1972

17. Baby Don't Get Hooked on Me

<A/N>I write pretty good for a dead bitch...SHES ALIVE. I'm so sorry I have been so busy but I think about you all the time and I miss making content so I will try harder especially with winter break expect more more more. ;)


Baby Don't Get Hooked on Me- Mac Davis

It had been three days since you'd seen Flip, or since Flip had seen you. You'd seen him yesterday as he very solemnly walked out of your building, unbeknownst to him. He'd come by to see you and spent three minutes knocking on your door before Rosemary came out in the hall to tell him to leave. Telling him in sweet words with an anger dripping tone. You'd listened in on her not-so-quiet advice.

"Flip, just give her some time. She'll come around when she's ready."

"But what if she doesn't- what if she won't." His stammering was evident, he'd sounded flustered and exhausted. 

"Then you're going to have to deal with that," She let her words linger a moment before she tacked on, "but trust me she will." Rosemary was right you would come around but you just wanted some time, some space. She'd been your first stop the night you got back. Bag in hand, bloodshot eyes stinging with tears you'd knocked on her door letting your body collapse into her outstretched arms. Your body was wracked with sobs as you tried through labored breath to explain the fight you'd had. Her hands cradled your head on her lap as she pushed the baby hairs around your forehead back as you calmly recounted the details of your trip and the fight that had tainted it all. Your voice slowly rose with anger the longer you spoke until eventually, your melancholy shifted into outrage. The ringing sounds in your head,

"Where did he get off?"

But hearing his voice filled with doubt as he spoke to her, he sounded so broken and scared made you want to crawl out of your skin. Wanting nothing more than to swing the door open and let him scoop you up, to kiss his face all over and let the whole thing go without another word spoken. But your feet overpowered your heart and willed themselves to remain still inside your dorm. You couldn't resist the urge, however, to pull the curtain back and watch him walk out of your building and across the campus in the direction of his dorm. Even when you'd been hurt you couldn't deny the desire brewing in you when you watched him walk. You missed the feeling of his hand in yours, the way his chest rose and fell under your ear as he held you those late nights and early mornings wrapped up together in your small bed. Every part of you ached but the worst part of it all was that it was either for him or because of him.

Waking up today you'd felt a little extra weight on your chest as you started getting ready. You had history today, class was back after Thanksgiving break and this was the class you'd shared with Flip. There would be no avoiding him anymore. You stared at yourself a moment longer in the mirror smoothing out the corduroy skirt over your hips. You put a little more thought than usual into your outfit today, paying more mind as you applied your mascara, probably sprayed a little too much hairspray, and added a sweet perfume before leaving your dorm.

Stepping into the cool autumn air you let the chill wash over you, the cool sting of the morning biting through your tights. You'd isolated yourself in your room the fresh air was welcomed by your dulled senses. You'd spent the last few days reading the book about the Civil War your dad had given you on your visit, listening to your favorite albums, and thinking endlessly about Flip. Walking into the red brick building the warmth of the heater combined with the noise of chatting staff and students wrapped around you. Your shoes pattered on the tile as you walked through the semi-crowded halls trying to make it look casual as you scanned for your lumberjack boyfriend. The thought of his close proximity causing bubbles in your belly. You'd walked into class without incident taking a deep breath seeing his empty desk. The rest of the class filtered in and you stood looking at his desk, it looked so open so empty without his massive frame to fill the space. You'd seen your professor walk in but the lack of his throat clearing to grab your classmate's attention allowed you to stand there in your trance a moment too long. You'd smelt the woods and ember behind you and before he even had a moment to say anything you knew you'd been caught. He was there looking at you as your eyes longingly watched his bare desk.