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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「 II 」 TWENTY.
it was the night before she left when they reached the closest they'd ever been.
Marguerite, as timid as she could be at times, was not unfamiliar with the art of skin on skin, ultimate vulnerability, and the completion of intimacy.
but she had never been so in love before.
so it felt like her first, and the deep reds that overtook her body and soul were unmatched, and
nothing had ever felt so perfect, and
nothing would ever be this perfect again.
his ever-wandering fingers reached
every last inch
of her trembling form,
and the surface of his fingertips had never been the smoothest because of so many passion-filled run-ins with lovely guitars, but she had also never minded, and that night was no different.
electric seconds turned into
candle-wax minutes, which became
hour after irreplaceable hour.
time didn't stand still for the two darkly-painted lovers, but that didn't stop either of them from taking every moment they could to allow
gazes to focus,
fingers to intertwine,
lips to connect,
bodies to tangle together
in the heat of the closing of the summer consumed by bright blue fire.
she could hear every tune he'd ever hummed, every song he'd ever played, every album he'd ever turned up on the radio of his black car, every set he'd ever taken her to his friends' basements to see.
it was the rediscovering of life-changing music, all culminating in one summer night.
and although there would be no dark-haired boy with a soft smile waiting for her on the east coast, she would be taking plenty of deep purple bruises with her, scattered across her neck, shoulders, hips and thighs, and he would remain where he was with light red scratches running down his back, and in time these marks would fade, and it was then that the summer would truly end.
but that would happen in time. for now, they would lie under his sheets together, a messy tangle of limbs, her spent body loosely covered by one of his favorite t-shirts, and she wouldn't ask him if she could keep it for fear of his response to such sentimentality, but she would "accidentally" keep it on until they were
no longer close enough
for her to return it, and she would hope he didn't mind too much.
she was deep red, bright blue, dark purple,
unmistakably his.
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