Mella & Kid

‘Why do you always wear that fucking Hawaiian shirt?’ Mella sniped on her entry into Kid’s Clovelly studio.
‘Afternoon Mella,’ Kid was thankful he wouldn’t have to guess how her day had been. Without looking up, he packed another cone and steadied himself for the impending whirlwind.
‘I’ve had a shit of a day.’ Not reading Kid’s stoned summer state, or not caring, Mella started her Friday blow-by-blow in unabated feverish detail.

Punctuating Mella’s stream of consciousness with a peppering of head nods, simmers of feigned compassionate ‘hmmmmmms’, and the occasional red-eyed upward glance, Kid’s throat was dry for beer. His belly groaned for cheesy margarita pizza topped with his other favourite herb, basil.
‘You should have seen the cockroach infested state of it Kid, and the fuckers were touting the attic as a second bedroom.’
‘I’m going to order pizza. Feel like Angelo’s? Want garlic bread?’ In his rush to interrupt Mella’s whinge train, Kid clipped the side of the coffee table with the warm bong, slushing the dirty water into Mella’s open handbag.
‘Fuck Kid!’ Mella was on her feet, grabbing at her bag and storming past Kid into his adjoining kitchen.
‘I haven’t cleaned in there,’ Kid said.
‘For weeks,’ Mella finished ‘do you own a sponge?’
‘Paper towel here.’
As Mella snatched at the outstretched paper towel her ‘you’re hopeless’ scowl ran ribbons through Kid.

Pulp Fiction filled the midnight silence between them; they had watched it together so many times before that tonight they played it just for the noise. Kid’s sleep was continually broken by Mella’s restlessness between his legs. Unlike Kid, partaking in the herb made Mella’s senses twitch aware and her mind attempt to solve the universe. Kid questioned why he persisted in asking Mella to join him in his ten year habit; Mella knew that every time she caved and inhaled the bubbling smooth smoke, her pleas to ‘please give up’ fell even louder on Kid’s deaf ears.

‘It’s late. I better go.’ Mella pinched Kid’s inner thigh but made no attempt to sit up.
‘Hmmmmm OK.’ Kid writhed away from her grasp, quickly removing his legs as Mella’s pillow, rubbing his eyes awake.
‘Well I don’t have to go right away. There is no need to kick me out,’ after all these years, Mella still wanted him to fight for her.
‘Mella. Just don’t. Not tonight. I don’t want to start my weekend bickering with you.’
‘Your weekend?’ She was upright now, searching for the lamp switch, ‘Every day is your goddamn weekend!’

Pre-empting Mella’s change of mood, Kid was already in the kitchen, flicking the kettle to boil and sniffing the milk for signs of funk.
‘Black tea Mella?’ Kid’s sniff test had failed and history told him his attempt at changing the subject would too.
‘Why do you have to make me feel needy? We were having a good night, chilling out like old times and you have to go and make me feel like we are teenagers again. Strangers.’ Mella’s eyes prickled but she was too tired to cry, this scene with Kid was too practised to really matter.
‘If we are asking questions,’ Kid had his head in the fridge searching for remembered cream, ‘why do you make me feel like a bastard?’

muse & skip