colby brock imagines

the stars, the moon, and the constellations

Her fingertips were sweating, hovering over the keyboard of her phone debating what words would be the best ones to write down and hit send with. His words seemed like utter gibberish to the untrained eye but she was not untrained. She was well versed in the language of drunk Colby.

When her phone went off at 3 am, she knew it was because he was out of beer at some lame house party in downtown L.A. Maybe at one of his friends houses who invented more people that his house would allow so she pictured Colby sitting on the couch, squished up between Sam and maybe Corey or maybe Jake with dried beer on his pants and an empty cup in one hand, her name on his phone in the other.

Maybe the 'friend' hadn't supplied enough or maybe it was BYOB and Colby had let too many people mooch off of him like usual so now he was out for himself earlier than he wanted.

He wasn't texting her for her to bring him more and he wasn't texting her to complain. Instead, as his mind cleared up from the lack of alcohol clouding it, he texted her to tell her how pretty he was picturing her to look tucked under her comforter and nightstand lamp illuminating her face.

She liked drunk Colby and more importantly, the drunk texts that Colby would send to her. She thought too long and too hard about her responses, trying to get the best one out of him and she didn't have to worry about feeling embarrassed about it the next morning because there was a 50/50 shot that he wouldn't remember it anyway.

Sometimes he'd tell her that he missed her and wished that she was there, which she knew wasn't true but she let it be for a few moments, anyway. If she was there, she'd be stuffed in a corner somewhere with beads of sweat wetting her baby hairs that framed her face. Her eyes scanning the room for a mingling Colby, dancing from one person to another, wanting to see and talk to everyone.

Sometimes he would tell her that he wanted to come over when he left, crash on her side of the bed because it was furthest from the window and he didn't want to be woken up but he wanted to be woken up to her.

Sometimes he would even tell her that he was in love with her but that wasn't him that was the Captian.

Sometimes when it was really late at night and the entire world was sleeping except for the two of you and he let you sleep in his bed, put the fan in exactly the right way and let the music hum softly in the background, you'd believe him.

She asked him if he had a ride home and he said he rode his bike and she laughed to herself and he told her that maybe he'd call her and put her on speaker as he rode the three blocks to his apartment but she said no.

"Just text me in the morning," she said.

And he said, "okay."

"Drink lots of water and take an Advil," she said.

And he said, "okay."

Her fingers weren't sweating anymore and she locked her phone and went to bed because the faster she went to sleep, the faster he would be sober and she secretly hoped that he would invite her over to take care of him in the morning.

She woke up to a photo of a glass of water and Advil with a winky face attached to it and she sends a smiley face back.

He says: what r u doin later

She says: nothin

He says: come over ?

And she does. She puts her hair in sweet curls that frame her face and brings out the best of her well-worn highlights and she puts pink eyeshadow on her eyes and she makes her lashes look longer and she wears a dress, one that goes down just above her knees. She likes to look sweet and innocent for him. He likes that she looks sweet and innocent. Like maybe he could make her bad.