Ooh I like this set. 

I’m writing a preliminary college entrance essay draft. Fuckity fuck fuck fucking balls. 

And I picture Roman being somewhat like a straight Lafayette Reynolds from True Blood. Because every girl should have a friend like that… 

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Gwyn Gallagher 
Tuesday 5/11/10 
Day Two

The apartment was smoky and everyone was there. Jack was playing his guitar on his couch and Amelia was admiring close by. The lovely twins, Victoria and Janey were bickering about something while Hazel and Roman were taking shots of cheap vodka. Nora and I were silently observing from the kitchen table. I was having a cigarette and Henry wasn’t hiding the fact that he was watching me from across the room. 

“What?” I mouth, raising my left eyebrow. 

He simply rolls his eyes, smiles, and looks down at his drink. 

“Why exactly aren’t the two of you together?” Nora whispers to me in Russian. At least I’m assuming that’s what she whispered. My Russian isn’t exactly superb. 

“Because I don’t have feelings for him?” I respond slowly. 

“You shouldn’t make him think you do, then,” She states plainly. 

“Don’t preach at me, darling. I’m a grown woman you know,” I switch back into English. 

She shoots me a disbelieving look as I get up from the table. I first join Hazel and Roman. 

“Pour me a shot,” I tell Roman. 

“Easy, girl,” he smiles as he does what I tell him. 

“What?” I ask, “This is my first of the night. And it’s not like I’m an even remotely interesting drunk. I just lose my filter a bit.”

“Baby girl, I hate to tell you this,” he starts, “but you’ve never had a filter.”

I take back the burning liquid and after a brief pause point at him with my cigarette and reply, “Precisely.” 
Next, I put my cigarette out and stroll to the far end of the room—to the space occupied by Henry. I perch myself on the arm of his chair and light a new one. 

“Gwyn Gallagher,” He says, looking straight ahead. 

“Henry Phillips,” I respond. 

We linger in silence for just a few moments. I wait for him to say something. When he doesn’t, I get up, presumably to go to the bathroom. Needless to say, I never quite make it there. Henry grabs me the moment we are out of sight. He pushes me against the bare wall, lifting me off the ground a bit, and kisses me. 

I pull away. “You are entirely too complicated,” I laugh. 

I wrap me legs around his waist as he completely supports my weight. “And you’re not?” He asks as he kisses me again.

“No,” I say as I completely stop and plant my feet firmly on the ground, “Quite the contrary. I like fooling around with you. I like sex. I like talking to you. Emotions complicate things and mine don’t cloud my judgment.” 

“Gwyneth,” he calls me as he puts his right hand to my face in spite of me. I flinch at the use of my given name. “I seriously doubt that you have emotions to begin with.” 

Only mildly insulted, I begin to walk back to join the party, but he grabs my upper arm to stop me. In one sweeping motion he turns me around, wraps his arms around my waist, and puts his lips to mine. 

“See,” I pull away only slightly and say, “way too fucking complicated.” 

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If you read it all, type ‘this complicates things’
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