LOVETT SASSO // D3

I just be loving women. 

As a kid, it was kind of a thing already; I always loved looking at those dusty district one models. You know, the ones of Opal Shore sexily taking off her prosthetic leg and the capitol's sun is basically radiating off that toned skin. Or Cricket Antoinette - lord, I mean, come on, a sexy contortionist? There's so many positions and day dreams, and Saffron Lowe's got her whole MILF lewd going on recently. It really was a good three year period, I can't lie, those Victor View cover photos lining the markets, man. 

I can't even fucking imagine seeing them crowned in real time was like. 

So anyways, I would go around and steal those vintage magazines from the corner record store. They would always have those copies sitting in plastic film and being a little girl, I couldn't tell if I wanted to be them or be with them -- if I'm being honest, I still don't really know! I can't move my body anywhere near what Cricket Antoinette can, but damn, if I could you'd have no idea what I'd get up to.

All I know is that they're really hot, and I'm a solid pretty hot. It's a weird thing that comes along with the fascination of beauty, if you're not Cricket Antoinette than you're not good enough. You either win or you're nothing, and I'd remind myself that as I'd stuff the vintage catalogue in my fanny strap. I grew up idolizing the whole model strut, making my own walks out of olefin red bathroom rugs, and I would force my mom to hold the camera. Just some cheap polaroid I got myself through summer job change. 

"C'mon mom, angle it higher! Show off my cheekbones," 

"I'm doing that, Lovett."

"Well, I dunno-

do it better, I guess!"

Lovett Sasso, supermodel of Panem and all that, I used to brag all the time. Make jewelry out of paper and I would put pink paint on grocery store bags, slap a little SC -- that's a Sardonyx Crowe clutch, baby! I remember my first pair of falsies I hot glued them bitches to my eye lids and, hmm, not my greatest decision. I would have looked fierce if it weren't for the fact that I couldn't open my left eye for a week, but that's just the pains of beauty and all that bullshit. 

I gave up on it all a while back. Truth be told, I kinda miss it, just because I at least knew what was going on- had something I wanted to be. Don't get me wrong, I would still fuck Opal Shore if I ever got the chance, but the more I hold onto my own jobs the more I mature. The more I realize pipe dreams are just that, but I have my own apartment -- that's a step in the right direction. We don't really know what we're doing - Jamie and I - but hell, at least it's fucking fun! 

And we look damn good doing it. 
 
"It" being eating 99 cent ramen and getting $4 press on nails at three a.m.. 

But you know, that's just what girls do? 

Okay, so, Jamie. That whole ordeal, we got matching promise rings from the clearance section of Rebecca's out at the outlet mall. Real high class, sophisticated type of love, you know? He's the Adam to my Eve, the Mace to my Saffron; I couldn't picture anybody else by my side as I sleep, stroking the soft strands of my chin beard. Sucking the spinach off his canine tooth, sharing a bathroom in a two bedroom apartment -- I can't help but dream of him as he slept on the couch back when we only had one twin bed. 

This is all bullshit by the way, I don't think he's ever slept next to a woman, but he's cute! I gotta admit, but we're just good fucking friends. Between the two of us, it's all a sexy hoax, but like, in little cute brown booties y'know? If our marriage was a woman, she'd be - hmm - Jacinta Salazar, in lingerie, but if she had a snaggletooth. 

It's sexy and fun, and it looks good in photos! But the second either of our mouths open, you just fucking know. 

It falls apart the second one of our families ask, but that's why we don't talk to our parents! That, and also the mommy issues, but we don't have to talk about that. Jamie needed a wife for his own problems - the whole marry for honor type of deal, I tried to understand it, but I respect him for it completely. I mean, he's my husband, but he's my best friend! But in a gay way, he's my platonic husband. 

People are keen to believe that, yet they'll see me with my tongue in Becky's mouth from down the block and we're just good friends. The fucking audacity- I was actually offended when Jamie's parents believed I was straight. I told him that too! Leather jacket tied around my waist - we lied and said it was his, but that boy wears cuffed jeans and button ups, let's be real here. I closed the apartment door behind me and pulled my hair out of the bun, handing him the hair tie, "Jamie," dejection in my voice. 

"Do... do I look straight to you?"

"yeah,"

"Oh, shut up."

In all honesty, being married to him has been pretty good! I've just been in it for the tax benefits, and it's nice actually having an excuse to steal his shirts because the men's section just has better sweatshirts. It's been a good - very strange, but good - year. 

And you know, eventually I'll find a girl to marry after I retire from the peacekeepers or whatever I wind up doing for cash, and I'll have a lot of dating experience from this. Which should probably be a good thing, I mean, I would sure hope you'd learn a thing or two from being married. Jamie and I met at that record shop, and every so often I pop back in there hoping I'd find a girl like him in there. 

If I just keep going back enough, the universe will just spit me out that perfect girl and she'll look like Opal Shore, but without the kid. Or hell, maybe with the kid. I mean, I'll be married when I meet her, I can't really judge any? 

That's a total dick move, really. 

And I'm sure Jamie'll understand that we just aren't meant for one another. 

Because we are both disasterfully gay. 

Very, very gay. 

But I love my gay husband!