I Really Fucking Hate Mondays

Teary eyed and shut down, I walk the rainy streets alone like the fuckface I am.
The tears are unintentional, without a doubt, but that's what happens when you catch your girlfriend on some other guy's dick.
I guess.
Fuck it, moving on.

“Hey baby, ya' lookin' for a good time?”

Hookers.
Jesus Christ, how I can't stand them.
They disgust me.
But to be honest I'm disgusted by everything I don't understand.

“Whatever.” I grunt, stuffing my earphones in and turning up the volume.

I really fucking hate Mondays.

The funny thing is that I'm actually more pissed about my morning coffee being cold, than I am at Trisha for screwing somebody else.

I light a cigarette and seek towards a bus stop.
Wet cigarettes doesn't really work, you know.

I flip off a random by passer, who can barely keep her eyes from rolling out of her head.
I hate people.
I really fucking hate people.

I hate a lot of things, and I keep on adding more to the list.
Do I have a reason?
No.
Do I give a shit about other people's opinions on the matter?
Like Hell.

“Hey,” an old man yells, loud enough for me to hear it over the music blaring in my ears. “you're not supposed to smoke here!”

I roll my eyes, taking another puff just to annoy him.

That's one thing I like.
I like pissing people off.
Like, really pushing their buttons.

Suddenly it's no wonder that Trisha the Tramp cheated on me.
I'm a fucking asshole!

“What are you going to do about it?” I grunt, flicking off the burned ashes.
“Let me tell you something, punk..”

I turn the volume further up, giggling like a little kid on the inside.
He looks hilarious when he's muted.
God, I'm never getting tired of this.
Old men throwing fits without sound, it's great entertainment, you should try it if your life ever becomes boring as shit.

A text message ticks in, making my music subside for just long enough for me to hear something along the lines of: “..little freaks ruining our society..”

Add that to the list as well.
Fucking texts.

Kayla: Hey Ricky, I need some help moving into the new house, can I count on you?

Do you even know me?
I shake my head, smirking as I type out the very simple reply.

Ricky: No.

Let's just add sisters to the list while we're at it.
I don't genuinely hate her.
She's just annoying as fuck.

My apartment smells like cigarettes and coffee, with a hint of cat pis, because I forgot to empty Rad's litter box this morning.
That damn cat.

No, we're not adding cats to the list.
Cats are like me; they don't give a fuck.
If I could eat, sleep and shit all day without a care in the world, I would.

“Hey buddy.” I shout, earning a drowsy 'fuck-you-for-waking-me'-ish meow from somewhere.

I kick off my shoes and throw myself on the couch.
The ceiling has a huge crack in it.
I can't count how many times I've intensely stared at it, coming up with weird explanations to how it might've gotten there.
I have no clue, it's always been here.

All air is suddenly forced out of me.

“What the.. Get your fat ass out of my face, cat!” I growl, earning nothing but kneading on my stomach.

Very well then.

I might feed him a little too much a little too often, but who cares?
He's old, probably making the great escape soon anyway, might as well let him live the good life while he's still here.

I groan and dig into my pocket as I feel my phone vibrating.

Kayla: Dickhead.

I chuckle lightly, dumping the little device on the coffee-table without answering.

“Dude,” I mutter, gently swatting Rad down. “you have to leave!”

He let's out a displeased meow, staring at me with his yellow eyes.

“Don't give me any shit, I've had a bad day!” I huff, pushing him out of the living room with my foot and closing the door.

I sit back down and turn on my laptop, wincing as music instantly starts blaring out of my speakers.

“Fucking shit!” I growl, clicking pause on the music-player.

My ears are ringing and I shake my head.

Karma. That's what it is.

Trisha's smiling face lights up on my screen, providing a heartbreaking reminder of what I walked in on a few hours ago.

“Bitch.”

I'm barely alive as I jump into my car.

“Fucking sun,” I scoff, shielding my eyes. “blinding people and shit.”

It's way too early, and I'm already blood boiling grumpy.

“Good, you're here.” Chris sighs, handing me a stack of papers.
“Obviously. What's this?”
“The resumé of the tour meeting you decided not to attend.”
“Oh, that,” I mutter, scratching the back of my head. “yeah, I kind of forgot.”
“I called you three times, dude.”
“Sorry,” I shrug. “I must've been busy.”

He shakes his head.

Chris.
He's usually cool with me fucking around, doing my own thing.
Not today.
Nope.

I send him a glare.

“Oh, and by the way, since you made the last merch-girl quit, we have tons on applications to look through today.”

Still stuck on that, huh, Chris?
Jesus Christ he knows how to hold a grudge!

“Fine,” I shrug. “get us a pretty one this time then!”

It was not like I purposely made her fuck off.
Well, yes, kind of, maybe!
But I didn't expect her to crack that fast.
It was just a little loving mockery.
And a shit ton of straight-up bullying.

I snigger quietly.

“It's sad that she left,” I chuckle. “she was so much fun!”
“You're a dick, do you know that?”

He cocks an eyebrow at me.

“Of course I do.”

“Aw, she looks cute!” Josh coos, picking up an application from the table. “Vicky Truce.”
“She looks like she's been dragged backwards through a hedge,” I grunt. “trash it!”
“It's not about their fucking looks, Ricky,” Chris growls. “it's about their capabilities.”
“She doesn't look like she's capable of much else than doing drugs and sucking dicks.”

I stroke my chin.

“Actually that doesn't sound too bad.”
“Shut the fuck up, Rick!”

Achievement unlocked: Pissed Chris off before midday!

I drum on the table with my fingertips, smirking at him.

“Don't I know you from somewhere?”

I look up at the cashier, eyebrow lifted.

“I highly doubt it.” I scoff.
“No need to be rude,” she grunts, running a hand through her pastel purple hair. “what can I get you?”
“A bottle of Zaya.”
“What,” she chuckles as she steps onto a box to reach the shelf. “too good for good ol' Captain Morgan?”
“Too good for your bitchy attitude.”

She cocks an eyebrow at me.

“I don't like being rejected.”
“Too bad babygirl,” I giggle. “you're not my type.”

She puts the flask on the counter, scanning the barcode.

I have this irresistible urge to torment her, just to see how far I can go, before she'll case me out of the store.

“Don't look so sad,” I coo. “there are a lot of guys who are into skinny asses.”
“Excuse me?”

I put my hands up in defense.

“I'm just saying, sweetie, you should do some squats or something, get that tiny tush inflated!”
“Thank you.” she whispers. “That'll be 80 bucks.”
“Aw, did I hurt your feelings?” I chuckle.
“Just pay and leave, please?”
“Come on, babygirl, don't tell me that you're going to cry!”

Her hand darts through the air, hitting my cheek dead on.

I hiss at the sting, listening to the echo of the slap.