Assonance

Solicitous

Solicitous
/səˈlɪsɪtəs/
adjective
characterized by or showing interest or concern.
archaic
eager or anxious to do something.

⥂♫⥃

"My demons, are begging me to open up my mouth
I need them, mechanically make the words come out"
-Hold Me Down, Halsey

⥂♫⥃

dedicated to  istolethecookiez , SHES AMAZING

⥂♫⥃

I WRUNG MY HANDS for the umpteenth time in the past few hours as I pace back and forth in my room. A simple conversation - no - confession shouldn't have the capability of making me this nervous. I control my mind and body, I tell myself. However, this doesn't stop my legs from feeling numb and my heart from racing as I think of how this could change everything.

Nate.

Even thinking of him made my heart skip a beat, then resumed its fast pace as I dug my fingers through my hair. It seemed the feelings had grown, mutated, into plaguing and torturing my mind and heart even when he wasn't around.

I shake my head at myself as I plop down on my bed, feeling my back sink slowly into the mattress. The party is in full blast downstairs, evident by the thumping music (which is doing nothing to calm my nerves) and the whispers of conversations that slip through the walls into my room. I thought throwing this party would provide a suitable backup plan. If the confession goes wrong, blame it on the alcohol, right?

No.

I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes, feeling nervous tears brim at the edge. My face became clammy, as if I was breaking into a cold sweat. Knowing me, I probably was.

Just my luck.

The music continued to vibrate through the floor, making me dizzy. I should have known this party was a bad idea. This whole thing was a bad idea. But I didn't know how much longer I could feign being normal every time I even got relatively close to him, looked him in the eye, hugged him goodbye. Which was often, considering we  shared the majority of our classes together.

I had done my hair for once, besides throwing it in a sloppy ponytail or leaving it down barely brushed. It had been curled from leaving the dark brown strands in braids throughout the day, now falling in waves behind my back. I didn't bother too much with an outfit, sticking to a navy skirt and black tank top. It was slightly girlier than my usual tee and shorts combo that I had grown accustomed to. I didn't wear any patterns, deciding it would be too risky.

Ha. Risky. As if this confession isn't.

Then again, when is confessing romantic feelings to your best friend not risky?

  ~*~ 

It had started a few months ago during summer, one of the typical days when we sat in the park. I had been working ( read: attempting ) to do my SAT practice booklets as Nate was training for football. I had been teasing him of his newfound sport, considering he was the clumsiest person I knew. Ever since the fifth grade when he tripped over the same step (the exact same goddamn step) at the entrance to school for a week straight, I considered him clumsy. It started as a joke, but eventually when the week passed and there were more clumsy accidents from Nate, it was safe to say he was not agile.

However, he seemed to have picked up a new essence of gracefulness as he bounced the ball on his knees, before kicking it high and jumping to make a shot toward the goal. He landed on the floor sideways, watching it soar straight into the middle, hitting the net with force.