friday, march 6, 2015
twenty six •
my face smashes into the first pillow i lay eyes on, a long sigh erupting from my agape lips, and my phone vibrating animatedly in my pocket. i groan, tugging the metal from the hole of my skinny jeans, and allowing my eyes to squint at the screen.
i furrow my eye brows at the simple tweet, reading over whitney's words kind words, before unlocking my phone, and opening messages. i hadn't seen the message till now, but my lovely boyfriend texted me.
michael: babe, where are you at?
me: sorry for a late reply :/
me: i could go for some food, what do you say?
michael: why don't you go ask whitney, you know, since your 'the best person in the world'
me: bc i want to be with you rn.
michael: and maybe i want to be with my cousin rn.
me: cmon babe. don't be like this :(
michael: i dont feel like eating. ill talk to you later.
i groan, locking my phone angrily, and trudging up the stairs. the clock reads seven, and i have yet to eat anything more substantial than a few fries from wendy's, but i no longer have an appetite. knowing michael''s upset, and i can't do anything but give him space causes knots in my stomach.
yet, in a way the boy is over exaggerating. there is no reason for the boy to be jealous, for whitney and i didn't do anything other then talk.
i de-cloth myself, freeing my body from the god awfully tight skinny jeans, and falling exhausted on to my bed. i bury myself under the covers, allowing my thoughts to drift to the upset boy, and how i have unhealthy amount of sleeping hours.
+++
michael: clam
michael: me baaaby clum clum
michael: i newd ypi
michael: shot
michael: i coils gi fur anoder onr of thosse
me: are you drunk?
michael: nnnnnnooooopppppe
me: im coming to get you
me: where are you?
michael: your asshile
michael: calum, it's ashton. we're at shane's house.
me: thanks.
I sigh, climbing from my suffocating sheets, and turn on my bed side lamp. I slip on a pair of gray sweatpants, and a soccer sweatshirt, pulling on my favorite pair of running shoes. I groan as I see my alarm clock reading 3:03 in the morning, but leave my bedroom anyway. the floors creak, and squeal underneath my heavy steps, but I don't care. if my parents awaken I'll just explain that I'm being the night and shining armor that michael needs me to be.
+++
"michael, why did you drink so much?" i grunt, sitting him on the bed, and undressing him.
"i can't see them this way, calum." he explains calmly, raising his arms in order to rid his body of the drowning shirt he dressed himself in.
"what're you talking about?" i watch in confusion as he slides under his comforter.
"my mind is quiet. i don't see them anymore."
"see who? who the hell are you talking about michael?"
"goodnight calum." he giggles, his eyes closing, and his breathing steady - a sure sign of the boys tiredness.
what the fück?
+++
ah
soon le darlings
love you all - meagan