I had the most random urge to share this with you.
So these guys got in trouble for working together to steal food off the counter. They got locked up in pet jail. My kitten always looks ready for a confrontation, but especially in this picture. Enjoy your humorous picture of pet jail.
“No, you can’t. You asked if you can like him. No, you can’t. Eun Hee-shi, you can’t like Goo Jung Hee-shi. Goo Jung Hee-shi is my ex-husband, is and always will be children’s dad, and whereas we have filed the divorce papers, he’s still my friend and will continue to be so. He needs to be healthy and well. That’s why it’s a no.”
She finds her on the park bench - tucked away and lonesome on the grounds of the hospital - a cigarette perched between her slender fingers and her briefcase perched on her lap; lips downturned and face cast upward to the late night (early morning) sky.
They’re new to each other. They’re in the first weeks of a nascent friendship - an affection built almost entirely in the same queues for coffee, the same elevator rides, the same godforsaken conferences, that drag on for hours and bore them to tears. They barely know each other, and Serena thinks briefly that she should leave her be, to her cigarette, to the stars. But she feels a surge of tenderness when Bernie lowers her face, catches her gaze, offers one of her pursed lip smiles (small, sincere). She shuffles a hand through her shock of wayward hair, crushes the cigarette on the ground beneath her shoes as Serena takes a seat next to her, far enough (close enough) for friends.
‘The worst’, she laughs, low and humourless; and Serena turns, strains her eyes, can make out the low slump of her shoulders, the anxious fretting of her hands - twisting and pulling at the ring on her left hand (round and round) (on and off).
‘I don’t wanna go home’, she says, chews at her lip instead of continuing, doesn’t know how to say that she doesn’t want to go home to him, to bed with him, breakfast with him, days and months and forever with him, with Marcus, and she hates herself for it. She clears her throat, instead, kicks at the dirt beneath her feet; furrows her brow. ‘It’s lonely there’.
Serena can see the constellation of freckles on her nose in the dull light of the moon, of the broken street light - and the way her face tenses, every muscle in her body tenses - desperate not cry; and she has no idea what to do. They barely know each other. She’s in no position to offer advice, to offer her a place to stay, a shoulder to cry on - and she’s sure she wouldn’t take it anyway.
But she likes her. She likes her a lot. Finds herself quite desperate to be her friend, finds herself (unexpectedly, undeniably) invested in the happiness of Bernie Wolfe.
So she shuffles closer, moves so that her shoulder bumps against Bernie’s, so that their thighs brush each other’s - through her tight jeans, through her thin scrubs. So she stays, for a while, her warm breath making clouds in the cold air, a hand stretching out to rub briefly against her arm, quiet, affectionate, on the park bench with her.
She finds her on the park bench - tucked away and lonesome on the grounds of the hospital - a coffee in each hand; her lips stretched in a smile and her face turned upwards, eyes closed, towards the soft, fleeting heat of the mid-morning sun.
‘You were supposed to sleep in’, she admonishes, as she comes closer, and Bernie lowers her face, hair in curtains around her happy expression. Serena had left her, early that morning, tangled in sheets and face buried in the pillow. Serena had left her with a kiss, at the corner of her mouth, near her ear, on the constellation of freckles which decorate her nose; jealous of her day off, desperate to crawl back into Bernie’s bed and tangle her naked limbs in her naked limbs. Her place is bare-boned, hardly lived in, and Bernie doesn’t feel much for it at all until Serena starts to leave her things there - bra over the bedside table, toothbrush in the bathroom, arm flung over Bernie’s middle, legs between Bernie’s legs. ‘Can’t stay away?’
‘Just love this place too much’, she says, handing her the takeaway cup then hooking her free arm through Serena’s, pulling her closer and Serena’s heart feels full, feels light, feels everything at once for Bernie Wolfe.
She seems brighter (eyes wild, grin wide) as she leans forward, any attempts at hiding their relationship long since discarded and kisses her happy mouth with her happy mouth - chaste, careful, courageous. She lets her head fall, her aquiline nose rest against the line of her shoulder. Her slender fingers play with the material of her hoodie, pushed up around Serena’s elbows, and she peers upwards, cranes her neck towards Serena’s face.
I knew this stupid ass twist would fuck Dre over. If Dre/Gary is evicted this week I’m signing out until BB19. My majority-alliancephobia is now greater than my nerdphobia. “The house” is a curse word on this blog.