’s’ve been full.    the pigs been runnin’ us outta our squats.     ❜