Re: [Quicklog: Jack/Dahlia]
Try me, boy. [With grave certainty. Dahlia won't punch him. Nah. She's already down one hand, man. She don't need to fuck up her other one. He's closer to her feet, anyway. She's way more likely to just kick him into the concrete below.
Jack provokes, and her expression goes even flatter in response. Yeah, she dials up the sulk to eleven.] I fuckin' kissed her, asshole. That's how. I pushed her too hard 'bout he bro 'til she was screamin' in my face—and then I kissed her. My timing's shit. I shoulda—waited. [So like, y'know. Waited for literally every other chance she had during the roadtrip that she conveniently talked herself out of doing. Whatever.] 'Stead I do it at the WORST fuckin' time and—I don't even know why I did. Why I thought it was gonna help shit. [Glaring from behind her knees, she glances sideways at the dog. Hiro, a Good Boy, spins his tail for her.] And I already fuckin' told the dog. Like three times. And had to tell it to Pat, and tell it to Connie, 'cause even though I kissed her, everythin' else I said to her went ass-backwards in her head. I hadta explain—MULTIPLE TIMES— [Raising her voice. Not yelling, not really, but it's still louder, and frustrated,] —I DIDN'T tell my best friend she's a bad person, and I DON'T hate her, 'cause that ain't a given for SOME FUCKING REASON. But I just can't be mad without everything feelin' like it's gonna EXPLODE, so I just gotta suck it up and take gettin' compared to my FUCKING DAD as a COMPLIMENT and I— [Okay. Now she's yelling.] And now I'm 'pparently HALLUCINATING 'bout SOMEBODY FUCKING ELSE'S DEAD FUCKING DAD a-and I— [The memory catches in the back of her throat. She stops, swallows thickly, and sniffs. She knows none of this dump makes sense to Jack, but fucking whatever. Shit don't make sense to her, neither.
Her eyes wrench shut.] I-I can't. I can't do this. [Pleading, almost. Make the rest of this incoming shit go away, please. If there's more on the way, there's simply no riding it out unassisted in her mind. Worse, she don't want the drink. Like, she does, but whiskey's still real unpredictable sometimes. She wants a more foolproof high. She's shaking, suddenly, and it's not obvious whether it's the violent need, or the pain, or her just trying not to cry.]