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Mystic Love Basket
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“Hey.” She doesn’t look up and you try again. “HEY.”
She blinks at you. She looks tired, and like she could use a shower. You fucking hate her.
“I wanna ask you something,” you say, and she blinks again, with sleep-deprived slowness.
“Sure.”
“Why’d you fuck Ne over?” You resettle in your seat, arms crossed and back hunched, head craned to look at her. “That’s a big resource to give up. Especially if you’re looking for stuff, which I know you are.”
Her laughter is raspy. “Don’t remind me.” She turns to look out the window and you’re gut-punched by anger. Everything about her pisses you off. Everything she does pisses you off. Even now, the fact that you’re talking to her, you’re talking to her and she won’t even look at you -
“You guys have been good to me,” she says finally, and it’s all you can do not to stuff your fist in your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. She keeps going. “To ignore that and let you guys get fucked over … I don’t know. It’s not how I wanna do things.”
Don’t fucking look down on me. You know that’s not what she’s doing, you know that, but the thought is hissing out in your ear anyway. You holier-than-thou bitch. I haven’t done a fucking thing for you. I never will.
You’ve both gone silent and you feel like if you were clenching your teeth any harder your molars would splinter into a cracked bloody mess but before you can really start worrying about it the car stops, and Junko’s voice is loud and jarring and telling you that you’re here.
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