17 || Down Like the Titanic

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"I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars." -Og Mandino

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I LOST COUNT of the amount of things that have sagged up my butt this summer.

These shorts are blue with a faded purple at the top, and my shirt is the only modest thing about my outfit.

"I don't want to go all the way there!" exclaimed Elliot. It seems as though my parents have absolutely no track of time, and because of our family waking up at three P.M., we opted for a picnic. But someone (ahem, Aaron) hadn't showed up yet.

"Why not? He's your best friend," Terrence told Elliot.

Elliot sighed, "That may be true, but I'm not his babysitter. And I'm tired," he whined, rubbing his eyes. You shouldn't have been watching YouTube videos on your phone all night, then.

Elliot averted his gaze at me. "You go."

I scowled. "Why me?"

He gave me an 'are you kidding me?' look. "It's either you or Alissa"-he pointed at her, who's seated in the Wilson's car with her phone-"and I don't know what will happen if it's her." I mentally cringed at the idea of those two being alone, Alissa giggling at every fucking thing he says.

I rolled my eyes, "You're a pathetic excuse of a best friend."

He raised up both his arms in defense with a smile. "Guys don't do things the way girls do. If we went to the bathroom together in groups, that would be so gay."

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Should I just... poke him?

When I used my key card and entered the suite, I found Aaron sleeping on the sofa bed. That's fine, really, and I expected him to be.

But he's shirtless.

I don't know wether I should command him to get up, poke him, or just casually wake him up.

His hair is disheveled and his arms are toned, and I couldn't help but inspect him while he was sleeping. I just don't understand how a devil could sleep like an angel. He lets out a snore, and I muster up the courage to come close to him. I gently poke him on his shoulder, and a single touch gives me a warm feeling inside.

No! Bad Willa! No butterflies allowed.

I sigh and reluctantly hold him by his arm, preparing to shake him awake.

It's like I'm a hormonal teenager that can't even look at him without feeling warm inside or getting a few butterflies. But I'm not going to make a big deal out of tummy butterflies because... dead people, old people, and even furniture would get butterflies if they met this guy.

I slightly shake him, but all he does is groan. I shake him a little harder this time, and he removes his arm from my palm. Yep, I'm no longer hormonal.

I get up from the bed and get a hold of the covers, centering my gravity so I won't slip when I pull them. Three... Two... One... THUD.

"Ugh, why?" he asked after groaning, sitting up on the ground, rubbing his head and running a hand through his gloriously messy hair.

"Uh..." Come on, you're embarrasing yourself. "I think I should ask you the same thing," I said, putting a hand on my hip. "You were supposed to get ready for the picnic thirty minutes ago, but you're sleeping."

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