motionless selfishness

She's not an intruder, just an ousider, a foreigner. An outlandish southern girl.
I'd also say that, sometimes, she's an alien. Or maybe two aliens, but inside of one:

the alien #1 being the smart, cult and dirty cold woman;
the alien #2 being the stupid, trendy and shallow hot girl.

That's why she frowns when looking at my face sometimes. Because (she knows) I know what's true. I know that she's the one who's licked the truth but refused to swallow it. She just spat it out, as if it was too bitter for her to endure. And she's right — it is.

So I'm not gonna put up a fight for your friendship, dear C.

That would be pathetic, and I know I would end up losing it.

I'll stay here, much more quiescent than you could ever imagine. Is that ok for you?

R.