Public Relations

The world is in greyscale today.

The images in my eyes have been sapped of their vibrance, dulling until they are rounded and blurry and muted. I watch the sky from my backyard, the clouds so close I could grab one in my fists, strangle it. A bird screams from somewhere. It's a windless day, the heat sitting heavy on my skin like something tangible, something suffocating.

"Dude," a voice says behind me, "it's not that deep." The world goes dark. When my eyes readjust, I see Jasper's dumb, ugly face hovering over me, squinting in disapproval. "Everyone knows she's a liar."

She is Avalon. The Ex-Girlfriend. Fellow influencer, with a following of girls who also have sword tattoos, septum rings, and boots that could knock you dead in one kick. She's like a Goth Barbie, dressed in all black and sharp, threatening eyeliner, but with bloated lips and boobs that she got done from her first big check. She'll get you drunk off the strawberry vodka on her breath and then lure you to your death, telling you how pretty and funny you are the whole way down.

We called things off six months ago, closer to the start of the year, when I caught her in bed with a basketball player from a team she'd never cared about. 

That detail will die with me, partly out of my own mortification and partly for her own sake. She's a sweet enough girl, if not a bit insecure, and she doesn't need to be burned at the stake for her private wrongdoings. A breakup is a fair consequence, in my opinion.

Except for now, with the video of me socking Loser Supreme in the jaw, she's released her tell-all on my violent and unpredictable behavior.

"She literally got her ass handed back to her, like, six weeks ago when she said her family was poor growing up and they found the photo of her dad dropping her off in fifth grade in a Maserati."

"Move your dumb fucking head, Jasper. I'm wallowing."

I lift a hand to cover my eyes, perfectly content with things going dark for minute or two. Sweat is beginning to pool in the small of my back, where my body comes slightly off the lounge chair I'm lying in.

"I called Mia."

A pause. Another bird scream. Then I'm sitting up, hands in my hair, facing Jasper's wispy figure behind me.

"What?"

He's digging through the mini fridge by the sliding door where I keep sodas and alcoholic seltzers and mini waters. He finds a seltzer and weighs it in his hand before tossing it to me, then grabbing one for himself. I set it by my feet, unopened.

"I don't know, bro. I've been here for two hours and you've just been pathetic the whole time. I know she's been working on managing this since Avalon's video dropped but I figured you could use her pick-me-up. Or maybe she'll give you a tongue lashing and you'll liven up. You're into that, or whatever."

I cringe. The seltzer touches the outermost part of my ankle, cool and wet, and I channel my focus to that sensation. "Jasper, I don't want Mia here right now."

"She's already here. She's on a call in the guest room."

Jasper shoots me a lopsided grin, ignorant and oblivious, then chugs the seltzer in his hand. He crushes it when he's done and releases a burp that shifts the tectonic plates beneath us. He drops the empty can on the stone paving. I cringe again.

He plops himself onto the lounge chair across from me, a fresh seltzer in hand, and slaps his hand onto my knee with just a tad too much force. "You've been in this house for two days now. It's driving you crazy."

"Two days is literally a weekend," I say bluntly. "That's a completely normal amount of time to stay indoors."

"Not when you're a lion, dude!"