Page 31 of About the Green

Jesus fucking Christ, you want to talk about wet? That’s me when I think about the bossy, mean head of security.

But he has a bit of an attitude problem, and a bit is an understatement.

He is absolutely foul to be around. Not only is he extremely boring, and he takes his lecturing a little bit too far. Everyone says he's quiet—he doesn't have anything to say—but I feel like they just have not been around him long enough. Maybe he just doesn't like them, because for me, he's never done lecturing. He always has something fucking dumb to say. I sit there with my smile in place, so that he can't see how much I want to actually rip his lips from his body, because why is he still talking when we could be doing so many more fun things instead?

Now he's put me in a fucking trunk.

I'm in a goddamn trunk!

And what do you mean?

What do you mean I'm in a fucking trunk?

After the last time I saw him, I figured, why not up the ante? Right?

Show him what he’s missing out on since my call didn’t work.

I still haven’t been able to place his size so I tried for two extremes. Extremely average and then extremely on the opposite side of the spectrum while not being a monster. You know?

Ungrateful prick.

A disappearing video to get him a taste but not something he could have. If he wanted more, he’d have to come to the real thing. No replays.

I’d be happy with either since I’m sure a man with BDE like him would know what he’s doing with it.

Knowing he’d seen my little presentation, I was in good spirits. I left this morning after spending so much time getting my hair to do that little wave thing, you know, old Hollywood style, just so that my streak in the front stands out perfectly against the top, only for it to start fucking raining.

I was so thankful to get out of Atlanta. Louisiana was not much better, but I mean, the rain here is fucking insane. The humidity absolutely killed all my volume. So now what am I doing? Absolutely nothing. All that time for no fucking reason.

Thankfully, the humidity does wonders for my skin and makeup, and so I know that still looks great. Although, being in the trunk, I couldn't check because there's no fucking light here.

The tape is a bummer.

Fuck.

But I will not be in this trunk for long.

It only takes me a few moments to figure out exactly how I'm going to get out of this fucking trunk. The tape is annoying but it’s not my first time getting out of a sticky situation. It’s awkward and, fuck, I’ve got a few nicks, but my razor blade was already in my cheek to the tape off my mouth and then everywhere else. He might have prevented me from getting out through the actual lid, but I'm going through the seats.

So as soon as he starts driving away with, I know, a self-satisfied smirk, I'm getting out of here.

I'm going out through the back door, or the front, or goddamn it, I'm crashing this fucking car because I refuse to be put in this position. To be forced to answer whatever thoughts or questions he thinks he has about what he’s seen from my minor slip up earlier.

The bandaid. Why did I take my watch off? I really didn’t want to lose it in the rain if we ended up chasing this guy.

We lost him anyway.

How dare he think that he's going to gentle parent me, or whatever the fuck this is, into talking to him about something that is none of his business, quite frankly.

And you know what else?

Fuck Vertiz Marten.

Who does he think he is?

After all, I mean, they snicker about how he's a vampire and all this stuff in Louisiana, and no one actually ever sees him in the daylight.

I wish I had that fucking freedom.