Hello! Against all expectations I am actually giving you an update. Dunno how long it'll last, hur hur. Update's in the second post :)

Prologue

I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch

“You died on my birthday. How could you?” Penny speaks in a voice so low it is almost a whisper, her words angry and sorrowful, but tempered with embarrassment. Only crazies talk to themselves. That’s what Ronnie always said. But then again, Veronica’s dead. Who’s the crazy now Ronnie, huh? Huh?

Ronnie was always the cool one. Penny acknowledges this. They had an understanding, Ronnie and her. Ronnie was the cool one; with her fuck you attitude, her clove cigarettes and her leather jacket. Penny was sensible. Is sensible. Penny, the girl-next-door, blonde, small and smiley. And crazy, as Ronnie would say, flashing Penny that conspiratorial smile, if she were here. If maggots weren’t going to work on her eyes, and face, and skin. As the days go on her skin will turn a rainbow of colours as she rots. Ronnie would, Penny knows, be fascinated by this process. She was determined to become a forensic pathologist. She loved to talk about how a body could tell you anything you wanted to know about a person, if you knew how to ask. Ronnie wasn’t talking now. Never would again.

Penny chokes off a sob that threatens to overwhelm her and sinks onto her bed, lying on her back with her shins dangling off the edge. If she half closes her eyes, she can pretend she can feel Ronnie’s weight against the bed frame, see the edges of her shadow. Her vision blurs as the tears come again, she lets them run down her face. Constantly wiping the tears away had left her sore. It was better just to let them flow.

A shrill ringing batters its way into her thoughts, and she opens her eyes, struggling to focus on her bedside clock. “Shit! Six! Already!” She rolls off the bed and staggers slightly as she regains her balance. She’s been lying there for hours, not really thinking. Just crying. She gropes around on her floor for her phone, shoving discarded clothes aside into small piles, following the incessant sound. Finally she spies it wedged in between a science textbook and her dresser, and answers it after grimacing at the caller ID. “Hi, Matthew.” She sits back down on the bed, gripping the phone with more force than is strictly necessary. He’s probably calling to make sure she hasn’t followed in Ronnie’s footsteps. They act like suicide is catching, she reflects bitterly. Why can’t they just leave me to my grief? Suddenly, viciously, she is furious at Matthew. It’s all his fault. It’s his fault she’s dead. She knows that it isn’t true, but she can’t stop herself from snarling down the phone, “What’s up Matthew, guilt getting the better of you? Want to make sure you haven’t driven me insane too?”

Ronnie had been unusually amused on the day Penny thought of as That Day. The day it all started. Ronnie lived her life in perpetual amusement, but That Day, well. She was almost happy. Happy was not an emotion Ronnie deigned to feel; preferring constant, sarcastic, amusement. Penny remembered how Ronnie had stepped forward when she saw Penny’s bus draw nearer; in itself an unusual occurrence. Ronnie liked to affect perpetual disinterest. She had opened her face in a great wide smile at the sight of her best friend, dropping her cigarette and crushing it under the heel of her combat boot as she simultaneously slicked her hair back and raised an eyebrow.
“So?”
“So…?”
“Come on Ronnie. You look like someone’s attached hooks to the side of your mouth and pulled, the way you’re smiling.
Ronnie had bit her lip at this point, tilted her head to the side, and shrugged.
“Oh, nothing.”
“’Nothing’? It’s obviously not nothing, if you say ‘nothing’ like that.” Penny grinned; her curiosity aroused, and linked arms with the other girl. They were walking in the general direction of college, but Ronnie was trailing slightly, clearly enjoying dangling her news in front of her friend. This was nothing new, and Penny had the actions well rehearsed by now. “How many nothings can we fit into one sentence?” She added, her grin widening slightly.
Ronnie ignored her last comment, tucking a cigarette in between her lips, and asked, “Like how, exactly, am I accused of saying ‘nothing’?”
“Like you’re a child actor in a bad sitcom.”
Ronnie lit her cigarette and blew the smoke directly into Penny’s face. “How very dare you.” She laughed as Penny elbowed her, her head thrown back and her neck arching as she let rip throaty hilarity. Nothing about Ronnie was even half as sensual as her laugh.
“Go on Ron. What’s with all the good cheer.”
Ronnie deliberated for a second, taking a drag. She exhaled slowly, savouring the last few seconds of Penny’s ignorance. “I’ve met a boy.”
“Holy shit on a stick.” Penny deadpanned.
“I know, right?” Ronnie laughed quietly. “Everyone had me pinned as a dyke- even you.”
Penny rolled her eyes. This she’d heard before. “To be fair Ronnie, you’ve been with more straight girls than the entire football team combined, and add that to the out girlfriends you’ve had… well. It all seems pretty dykey to me.”
“I’ve always told you not to pigeonhole me. I’ll sleep with who I like.”
“Yeah, often.”
Ronnie gave Penny a sidelong glance, before smirking. “You can’t have too much of a good thing. Anyway, do you want to hear about him, or continue to scrutinize my sex life?”
“Sex addiction.” Penny muttered, before conceding. “Yes I want to hear about him! Fire away.”

_____

Crits, comments, la la la.

I'm impatient.....

Why isn't there more..? D:

:D This story. Is like one massively delicious cross-reference. <3333

;D You know. <3333

OKAY, RENZO. YOU GET WHAT YOU PAY FOR.

________

So Ronnie had told her all about this boy, this Matthew Gerard Hughes.

“Gerard?”
“Yeah, he’s French. Well, his Mum is.” They’d met in the café where she worked, she explained. “When he walked in, well.” She sighed. “Gorgeous. Brown hair, green eyes- not that I knew that then, obviously- he had a guitar over one shoulder, a sketch pad under one arm.” She raised an eyebrow at Penny, who looked suitably impressed. “A real creative type. You know how I like them.”
Penny did. Ronnie loved creative types; she liked being their inspiration when they called her their love, and she liked being their inspiration as they struggled to get over her. Penny knew though, that they liked it too. Some of their best songs, paintings and writings had been created in the turbulent wake of Veronica Westerfield.
“We clashed over the coffee.” She took a long drag of her cigarette, and paused before exhaling. “He’d asked for a large. Of course I made some joke about compensating for something- you know how you do, with attractive boys.”
Actually, Penny didn’t. Sure, she’d had boyfriends, but those had been embarrassing, awkward affairs, usually with boys she didn’t like, too afraid of hurting their feelings to say no when they asked her out.
They turned the corner onto her street, an uninspiring urban place, with rows of terraced houses and a few miserable shops on the other, where the most exciting place within walking distance was the local pub, a nice enough place called the Coach and Two Horses. Penny delved into her pocket, searching around bits of fluff and empty packets to find her keys, which she held up triumphantly in a raised fist before stabbing the button at the crossing and waiting for the little man to turn green.
“Mmm. Go on?”
“Well, I made the joke, can’t remember it now of course- bet it was rubbish- anyway, he just sort of… sat there, looking at me with those cool green eyes. Of course, I didn’t get flustered, not me, but then he sort of… lent back on his chair, looping one arm over the chair back and kind of… well, opened his legs. All suggestive like.” She stopped, gripped Penny’s forearm and grinned wickedly. “It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

That last part is so win. Because last night I watched The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants with Wendy (my exchaaaange stoooodent) and there was this part where this guy totally does the same pose, and my brain yelled an internal, "WHAT?" Lol.

Lol XD My aim in life is to get everyone to yell an internal "WHAT?", at least once.

Well, I'm highly prone to internal-WHATtage. XD I think I do it at least once a week.

Internal whats don't happen often to me. It has to be something of really godly silly goose caliber for me to do that. This Gerard person sounds awesome. I approve!

Nom nom nom. Mmmmn...

This'll satisfy me for now. Thank you....

*settles back into the shadows*

Internal "What-!?"s happen to me all the time. It comes from being related to my sister. She says/does a lot of deeply weird stuff.

Matthew is pretty awesome. I feel quite sorry for him, hur hur.

UPDATE:

Not.

HA.HA.

Turns out I haven't actually written enough to update. Yet.

Oh. Cuh-MAWN, I got all exited for NOTHING.

I thought unkind things when I saw the lack of writing in this thread.

Be nice. XD

I am being nice. If I wasn't I would have said those things. xD