Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

It’s been a crappy week, and this is just the bread that makes the whole thing a shit sandwich.

I’m going to make the most of it! When life gives you lemons…” It squeezes the acid right in your fucking eyes.

And fuck me if for a moment I don’t feel as tongue-tied as the kid I was just laughing at.

Ah, more granola, woo-woo, make-lemonade, salt-of-the-earth shit.

I don’t know how I got here, but it almost feels like I’m having fun.

Like the down-bad coward I am.

And wishing for natural disasters has to be a new all-time low.

Surprised you’re not offering me both kidneys with how goddamn emo you’ve been lately.”

Even though, thanks to Gwen Dawson, turning regret and self-loathing into an erection appears to be my new superpower.

I care about him. I mean, I haven’t told him that. But I gave him my fucking kidney. What more does he want? A tattoo across my forehead?

“He reminds me of Oscar the Grouch sometimes.”

“Bash, we understand. This is your trash can, and we’re just living in it.”

Were all your good moods in the kidney that you gave away? Are you stuck with the bitchy kidney?”

I’m not sure when a fucking bowling team turned into heart-to-heart chats and relationship advice with these guys, but it catches me off guard.

I keep my face impassive, disguising my shock over his presence as I search for words that aren’t your timing is shit.

Except I just told your ex to come watch me next time I jerk off, so anytime except right now?

makes me want to grab the fork beside me and stab myself in the face—anything to end this conversation.

Having her under my roof has been a mindfuck.

And then, in one fell swoop, Tripp waltzed in and fucked it all up.

It felt like he valued me.

And the fact that she didn’t roll out of my bed is downright criminal.

He scolds me with such endearment. I haven’t caught a single word of his spiel.

The perpetual bachelor and town loner invited other people to his trash can just for me?”

you don’t let that one go, you’re gonna pay for it.”

“Reporting for duty, sir. Ready to pay for it.”

when I love someone—I’m willing to do anything for them. Join a stupid bowling team that I never really wanted to. Give them a kidney. Play Disney Princess with some shitty raccoon.

Nothing says I’m into you like sharing rabies over a bowl of Doritos.”

Watching her tonight makes my heart swell like the Grinch’s on Christmas Day.

“Check on me or parade around in that slutty little outfit?”

while I stew over Sebastian fucking Rousseau—the man I love and also want to punch some sense into.

“Dude, go. I got this. You have zero game. If there’s a girl who actually likes you, you need to go find her.”