Shoot 004: MY Only Friend, The End

It was the same diner as before but everything felt different - the chrome napkin dispensers were blindingly bright, the strawberry banana milkshake extra thick, super sweet. Lex had his arm braced over the back of the booth, half-turned in the seat so that his knee was touching her leg - they were sitting on the same side and his hand was barely grazing her shoulder. He was drifting in and out, only halfway paying attention to her, his gaze fixed more on the ceiling fan’s lazy revolutions and the peaceful easy feeling he couldn't shake.

"Would you prefer a house or a condo? On the beach or the sound or inland? Next door to my parents or at least 30 minutes away?" Jana giggled, watching his attention snap back to her with the last question.

"Next door to your..." he caught sight of that impish smile, realizing she'd baited him. "Near water."

"I was just joking about my parents. I already blocked out those sections." She pulled up a map on her tablet. "Oceanside, it is. House, or condo?"

"House." He hesitated, "in Virginia Beach? Close enough to commute."

"I found this. It's more than what we need, but..." she tapped the screen, pushing it towards him, "furnished, beachfront, room for a few bikes."

"Not bad." He flicked through the pictures, nodding, "did you just say 'we'?"

"Well... um," she chewed her bottom lip, sighing. "That was a bit presumptuous of me."

"Wasn't sayin' that – just clarifying, y'know?"

She rested her head on his arm, turning to look at him. "I shouldn't have said we. It's your place. I mean we've not really-"

"Really hate it when you do that," he gently cut her off, "just say what's on your mind. Don't backpedal."

"I wanna be with you."

"Here we go: more sleight-of-mind bullshit – coffee's for closers! Shae's flowery, wasted words to unnecessarily dress up Palahniuk messages: 'we are the all-singin', all-dancin' crap of the world'. Hey hypocrite, take a shit on my style while you pull the 'anything you can do, I can do better' shtick in the hopes you can dazzle Evan Wolfe. Dude's so dangerous, powerful… yeah whatever. There's always a Wolfe at the door."

A sarcastic chuckle.

"This whole sorry-as-fuck song an' dance rubs me the wrong way. You wanna play the martyr card or are you expecting me to? You're inconsistent-as-fuck an' I'm sick of tryna guess what the next stop on the pretentious cunt tour'll be. You're the con artist on the street corner, sloppily palmin' the ball. Which cup's it under? I'm no easy mark, Shae – can read tells.

You an' your best pal Wolfe don't get it – been here before. Conflict an' chaos are not the same thing though I understand YOUR confusion on the subject. This' a smokescreen. This is not the battlefront. Not even a fight you can win, Shae. You had a chance last time – still had a little mystery to help. Now? Better hope your buddy takes point 'cause I know you inside an' out. There's a story, I'm sure. Some bullshit about avarice an' aspirations an' a girl who was too smart for her own good. That girl's always felt dumb even though she's got all the answers so she rages, she rails an' she constructs these contrived little situations as object lessons. Don't check either hand. Fuck no. Just watch the shuffle. Find that ball."

He snorts. Spits.

"I get it, Shae. Prob'ly more'n you realize. It's easy to lose yourself in the chase to where the rest of the people don't exist beyond your reach. Their faces are blurred. Their voices never seem to reach your ears. They're extras passin' in the background while you're struttin' center stage. You think it's a spotlight – nope. Cross-hairs. That big brain of yours missed a pretty big clue.

You dunno how to care. I care too much. What are we gonna do? Every time you go out there and hear the bell ring you picture a finger on a trigger – you visualize putting these dumbfuck scrubs outta their misery. Think you're pointin' it at the enemy. Can't taste the oil on the barrel, can't feel the vibration of that shaky hand holdin' it. Pull the trigger, Shae. See if you blow my head off or just shatter the illusion, find out it was in your fuckin' mouth the whole time.

You're six feet under already. Made a deal with the devil an' never read the fine print. You didn't give a shit because it brought you here. Claw at the walls, jump an' try to reach the edge while daylight teases. You can't talk your way outta the hole. The walls're too high an' you're so damned insignificant – truth hurts. Did I flip the right cup?"

That bemused chuckle is back.

"It's overblown bullshit, just like everythin' else about you. This little song an' dance of yours is the mental equivalent of a child sittin' in a refrigerator box, callin' herself an astronaut. Daydreams got no place juxtaposed with this childish need for approval. Every word makes me hate you more. That's what feeds this slow, righteous burn I'm feelin' right now. You don't know a goddamn thing about my motivations here – you two got me pegged as an easy mark, easily provoked. Fuck that. I'm rippin' holes in your lies 'cause that's the face I took from the ancient gallery. You're the charlatan, the fraud here. Not me.

I see what you are, Shae. I see how. I know why 'cause you're telegraphin' every little move with this eagerness. I know the truth about you an' now Wolfe does too. Grow up, little girl. You're pathetic."

A beat.

"Last gasp time – what's the last word gonna be? Out with a whimper? Another lie? So be it, then. Got my finger on the trigger – no mercy.

I'm pullin' it.

BANG!"

A hiss of static. Silence.