Sisi / Season 2

ΔU = − ⌠⌡ F · ds

fuck with myself – banks

"This is so bad."

My finger swipes left on the Tinder. The Tinder.

The world is so big. All these men at my disposal. One on my phone, one in my bed, another one two doors down.

Étienne spins his basketball on his finger for fun. I guess. It's the weekend.

"Do you think he's cute?" I show my phone to him.

"Hth—" he makes some weird sound, "What are you doing?"

I give him big eyes and sassy talk, "Finding someone who'll do what you won't."

"God, you're note even funny, you know."

I sit up on my bed, "Don't use the Lord's name in vain."

"Okay, Saint Sisi."

I throw my phone on the night stand, not bothering myself to hook it onto its charger and decide to deal with the severe repercussions in the morning, while finding someone else to blame for my problems.

"You know what? I'll just fuck myself."

"La drame," he sighs under his breath.

Proving no point, I kick his basketball. It falls and bounces and rolls.

"Pass me my laptop."

He doesn't, because he mad.

"That's right. You can't do nothing for me," I clap back, "I got to do everything on my own."

And as I step over him to get to the other night table, he trips my leg.

I scream, "I'll whip you!"

Before a battle begins, somebody knocks on the door.

"You get it," I say right away, ready to hide.

"No, you,"

"You're closer to the door."

"T'es debout."

I point my finger and repeat, "I'll whip you."

I don't even know what I mean by that. But Étienne gets up and pays for the pizza.

"Whoa!" I sing, like I'm at a party, "Pizza's here! Brrap! Brrap!"

We peel slices out of the box and eat, standing up—that's how hungry we were. Everything is calm and quiet and normal again.

I pop the soda cans open.

"You know Papa John's pizza?"

"Mm," Étienne stretches his cheese, after biting into his pizza.

"Every time I go there, the cheese—like the whole layer, falls right off," I laugh.

"That happened to me before," Étienne confesses.

"I just eat the cheese," I shrug.

"We should have gotten fries," he says.

"Fries aren't all that good," I say, staring at my toppings.

He takes a gulp from his can.

"At practice, coach was shouting and stuff and a fly got caught in his throat."

"Pff," I laugh.

"He was coughing for a good hour. I think he swallowed it, though."

"Eww," I shrink my face into a grimace.