Envy

Thirty Five.

Thirty five.

February.

The flowers lay on the floor beside my bare feet, tickling my ankles, as I rest my elbows on the icy concrete edge of the roof, and stare out at my neighbourhood. Why does it not feel like home then? Why does this neighbourhood feel so odd to me, so distant, and so out of place?

“Where do you live?” I ask Louis, who stands beside me, smoking a cigarette. Him and Zayn are the reason I'm doubtlessly dying at the age of 50.

“Right there” he points at the building beside us. It stood tall and almost has the same architecture as the one we're standing on.

“We’re neighbours?” I chuckle, “coincidence”

“Innit?”

The dinner has been long gone and devoured and I have never been so full in my life. I think, it's thanks to Louis, that I felt full. Maybe it was my empty heart that's making me feel not so restless anymore, or maybe, it was really good food.

I feel a touch graze my hoodie clatted arm, and my legs shift closer to Louis, snuggling to him.

I'm not feeling cold, not like I used to at least – thanks to Zayn’s daily swim in the lake training – but I feast on any chance to fondle Louis’ warmth.

The smell of smoke and coffee chews me and I’m thankful for this silent moment of peace. We don't need words to keep us occupied. I'm just comfortable sitting here, nestled in his arms, as we watch the teenagers in our neighbourhood plot their plan for the night.

+

“I want to try something” Louis whispers so quietly that the sound is almost blocked by the howling of the wind. Ideas surge through my brain, but one stands out as a colourful paint on the wall, he wants to kiss me.

I have been waiting for this moment since I acknowledged my feelings for Louis, and he's finally going to feed my curiosity of how his roseate lips could feel against my own – probably blue – ones.

Subconsciously, my head moves upwards and downwards in a soft nod, allowing him permission to do whatever he came here to do.

I notice the rosy blush lurk on his edgy cheekbones and I twist my toes together at the sight of how adorable he looks.

In slow motion, as if we were in some kind of old black and white movie, Louis dips his head towards me, so slow, so damn slow. And I have an inkling to push him against the wall and just dine every part of him, but I remain leaning on my door frame, waiting for his lips to crash upon mine.

Painfully, his lips brush against my own, and I’m sure the blue has turned to red, and I want to endeavour on his lip already, but he continues teasing me, and I feel his coke-laced breath travel across my lips and into my nose.

I close my eyes, and his lips finally impact against my own, and my hands search for something to do, not remain at the side uselessly.

His lips scream at me, pushing some kind of spell into my brain, and I’m intoxicated suddenly. They’re so soft, so in place, and half my mind wants to compare it to Niall’s kiss, but I block it, because God I’m enjoying this a lot.

I feel his hand touch the doorframe beside my head and he presses against me in desperation, and I welcome his tongue into my mouth, and adore the domination. My leg – God we’re in a movie – flies upwards, and I twist my fingers around his long hair, pulling his face closer to mine, as if it wasn't crowded enough. I feel so happy, as if I'm about to fly on a big balloon, but I regrettably lapse back on the ground when Louis pulls away from me for a breath of air.

He smirks down at me, our foreheads touching, and if it wasn't for my longing for oxygen, I would have begged for another kiss.

“Thank God for my balls” he says and I burst out laughing at his face, and the crinkles form again at the side of his eyes. I'm making him happy by laughing; I’m making the handsome Louis Tomlinson happy.

Oh if he knew what he does to me?

+

You’re such stooge Marisol; you think love is going to fix anything?

The forest is dark, and the trees stand tall, mocking me, as if they're the ones sending out those dreadful whispers at me.

I don't even know why I try being here anymore. I try to fix you, but you always find a boy to fall back on. That’s not how we're supposed to do it you fool; we’re supposed to be independent and strong. Stop being a God damn lamb and become a fierce lion.

Eat them Marisol, eat them!

The voice screams, and it sounds different and familiar the same time. I flurry around myself, to ask, who is this, but I can't speak. My lips won't budge. I want to scream for help. But nothing is happening. I'm stuck in a whirl of nightmares and voices and fear rides me in every spot.

Stop being so afraid. We should never be afraid of our own shadow. We befriend our shadows, you imbecile.

A sigh moans around me.

If you don't stop laying your heart out for anyone and everyone, you're going to get hurt, and you will die Marisol.

You’ll die a painful death.

The faces of the familiar women appear instead of the tall standing trees and I want to cry. I thought it stopped. It’s supposed to stop!

A gun looms into my hands, and I want to throw it far away from me, but it’s glued into my palms and I almost throw up if my lips weren't sealed shut.

Kill them Marisol. Kill them.

A shot erupts from the gun against my will and I wheeze out a scream. The forest has disappeared and what surrounds me is the clattering sound of rain on the window, which drips through the pores and into the floor of my apartment.

It was a nightmare, oh God it was a nightmare.

I push myself off my bed and put a bucket under the window. It was just a nightmare.

It’s not a nightmare.

The voice startles me at the back of my head and a shriek leaves my mouth, and the bucket is thrown to the other side of the room.

“Get out of my head” I yell, and pull my knees to my chest, feeling the raindrops on my back, “get out…”

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