Laced » Lip Gallagher [3]

3: teenage nightmare

"We'll never be just friends..."

-

I was hungover.

The taste in my mouth was dry and arid, while my head throbbed viciously. The bones underneath my skin ached, and I could feel my stomach quake when my mind went too far.

I felt like I was on a downward spiral while my feet were firmly planted to the ground. The room around me spun with anxious thoughts dripping from my ears, and an overbeating heart vibrated off the walls.

I felt hungover, and I didn't have a single drop to justify my actions. I wasn't even high.

Seeing Lip last night was like a snort of something dangerous. It was more than enough to fuel familiar feelings that were as toxic for me as they were for him. They were the familiar feelings that resembled a teenage dream. The teenage dream of a boy who loved a girl, even when the girl didn't love herself. Except in this dream, the girl was mentally crazy, and the boy was an addicted asshole. The two were filled with such complications that it corrupted the air around them, to the point where others couldn't even bear them.

Our teenage dream was a nightmare.

But it still felt serene in the depths of my heart.

Our nightmare softened parts of me that were solidified with neglect and despair. Despite the darkness that I surrounded myself in, my thoughts of Lip provided light that I spent so long running from.

He saw me for who I was, making me feel visible. And that's why I ran.

Watching the addicted asshole dance with Sierra made me feel uneasy. The high that I was on turned into a bad trip, just like the one where Bobby left me stranded on the north side without a jacket. It was Lip's smile that was directed towards me that really had my mind on edge. I was angry, with pure annoyance buzzing off my presence and pissing off Andie. But despite the ugliness of it all, a sick part of me enjoyed the adrenaline it sparked. It's like that one notion – the tip of his smile – sparked something in me that felt thrilling. He was giving me a challenge, knowing that I wouldn't be able to resist.

I was just as addicted as he was.

But I could still hear his words floating around in my mind. No games meant just that. We had to remember that we weren't 16-year-old little brats with green-eyed monsters and rage-filled veins. There wasn't a Karen Jackson or Bobby Warren to stir the pot, and we were old enough to own up to our mistakes. We were supposed to be better than this.

If he said no games, then what was his angle with Sierra?

"So, let me get this straight," Kev drew out his words slowly before continuing, "You tried hooking up with some dude last night, you told him to come over, he then proceeded to put his tongue in your ear, and then threw up on your shoes?"