helpless (Lams)

But, Oh, Those Summer Nights

. . .

ALEXANDER HAMILTON

SATURDAY, JULY 2

I tossed and turned in Eliza's itchy sleeping bag, trying to find a spot that was actually comfortable. It was proving to be rather difficult though, with the hardwood floor and the wind howling right outside from the open window. My back ached like I'd broken it, and I could feel a crick starting to form in the crook of my neck. Ugh. This totally sucks, and the worst part was; Eliza wouldn't even let me crawl into bed with her for just one singular night. I turned my head to face her. She'd curled up into a ball on the bed, her satin blue sleep mask covering her eyes, and her breathing shallow and soft.

She's asleep. Finally.

I carefully rolled over and set my hands on the foot of the bed, pulling myself up. I laid my head on the pillow next to her, when suddenly, she yanked off her mask and uttered, "Don't make me hit you, Alex," in a low, almost ominous tone. I sighed as I sat up and tumbled onto the floor.

"You're mean," I whispered quietly enough that she hopefully couldn't hear.

"I heard that," she said, almost on beat. Goddamn, that woman hears everything.

After tossing and turning a bit more, and then finally getting fed up, I grabbed my pillow, stood up and walked out of the bedroom. I walked down the hall, downstairs, and into the living, dropping my pillow on the couch. I laid down and let out a sigh. I closed my eyes, and fell into a fitful sleep before I was awoken by the kitchen light turning on.

John walked into the kitchen, tired, running his hand through his hair. He sighed heavily and opened the cabinet, pulling down a coffee mug. I propped myself up on my elbow, craning my neck to watch what he was doing. Finally, I just stood up and walked over.

John yelped, and jumped. "Jesus, scared the shit outta me." He filled the mug with water, before sticking it in the microwave. "Whatcha doin' up?"

"Couldn't sleep," I said. "You?"

He grabbed a box of tea packets, and opened one before taking his coffee mug out of the microwave. "Neither could I. Want some tea?"

I made a face. "I'll pass."

"Alright," he chuckled.

There was a pause of awkwardness and the only sound was the clinking of John's spoon as he stirred his tea. I rubbed the back of my neck and shifted my weight, trying to think of something to do or say to make it less awkward.

"So, hey, I'm sorry for, like, calling you out earlier. At the beach. I didn't mean to embarrass you in front of Peggy or anything."

"You didn't," he mused. "More like I embarrassed you." I sighed through my nose and rubbed my temple. "Anyways, you look...agitated." He rested his hand on the top of my head. I felt my stomach sink as his soft hand made contact with my hair, making little rumples in my ponytail. "What's on your mind?"

"Eliza's been making me sleep on the floor," I complained. "And her sleeping bag is really, really itchy."

John chuckled and ruffled my hair. "You wanna room with me tonight?" he offered, his blue eyes gleaming.

"Nah, I'm fine here," I patted the arm of the couch, and sat down.

He rolled his eyes. "Come on, no homo, I promise." He pulled me up from the couch and snaked his arm around me, leading me up the stairs. He carefully turned the knob of his bedroom door. "Here we are," he said. He made it to the bed in two long, wide strides–power of those long ass legs, I'm telling you. Lucky bastard.