Siobhan's Sporking: Billy And Me, Chapter 14

So hey, Chapter fourteen! Chapter fourteen starts at 48% ... we're half way through the book! Good news! Not so good news - we still have twice as much to go as we've already done. There's always a cloud to go with the silver lining.

It's a very surreal experience when, two weeks later, dresses of all shapes, colours and sizes get dropped off for me to try on, as well as shoes, bags, bangles, necklaces and earrings to complete the look.

I fail to see how this is surreal. You knew it was going to happen, you were given prep time. You've bought clothes before ... yes?

Paul has decided to come over and assist Billy and me in picking out the perfect ensemble.

I don't blame him, it's the image of his management company at stake as much as it is Billy's image. He has an investment in this going right. Hands up who thinks Sophie will use this against him in some way, some lack of faith in her choices?

I did try and suggest I'd be more comfortable trying on the dresses alone, but neither man took the hint.

Because for you, it's a pretty dress but for them, it's an investment in their image. Dolt.

The good thing is that Paul decided to bring his PA Samantha with him to help me get in and out of the dresses with ease.

What's a PA Samantha? I think we forgot a comma, again. And note how she says 'with ease'? That's probably going to come back and bite us in the ass.

I must admit that, although I wasn't keen on having her here (and seeing me in my underwear), she's been a godsend.

So a PA Samantha is another way of saying angel? Or did I miss something? And calm down Sophie, she's really not there to ogle your jubblies.

I'd have had no idea how to put on half of these outfits without her, with all their clasps, wraps and fancy lacing - in fact, even the weight of some of them has been a struggle for us both to deal with.

Uh-huh, 'with ease'. And since the majority are dresses, and therefore types of gowns, I think there's a limited way of getting into them. You'd really just need her assistance for doing up the back, no?

I'd never have coped.

Nothing new there, then.

Samantha hardly speaks as she changes me from one dress into another, and doesn't walk out with me when I show Billy and Paul what I'm wearing.

Because she's so ashamed that God sent her to do this idiot's bidding. I think He is really testing Samantha's angelic commitment, or something. And I don't blame her for staying in the bedroom, away from Sophie's spectacle.

Instead, she stays in the bedroom preparing the next outfit for me to try on and hauls the dresses around the room, which is no easy task for her tiny five-foot frame.

Because dresses often weigh the same as cement and are as cumbersome as furniture. And being five foot means you can't do jack.

"Bill, I think this is too much," says Paul, shaking his head at the heavily beaded cream dress I'm currently wearing, as he walks around me to take in the whole vision.

I'll say, Sophie clearly isn't the designer-dress type. And what up with calling yourself a vision? Surely 'as he walks around me to make sure the dress is demure and flattering enough for the cameras'?

At the start of the afternoon I felt self-conscious every time Paul walked around me like this, examining every detail with a frown on his face - but now, after trying on twenty or more dresses, I'm starting to get used to his scrutiny.

He's not checking out your ass, dolt. It's all about the image that comes across.

"But she looks perfect," exclaims Billy.

Really? I think Billy is the worst person to have in this scene of dress angst that will probably last half the chapter. Also, if he was exclaiming? He'd have a Goddamn exclamation mark. Giovanna fails at writing, she really does.

"Oh yes, she looks great, gorgeous even, but it's too attention-grabbing," Paul says, shaking his head at me and the dress. "People will assume that she is purposefully trying to steal the limelight from you and it could backfire on her. You don't want that."

I love Paul's logic, because it's so sound. But I guarantee later Sophie will be like 'and Paul didn't want me to get any attention, wah, wah, wah!'

I didn't realise picking a dress to attend some awards-show thingy would be so political - if a dress is too revealing or eye-catching then it's perceived that you're trying to pull a Liz Hurley and making it 'all about you'; if it's nothing special then you're unsupportive and a sap.

Did she just talk smack about Liz Hurley, who has her own career and was accused of upstaging her equally famous other half? Does she think that being papped twice is the equivalent of being an actress in her own right?

You've got to strike a balance and this is obviously why Paul felt we needed his insight.

Then why isn't she taking his constructive criticism, and explaining to Samantha what exactly was wrong with the dress and using a little slice of logic to go through the rack for something that counter-balances and thus cutting out the time and effort that is apparently being expounded here?

"But I want her to have the limelight. I want people to notice her," argues Billy.

Of course you do, Gary Stu.

"Actually," I say, butting in on their decision and reminding them that I too have an opinion. "I'm not so sure about this one. I like it, but I don't love it."

And of course Mary Sue has an opinion. Of course she has to seem modest and mature by wanting to step back from the limelight that others are trying to thrust her into. We should really play some Mary Sue Bingo with this book.

 

I count Sophie has having twelve so far. Or maybe badfic bingo?

 

I count nine, but I'll give a ten because of all the goddamn exclamation marks.

Guys, these are fanfic bingo cards. And collectively, Sophie scores 21 out of 49 (ignoring the free space) is this what I'm doing wrong?

"Well, in that case, take it off, my darling," says Billy with a theatrical finger snap in the air, becoming more like Franck Eggelhoffer from Father Of The Bride. "If you 'like' it you take it off and we never speak of it again. If you 'love' it, you wear it!"

And an obscure reference to someone we're not likely to remember! That's missing from both of those cards. That's taking the free space. 22 out of 50 ... and counting.

I laugh as I head back into the bedroom.

Because Billy was like, so funny.

"It's coming off!" I shout to the men as I turn around and let Samantha unhook me from it.

No one wants that mental image.

I peel myself out of that tight number and turn my attention to the rails of dresses lined up in front of me, which Samantha has kept in order so that we know how far we've got.

Anyone else getting an image of Sophie in a spangled banana suit there? And I hope Samantha's keeping track, because all but one of these dresses are getting returned and I would be pissed if I got sent some other designer's work instead of my own. I would set out to trash Billy for that shit.

I've already tried on at least half of them, but nothing has stood out to me yet.

Because you're not taking the advice you're getting and making it work for you. I'm surprised Paul is as calm as he is, still.

They're all gorgeous, of course they are, but I want to wear something that keeps me looking like me, and just turns me into a glammed-up version of myself.

Of course designers only do gorgeous dresses, never anything hideous! Maybe if I talk up designers and their abilities, I'll get some free shit! But only if it works with my body, and looks like sparkly jeans and plaid shirts made with gold thread. Or some shit.

All these dresses dazzle on their own, but I want to be the thing that dazzles.

On its own? That sounds like a line from twilight.

 

Quite simply, I don't want the dress to overpower me.

I'm now picturing Sophie and a dress cage fighting. And the dress wins.

Samantha pulls out the next one for me to try; a dark teal strapless dress.

We're getting a description. I think this might be *the* dress!

Figure hugging to the knees, it then flicks out dramatically with a trail.

It sounds like a nice cut, even if dark teal sounds vom.

And this is what the dress sounds like so far:

 

It's a real statement piece.

Or a bridesmaids dress ...

I squeeze into it and breathe in as Samantha does up the corset at the back, followed by a trail of tiny buttons leading from my shoulder blades to just below my bottom.

*confused* why are there two full-back fastenings?

I look at myself in the mirror, letting out a little sigh, finding the tight fit extremely over-exposing and restrictive.

Something about the description sounds almost conflicted. If she's over-exposed, that means a lot of flesh is showing, but restrictive clothing implies that the material covers her in a way that restricts her movement. I'm aware she's wearing a corset, and they are restrictive, but it still sounds like some weird type of oxymoron.

Even though I know I've lost weight lately, to me, my hips are my worst feature still and this dress accentuates them and draws attention to that problematic area.

Mary-Sue faux flaw! 23 out of 50! Almost halfway through those cards (and almost three-fifths through the Mary Sue one alone).

I notice that even Samantha is frowning at it slightly.

Since this is the first physical description of PA Samantha we've had, I have no idea what to make of that information. Is it mean to agree with Sophie, or does she always have a face like a smacked arse, or is there something else going on in PA Samantha's head that we're not privy to?

I decide to let the judges have a look anyway and so waddle out to Billy and Paul, feeling like a mermaid gone wrong.

Half-breed! 24!

I've got my tongue stuck out of the side of my mouth and am frowning heavily as I concentrate on how to walk in this difficult fishtail design - it's not easy.

That is one sexy face. I'd tap that.

The only way that seems to work is to flick my feet with each step, helping to move the heap of material lying on top of them.

You'd think she was wearing brick, not cloth.

It's too much effort for someone like me who likes her comfort.

*seethes*

 

Thank you, Zac. Seriously, I said last posting that I live in jeans and t-shirts, but my dad's a freemason and I've been to ladies nights. I love finding posh dresses to wear for those things, and being pampered beforehand, dolling myself up. The fun of those nights is the prepwork (and all the old guys at my dad's lodge buying the drinks in because of misogyny, so free drinks all night out of politeness to my lady parts, woo! Also, I get a present just because I was blessed with breasts.) so I don't buy into this whole 'woe is me for having to leave my creature comforts for one night!' garbage.

I can't help but laugh when I look up to see the men gawping at me.

Because she lives for being gawped at by men. Although, read it back. She's laughing at nothing with her tongue lolling out of her mouth as she stumbles along the hallway. Paul's inner monologue is probably going 'fuck, what is wrong with Billy for wanting to hit that?' and Billy's inner monologue is probably going 'um, I might have made a mistake ...'

They look as confused as I feel.

I think I nailed the inner monologues, then.

"Gosh, we definitely don't want that face on the red carpet," declares Paul with a mortified expression.

I'll say. Most women look demure and give small, closed-mouth smiles on the red carpet. They don't pull an expression like a panting dog.

 

 

She's not helping my statement in my last post, is she?

"Not my favourite ..." admits Billy, although he looks pained to say anything negative.

Yeah, that's why he's pained, because he wants to be positive. The pain is probably a) because you are a huge mistake or b) because you would be a whiny bitch if he wasn't at least attempting to be tactful right now.

"Yep, I agree. Awful!" I tut. "I don't want to have to worry about how to walk in the blooming thing. I'm going to be nervous enough as it is!"

Only one of you is talking about the dress ...

As I turn to leave I hear Paul say quietly to Billy, "Good job. Did you realize it's quite similar to the one Coco wore to the Oscars last year - when she looked sensational? It would be horrific if people compared the two."

I totally love Paul in this story. He's the only character with any depth or complexity, I swear.

Horrific for me, I think.

Yeah, that's what Paul meant.

 What normal girl would want to be compared to a model, after all?

Actually, I think most normal girls would love the comparison, because that phrasing makes it sound like a normal girl is being told she could be comparable as a model. That's the dream for a lot of girls.

I don't bother waiting for Billy's reply.

Who says romance is dead?

I just want to get out of this dress as quickly as possible.

This just got kinky!

I huff my way into the bedroom, ready to try on what feels like the millionth dress, to find that Samantha has the next one laid out on the floor, ready for me to step into.

*gobsmacked* she left a designer dress ON THE FLOOR?

It's what I would call vintage pink.

I googled that colour. It's what I know of as dusty rose.

Not so pink that it screams at you in a sickly sweet Barbie type of way, instantly making you look like a three-year-old - it's more subtle than that and less garish against my skin tone.

Just in case you can't imagine 'vintage pink' or dusty rose or whatever, we get her talking around the colour. This feels like the stiletto debacle all over again.

The actual design is floaty and free, with one piece of fabric going over one shoulder, leaving the other shoulder bare.

This sounds like a Grecian style dress.

It's fitted at the waist - without the need of a corset - and then has multiple layers of fabric in various lengths making up the lower half of the dress, like waves, making it free and whimsical.

Hear that, the non-fashion savvy? Your dress normally can only fit at the waist with the help of a corset! Also, we've had a description of the shoulder strap and the skirt, but not the bodice part. this sounds like a skirt and strap, not a dress. This is a Jodie Marsh piece, surely?

It's stunning, elegant and feminine and makes me feel like a princess the moment I slide into it.

Hang on a second, we've had a detailed description of this dress ... as it's in a pile on the floor. What the actual hell?

Before walking out to show it off to Billy and the dragon that is Paul, Samantha stops me and hands me a pair of light grey shoes from a box beside her.

Uncalled for slight on Paul, there. And why does this dress specifically get a mention of shoes?

Surprisingly, they don't look too high, and, once she'd helped me into them, they're comfortable enough to make me think I might get away with staying upright in them.

*sighes* It IS the stiletto debacle again. Mid shoes. Say it with me. Mid shoes.

Looking at the complete ensemble in the mirror I can't help but smile at my reflection.

Have you noticed that of the last seven pages of this fourteen page chapter, it's been about her trying on dresses? Guess what? The next page is part of this scene, and then we get six pages of them talking about this God damn dress. I fucking called it.

This is the one.

You know, this might have more impact if we didn't have all that shit about the teal dress.

I won't have anyone else tell me differently.

*coughs*Mary Sue*coughs*

I feel extremely beautiful and special in it.

My brain wants to explode.

I quickly glance at Samantha, who's standing behind me, and notice she's also smiling.

 

Because when the Mary Sue approves, everyone approves.

Catching her eye, I give her a wink and a little giggle before walking out to Billy and Paul with pride.

... is she flirting with PA Samantha?

"That smile says it all!" beams Billy. "It's perfect!"

I really, really wish Billy would actually get laid. Or come out of the closet. Both, really.

"Nice," says Paul.

Which, given his extreme criticism thus far, means a hell of a lot. It's actually far more gushing than Billy, in comparison.

"Thank you," I say, not caring that he doesn't sound overly enthused. "I love it," I gush, unable to remove the grin from my face.

Oh, of course Paul's opinion gets overlooked, on the perception that it's not as enthusiastic as everyone else. Bitch.

"You 'love' it?" queries Billy, using his weird Franck accent again, causing me to laugh and nod my head. "You wear it!" he booms.

Ugh, this whole bit. The shitty reference, the gay accent, that he does something and it CAUSES her to do something, him booming in lower case - it's all there just to piss me off.

I can't help but fling my arms around in the air in excitement.

Pictured: Sophie finding 'the one' in dress form.

"And I must say, you have remarkable taste for someone who supposedly knows nothing about fashion - it would've been the most expensive of the bunch," Paul informs us. "It's designed by none other than Vera Wang."

Is Vera Wang that incredibly expensive in comparison to other designers? And I know she's an incredible designer, but her name, to me, is synonymous with wedding couture. I also googled for a pink, one shoulder, Vera Wang dress, and got white wedding dresses, or a short one that would look out of place at an awards ceremony.

Plus, isn't Sophie meant to be curvy? You don't change a Vera Wang to fit you, you change yourself to fit Vera.

"Ooooh! Good choice!" says Billy knowingly.

Of course it's knowingly, he wears a different Vera Wang every month!

I smile at them both, without a clue who this Vera lady is ... although I do love what she's done with this dress!

*blinks* *blinks a lot* ... of course you know who Vera is. You can reference Father Of The Bride and not know Vera? Fuck off already! I don't even care how old that film is, a bridal film will reference Vera. It's like the law. Like, how the virgin always lives in horror films, or Harry Potter will always survive. How Ron was contracted to say 'Bloody Hell, Harry' once per film. And especially if you mention the wedding planner in a wedding film, he is going to revere Vera. *grinds teeth*

One evening the following week, I'm at home cleaning out Billy's food cupboard of the various cans and jars that are past their use-by dates when the house phone rings.

He lives in America. He barely uses this house. He, until recently, hired someone to do this sort of thing for him. I don't understand how he has expired items in his cupboards. When does he even grocery shop? Three years ago?

I pick it up to find Paul on the other end.

And suddenly, you can now see other people at the end of a landline. Also, with the above criterion, why is Billy wasting money on a landline in a house he rarely uses? A mobile phone is far more pragmatic, and he can have a business and social handset. Also, Sophie has a mobile, so what is the need for the landline?

"Billy's at the theatre, I'm afraid," I say, trying my best to remain cheerful and friendly even though I know he's not my biggest fan.

Ugh, she is such a fake bitch.

"Yes, I know that," he says with a hint of annoyance. "I was calling to speak to you actually."

Of course Paul would know that, he manages Billy's career! He'd do a shoddy job if he couldn't keep up with that.

The fact that he has waited for Billy to be at work before calling is not a good sign.

Or maybe he's busy with his actual work, and now that Billy is in the theatre his schedule has cleared enough that he can fit this call in.

Neither is the fact that he is calling me when he never has done before.

Maybe because he forgot about you, because Billy appeared to move on, and it's only really since the mention of this awards ceremony that he's realised Billy is still with you, thereby removing a reason to call. But now there is this awards ceremony (albeit three months too late) and an agenda by which to call you.

"Oh, OK. What's up?"

She sounds so God damn ungrateful.

"Nothing ..."

He's probably thinking 'she's such a cranky bitch. I've had enough stress today, I don't need some jumped up fangirl that Billy's shagging giving me crap too. I need a drink.'

The silence that comes from the other end of the line unsettles me.

He's regrouping. And pouring a whisky, straight up.

While I wait for him to speak I start to peel the label off a jar of pickles, trying to distract myself from how uncomfortable I feel.

Fun fact: peeling labels off of jars, bottles and cans is a sign of sexual frustration. It also makes me think of that Sheryl Crow song, which is even funnier because the guy's called Billy ('And Billy pulled the labels off his bottles of Bud') so ... it must be a lack-of-sex-with-Billy's thing.

"Is there something I can help you with, Paul?"

Such a Mary Sue line, but not often uttered in such spite. New low Sophie, well done.

"No."

*sighs* Paul, don't stoop to her level.

OK ...

How sarcastic was that? And also, thanks for two of my most hated bits of this fic in six characters.

"But I thought we could have a quick chat about next weekend."

And Paul is back! Hurrah!

"Oh?"

How can one word come across as so defensive?

"I had a call to say you can keep hold of your dress as a thank you for choosing to go with the Vera number," he says flatly.

He's probably pissed at your attitude, so this happy news seems a little anti-climatic. Like, yeah you little bitch, you get everything, all over again. Except manners, it seems. What did you chuck coffee over a guy for, again?

Although I'm delighted that I'm allowed to keep it, I've already been told by Paul and Billy that I can only wear the dress once - so, what am I meant to do with it?

Are you fucking kidding me?

Wear it to clean the house?

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?

Do the weekly shop in it?

YOU'VE BEEN GIVEN A FREEBIE DRESS - A FREEBIE VERA AND YOU'RE GETTING A FUCKING ATTITUDE ABOUT IT?

Or perhaps float around in it on my walks around the park?

Go fuck yourself, Sophie May, you sarcastic entitlement whore.

Nope the reality is that it'll just sit in my wardrobe, sadly gathering dust.

Or you could wear it to museums, have a dinner party for Molly and your mother and wear it then ...

"That's great! Thanks for letting me know," I say, hoping to get off the phone as soon as possible.

Bitch. BITCH! 'Oh, thanks for the really expensive dress for free, thanks for hooking me up with a dress I've fallen in love with that flatters my figure, now fuck off of the phone line, I simply must know what's in Rochester's attic. I have no idea! Also, can I eat these out of date pickles without Billy finding out? Why am I calling them pickles and not gherkins? I'm not American, lolz!'

"I'm sure it'll make quite a classy addition to your current wardrobe," Paul adds.

True that, her black floral dress is going to be intimidated by Vera's presence.

Deciding to ignore the dig, I remain silent.

What dig? You've told him you don't normally wear designers, or follow fashion. He's seen your style a few times now. You've made it clear you wouldn't normally buy a dress like that. And that dress is Vera Fucking Wang.

I hate you, you judgemental, opinionated bitch.

"Also, you might want to wear your shoes around the house."

Paul's good on the advice front, despite her frostiness. I love Paul.

"To stop them from rubbing? Yes, I've already been doing that," I say politely.

'Chuh, Paul, I know these things, okay? I have the ovaries and everything!'

"And to practice being elegant."

Now, that was a dig. But Paul, you're better than that! Save yourself from stooping to her level, you'll through your back out!

Ahh ...

Did she just orgasm over that?

"Is there anything else, Paul?" I ask, my patience deserting me.

... she was patient to begin with?

"Yes. There is," he says, his voice failing to hide a sour tone. "I just wanted to tell you that there's nothing to worry about. It'll be busy, loud and manic there - but try and enjoy it. Billy should be with you every step of the way. But then, obviously, for him this is work. It's not all fun."

Great advice, and although he's upset at her rudeness, that's a good save from his. He's taking her thoughts and feelings into consideration and making sure she understands what's expected of her.

"I know that, Paul."

Hence the rudeness. Still.

"Good. It's an important night." He sighs before changing his tone to a seemingly warmer one. "Sophie, I know you have a tendency to feel self-conscious and to panic - you shouldn't worry. On Sunday all eyes will be on the A-listers around you. Not on you."

And this would be great advice if she truly hated attention. But she's a Mary Sue, and as such, she is meant to claim to not want attention, whilst being the centre of attention. So she still gets to be a bitch, because he's giving her what she says she wants, not what she actually wants.

"Right."

"Obviously, I would love to say that I'd be there if anything were to go wrong but, well, as you've taken my ticket - you're on your own."

That's what took so long on the phone with Billy then. Billy was like 'Paul, I want Sophie there!'And Paul went 'Billy, the tickets sold out ages ago. I've only got my ticket and your ticket.''I want you there too, Paul!''Well then, Billy, you have a choice to make. Sophie, or me.''I love you like a father ... but if Sophie comes she might actually fuck me. Paul, this is a hard one!''It's really not.''I think I'm going to go with the frigid bitch. Can she have your ticket?'

"I'm sorry Paul, but is there a problem here?"

Yes, and she's called Sophie May.

"Not at all, Sophie. But one thing ..."

"Yes?"

"Don't fuck up," he says, before hanging up.

*laughs* I love you, Paul.

Later that night when we're crawling into bed I decide to talk to Billy about the conversation.

Crawling like army men?

"Paul phoned tonight," I start.

Yep, she sure is starting ...

"Yeah, he said."

Because guess what, fuckface? Billy and Paul talk!

"He did?"

Was it a fucking secret?

"Yeah. Great news about the dress! I bet you're thrilled."

Ah, sweet, moronic Billy. How can you be so naive?

"I am ..." I turn to face him. "Billy, have you told him about my panic attacks?"

What did ... where did that come from?

"Not really - just about how we met," he says with a shrug.

Which makes sense. 'So Billy, this Sophie girl ... I thought she was just for Opening Night. Where did you meet her?''In her village, when I was doing that book film thing? She worked at the only coffee shop in town I could go in without being screamed at. It's funny, she almost passed out when we first met, but she didn't have a clue who I was! Can you imagine?'

"Why did you tell him that?"

Because it's kind of a sweet story when told the right way, you Harpy.

"Why shouldn't I? He's my manager. I tell him everything."

Yeah, go Billy, defend your manager! Bro's before Ho's!

"But this isn't your thing to tell, Billy. It's personal to me. I really don't want Paul knowing that sort of thing about me."

Their cute-meet is personal to her? It might mean something to him too, bitch!

Billy's top lip curls up under his nose, clearly confused.

That's a sneer, my dear. He's disgusted with your behaviour towards his manager. With good reason.

"I don't understand what your problem is with Paul. He's nothing but nice about you. Why are you so off about him?"

*claps* *stands up* *claps above her head* *whoops*

"I'm not!"

FUCKING LIAR!

"You are. Sophie, you have to understand how important Paul is to me."

She's not going to. Paul is her competition to your pants, here.

"I do."

She doesn't.

"Paul phoned to check you were OK and comfortable with the plans for the weekend - that's the kind of decent guy he is."

*another standing ovation* *wipes tear* beautiful, absolutely beautiful!

No, he didn't, I think to myself. It seems that Paul's main purpose was to make me aware of what he knows and to rile me enough so that I would say something to Billy - ultimately causing friction between us.

Bitch, that's what I think you're attempting to do to Billy and Paul, personally. What exactly would Paul gain by doing that?

How clever.

It's almost like something you cooked up, it's so clever!

"I was just shocked he knew," I say, trying to alleviate the tension between us.

No, you weren't. You were pissed off that you weren't in control.

"To be honest, Sophie, I don't even know much about your panic attacks - only what I saw when we first met. Every time I ask you about them you clam up."

*cheers again* Oh, by the way Sophie, this is a beautiful segue to start explaining, talking about your dad, but asking for Billy's discretion.

"I don't like talking about them."

Because we can't possibly reveal this sort of information halfway through the book!

"Fine," he says with a huff as he rolls over, facing away from me.

I'd do the same thing, Billy. Or sleep on the couch, that could work too.

"Billy!"

'How dare you stop giving me attention, and how dare you act hurt when I won't share information about myself with you when you're clearly stumped as to how to proceed?'

"It's fine, Soph - but just know that all any of us want to do is be there for you. We love you."

Because Mary Sue's are there to be loved. But Billy's right, everyone's making an incredible effort with her - for Billy - and she's throwing it back at him. She is doing nothing for the perception of women.

"I know."

Because of course Sue's get love! They can't exist in a world without it!

There is absolutely no way that I want to open up now with this horrible atmosphere surrounding us. I curl up under the covers and wonder how the conversation spiralled out of control so quickly.

My guess is, it spiralled like that because you're a mega bitch.

 

Until next time, guys. I think it's the awards ceremony itself, so we're either going three months back in time, or nine months forward. Although Paul said Sunday, so who knows when the fuck we are in this book.