「 stray curls 」

xi.

「 II 」 ELEVEN.

her head was spinning far more than she could blame on the alcohol.

she had jolted up, but he was still s l u m p e d back, smiling sheepishly at his words.

unfamiliar eyes were trained on her. what did they want her to say? what was she supposed to say?

he spoke again. "how lucky is she? one here,"—he pointed to himself—"one out there somewhere. probably waiting on her." he looked at her, right in her eyes, and her stomach was dropping rollercoaster-style. "you should check in on him, Presley."

and that tone. she hated it. more than anything.

she stood up swiftly, grabbing his arm to pull him up with her. he was falling onto her shoulder, so the always-angelic Tyler stood up to help. "let's head upstairs," she murmured to him softly, trying to soothe him even though it was like trying to glue rubble together.

it was a sad sight, Marguerite and Tyler on each of Morrison's arms because he was so irreparably gone. he tripped over most of the stairs.

and as Tyler closed the door to leave, she told her to be careful with him, and were they all really that broken?

Morrison concentrated on sitting up as straight as he could, which wasn't much. he was curved over tragically. Marguerite watched him hesitantly, standing next to the door, more unsure than she'd been in a long time with him.

he looked at her, eyes dark with sorrow. "i'm not a fucking idiot, Presley."

"i never thought you were."

he laughed again. she hated how twisted his laugh had become. she wanted his glowing laugh, soft like his curls when they fell in front of his face to shield his vulnerable smile.

what had she done to him?

his head dropped as he took fistfuls of hair in between his own fingers, mumbling curses softly to himself.

he looked up at her once again through hooded eyes, saying quietly, "i wasn't supposed to care this much."

and her heart shouldn't have fluttered like it should, because he was admitting he didn't want to think so much of her, but he did, he did,

and it was all she could hear.

she didn't answer.

"i wasn't supposed to, shit, do any of this, and now i'm wasted because of that fucking boy i'm sharing you with, and none of it should matter because...why do you matter so much to me, anyway? so damn much."

she stepped closer to him, knowing he would never say any of this sober, and for once she had jack daniels to thank, malicious as he was, for letting her see just a little bit of the mind that c o n f u s e d her constantly.

her voice came out in rippling waves, shaking like crazy. "you're—you're not sharing me...w-with anyone. gosh, Morrison, can't you see that?" her throat was heavy. tears threatened to spill from full eyes. "can't you see that i'm y o u r s?"

but he only glared at her, sober enough to sit up steadily but still so far-gone. "shouldn't matter. it's...it's too much, Presley."

this broke her just a little more. "it? you mean me? i, who always have you on my mind to keep myself from losing it?"

"i'm sorry, Presley." he sighed, deeply deeply. "i'm...i'm just sorry. i'll take you home in the morning. if your parents aren't being maniacs. shit. why does that matter to me?"

"take me home and then what?"

the eye contact and his words s h a t t e r e d her completely. "i don't know, baby. it doesn't matter anymore. it just can't. i can't."

again, "i can't."