maybe if she had been called beautiful before with so much drive, she wouldn't have been so
stuck
on the one drunk boy from the street.
but he had meant it in such a way―
she was doomed right from the start.
༻❁༺
―on a girl with bad days, the first b...
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「 I 」 TWELVE.
everyone in the band was beyond high.
still, their music enchanted her.
it was a small show; she could count the people there on her fingers. smoke wafted through the air, and if she went home tonight, her parents would disown her even further due to the smell on her clothes.
she smelled like other people, like whiskey and marijuana and anything else, and it was absolutely perfect.
she tried to take in as much as she could. in front of her, the guitarist played in a much different manner than she'd seen with Morrison. beside her stood Morrison himself, the boy of the hour, who watched his friends play and turned down the blunt offered to him. behind her, the few people there swayed, some sitting on couches and some standing enthusiastically, everyone connecting through the odd chords playing through the hollow house.
the singer laughed as he stumbled over his words, and it was a golden sound, and there was no place she'd rather be and no one she'd rather be with.
she leaned over to Morrison, just a few little inches from his side, and mumbled, "i can't go home tonight."
and his next words engulfed her in perfect warmth. "you don't have to."
she was a complete goner.
"we'll figure something out, Marguerite."
she walked back to the couch and sat on the end, next to a boy with long hair, long enough to drape his shoulders. he lazily wrapped his arm around her and pulled her to him, and she accepted the affection contently, knowing he must've been fantastically high. he asked her if she wanted a hit. she said no thank you.
Morrison simply cast a glance back, saying nothing and remaining where he was. at least he wasn't jealous. she didn't want that. of course she didn't want that.
not at all.
she watched the rest of the set from the long-haired boy's embrace on the couch in the living room of a nice boy she'd only talked to once before, on entering the house, and even then Morrison had done most of the talking.
for the first time in a long time, she was purely, truly, unmistakably happy.
oh, what Morrison was doing to her.
after the set was finished, she complimented the band too politely, setting her apart from the others, but it must not have been too terrible because they thanked her and called her darling. asked her what her name was.
she said Presley by mistake.
but it didn't really feel like a mistake at all.
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