By a Thread

by Lucy Score

“Can I get you a drink?” Rude Sex Hair was back. “I don’t know. Can you?” I shot back. “We’re fresh out of the blood of children, Satan. How about something that matches your personality?”

This was what I loved most. The transformation from employee to person. From parent to dancer. From titles and responsibilities to a body that was ready to be used.

“You smell that?” he asked. I knew where this was going. “I do not.” “I do. It’s strong. Here. Let me waft it toward you,” he said, flicking his hands at me. “That’s the smell of bullshit.”

Being around you feels like a never-ending boxing match, and I keep getting hit in the nuts.”

“Panic attack. Not heart attack,” I whispered to myself

I wondered if I was leaving a trail of body glitter behind me like I was a Questionable Life Choices Tinkerbell.

this son of a bitch—wait, no. His mother was a lovely human being. This alphahole

I was remembering who I was underneath it all. Beneath the stress

“Reputations can’t be built on sweeping things under the rug,” I reminded her. “They’re built on stories. You’re in control of your story and how it’s told… or not told.”

“Consent makes everything sexy,”

Let’s go stir up some shit,” I decided. “Good. It’ll be fun,” he promised.

The thing about being over forty is hangovers last about as long as a case of the flu.

And you’re having a fight with a very handsome man. I’m hoping for a lovers’ quarrel, but even handsome cat burglars deserve love.”

“Stop worrying,” he insisted. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? You’re so handsome and smart,” I said, heavy on the eyelash-batting sarcasm.

“Everyone has baggage, Russo. Most of us are just smart enough not to hurl full-sized suitcases at the people we love.”

“You want someone you can trust with your nightmares. Not just your dreams.