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Dillon

Emerson Lee Bennet is a little stalking psychopath in pink.

the sun is reflecting off your sequined tube top. Move to another bush.

About seven seconds later, an arm shoots out from said bush, middle finger raised.

real subtle Bennet

One middle finger turns to two.

Emerson

Bennet Brother Group Chat: Bitches & Bros

Anyone heard from Warren? He never responded to my last confirmation of life text.

Ian: confirmation of life? Should I be worried?

Z: Warren, please respond. I don’t want to pick more leaves out of my hair today.

Warren: your text was literally a steak and eyeroll emoji.. what was I supposed to do with that?

Warren: do I want to know about the leaves?

Meat head? Obviously? Seriously, you guys are so boring. *sigh* anyway, glad you’re breathing, brother. Since I have you here…Morgan? News?

Ian: Morgan? I saw her with Dillon like…twenty minutes ago.

WHAT??? TELL ME EVERYTHING. Was he grumpy? Did she yell? What were their coordinates?

Ian: …

Warren: drop it

Z: Mom said I’m not allowed in any more bushes.

Jesse: Do I even wanna know what’s happening?

YES

Warren: fuck no

Ian: I don’t even know whats happening…

Z: Oh, Jesse. I forgot you existed.

Give me a good head of hair and a bowl full of color, and I’m ready to slay a fucking day, okay? Most days. But right now, I am actively perspiring from the level of restraint it takes not to check the clock every four and a half seconds.

I don’t think a single day has ever been this long. I woke up with shadows under my eyes this morning. Honest to God shadows. I had to pull out emergency eye patches from the freezer, the ones I reserve for nights spent watching movies that make me leak from my eyeballs.

I do not spend nights lying awake, typing and deleting texts to Does Not Exist until one in the morning when I’m delirious enough to actually send the worst possible one of the bunch. I didn't mean to send the damn thing, but somehow it happened. The worst text of all texts.

what are you wearing?

Even now, fifteen hours and many slightly aggressive haircuts later, I still want to scream. Or plop my eyeballs out and stick them in the goddamn freezer to chill.

Wanna know what the asshole sent me?