Friday, June 8th, 2012
Dear Diary,
If I had to count the amount of times that Jesse has said “I love you,” too me, and receive a pound for it, I would probably have a million pounds. If I had to receive a pound for every time he’s said it and meant it, then I probably wouldn’t have any. One, if I’m lucky. But then, it would be because he meant it as a friend.
Today, while we were hanging out (me, Nate, and Jesse) he was rating girls with Nate, leaving me to “study in peace”. I didn’t even have anything to study! Arrogant twat, he is so annoying!
Morgan-Willow DeLaurentis –ox
Wednesday, June 15th, 2012
Dear Diary,
Jesse bought me chocolates today. Sweet right? Well, it would have been if he hadn’t gotten them purely for the fact that he was using it to suck up for the fact that he left me in town for three and a half hours in the pouring rain. Since when did I pick friends that were always late, a pain in the ass, and so unreliable? Oh, wait, I didn’t. He couldn’t read. The playboy. I would have happily passed him in the corridors at college and not cared about him.
But that’s the problem, diary! I do care about him. I care about the fact that he nearly died. Twice! Just in the last six months. I care about the fact that he’s so stupid, he can’t even remember to turn the plugs off after him, and I have to do it for him. I care about the fact that when we wake up in the morning next to each other he smiles, like he genuinely likes waking up next to me, and I care about the fact that he is – although annoying as he is – my best friend.
I care about him.
I love him.
Morgan-Willow DeLaurentis –ox
Tuesday, July 3rd, 2012
Dear Diary,
I went to my father’s grave today. Jesse came with me, held my hand, and wiped my tears. I had sat on the ground by my father’s grave—hugging it—and eventually I must have fallen asleep because he picked me up princess style and carried me back to the car and drove me home. Sweet, I know.
Morgan-Willow DeLaurentis –ox
***
Tuesday, July 17th, 2012
=Jesse Jackson=
“What are you doing?”
I pushed a magazine over the cover of Morgan’s diary and turned around quickly. “Nothing,” I replied, my heart beating fast.
“What were you doing?” Morgan replied panicked, quickly pushing me out of the way. She saw that the magazines were on top and suspected I hadn’t seen them. Good. I didn’t want her knowing that I looked at her diary. I didn’t mean to. I mean, curiosity did kill the cat after all. I couldn’t help looking. I shouldn’t have, but once an idea is planned in your head and you want to know the final result, wouldn’t you have read it too? Luckily, Morgan thought I hadn’t noticed the diary. Good. Cats are supposed to have nine lives, aren’t they?
Morgan turned to me with a raised eyebrow, her dark brown hair sticking to her face because of the rain. (She’d just come back from the shop.) “Well?”
“I was reading… ‘Scarlet. The model that’s fatter than a house.’ Yeah, you know. The Hot Heat magazine or whatever.”
“Heat.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Oh,” Morgan breathed out a sigh of relief. “That’s OK then.”
Clearing my throat, I looked away. I didn’t like lying to Morgan. OK, now I felt guilty about reading the diary. (But Bitch, please, most of it was horrible stuff about me anyway) Still, it was insightful. Then I noticed the time on the wall. 3.47. Morgan had left at 3.25 to get milk from the shop five buildings up. How had it taken her twenty-two minutes? It shouldn’t have. I turned back to Morgan. “So, what took you so long?”
“Why?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Miss me?”
“Millions.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.” I replied, chuckling. Then something in the back of my throat tightened and I frowned. I was flirting with Morgan, still, even though I’d read in her diary that she liked me. Was I leading her on? Was she just my best friend (because she was my best friend, too) or did I like her like her like that? See, this is why you hump them and dump them, so things don’t get messy. Really, my logic is saving everyone bother of getting hurt, but Morgan’s stuck around, I’ve stuck around and I enjoy her company. Plus, she’s hot, has met my parents and they’ve liked her, and she’s the only girl to sleep in my bed for a long period of time. (For more than three hours).
Ugh, too much thinking.
“I got a phone call,” Morgan said automatically, as if worried that I was frowning/cross about the fact that I she hadn’t told me. “We’ve been invited out.”
“We? Where?” I didn’t realise we had that many mutual friends that wanted us both to hang around with them…
“Your Aunts wedding. Your mom rang.”
“Great.” Why couldn’t my mother have called me? Jesus, that’s, like, what mom’s do when their children are married and incapable of remembering things, they tell their spouses. I bet people are betting on us getting married. My mother already treats us like a married couple. Oh give over it, Jesse. She means she loves you as a friend, and you love her, because obviously you’re best friends. You do not have feelings for her. You do not have feelings for each other. “When?”
“August Second.”
“Do I have to go?” I whined. “I hate weddings. They are so soppy and—”
“Romantic?” Morgan interjected, not looking impressed at my whining.
“I was going to say soppy,” I admitted.
“You already said it.”
“I wanted to emphasize it.”
“Please go,” Morgan pleaded, moving away from the magazines to take her jacket off. “I love weddings.”
“Take N—” I was about to say Nate’s name, but taking Nate to a wedding where there was going to be slow dancing and opportunities in the romantic setting to lay out some ground work, I don’t think so. “I mean—uh—w-why do you want to go so bad?”
“I love weddings.”
“Really?”
The hope in her face ,the way her eyes were sparkling, the way she was biting down on her lip was so darn adorable. I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I said in a bored tone. “I’ll go with you.”
Morgan jumped on me, and I smelt strawberry shampoo. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Thursday, August 2nd, 2012
“Who the hell,” I had complained last night, “has a wedding on a Thursday in the middle of the year.”
“Obviously, your aunt. Now stop complaining.” Morgan had replied down the phone in a tired tone. “Do you have your suit laid out? Have you charged your phone? Don’t forget money for petrol, the address, and bring some food to eat in the car. It’s a two hour drive. You might get hungry.”
“OK!”
“Get some sleep. I want you up before I get to your house.”
“I will,” I had promised, but of course, I stayed up half the night playing Black Ops online with some American and someone who couldn’t even speak English. Now, my alarm was buzzing and my mother’s voice was carrying up the stairs and all I wanted was a few more minutes sleep.
Ten minutes later
“Jesse!” Morgan’s voice jolted me awake from a dream. I looked around my bed, sitting up, to find it empty. It’s not like I expected a woman to be in there, but I’d dreamt, in the last ten minutes, that Morgan had come upstairs and jumped into bed, stroking my cheeks to try and get me to wake up. I had kissed her forehead and turned around. Shame, kind of wish that was true now. “You’re going to make us late!”
Signing, I got up, pulling a dressing gown over my naked body. Well, almost, I slept in boxers. (If there was ever a fire, I didn’t want to be woken up and have to run outside, cupping my pride and joy in my hands, because let’s face it, people would still be able to see.) “Coming!” I shouted back down the stairs. Quickly running into my bathroom, I turned the shower on, grabbing a towel. Within seconds, the water was warm enough and I clambered in, only to climb out two minutes and fifteen seconds later because I was done.
Then I dried myself and put on my suit, leaving my hair to its own accord. It’ll sort itself out.
As I walked down the stairs with my wallet and phone in my pockets, I noticed Morgan was at the bottom, hands on her hips.
“Come on, I tried getting you up earlier.” She moaned, ushering me to hurry down with her hand.
“When?”
“When I went into your room, as soon as I arrived, ten minutes ago.” Oh, maybe it wasn’t a dream then? Cute. “We’re going to be late, since you took so long to get ready.”
“Oh, I know,” I replied, rolling my eyes as I trotted down the stairs slowly. “The bus broke down and it was so hard getting—”
“Jesse, you’ve come from your bedroom on the second floor,” Morgan deadpanned and I rolled my eyes. “Seriously.”
“You know, you’re just like my mother, moaning all the time—”
“I can hear you!” a distant voice replied from kitchen.
“Sorry,” I grimaced.
Morgan looked at her clock, and I looked at her worried expression. She really wanted to make a first impression, because she’d done her hair, bought a new dress, and but the looks of it, lost a couple of pounds. (Not that she needed to, she was beautiful anyway.) Really, the emerald dress that touched the floor really suited her. Especially with her hair in curls. It hugged the right places and didn’t make her look like she was trying too hard.
“Come on, then,” I said putting my hand on the small of her back. “Let’s go.”
I guided her out of the house, knowing that my parents were going to leave soon as well to meet us there and guided her to my new, silver, BMW. It was a gift. My dad decided to get me a more expensive car since I was driving the ugly thing (it’s not worthy of a name) after my accident, so I would be extra cautious in it. Morgan loved it. She didn’t shut up about it.
“Morgan?”
I stopped, and after taking another step, Morgan stopped after hearing her name. I dropped my arm, as it was now hovering in the air. “Yes?”
The wind blew and I smelt her strawberry shampoo again. I smiled, breathing in discreetly.
“Jesse?”
I looked at her lips, which were pursed in a straight line. I realised I was annoying her right now by not saying anything, but I was just savouring the moment. She looked gorgeous, standing in front of my expensive car, with a slight breeze combing her hair. I didn’t’ need a one night stand, when I could spend all my time looking at someone who already makes me feel alive, and not lonely. Who won’t crush me, and who hasn’t really made my life messy, but funny.
“H-How about you drive?” I stuttered, realising I was staring at her.
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
Morgan leapt towards me, ready to wind her arms around my neck and hug me, but I was distracted by her lips, and moved a little to the right. My lips made contact with hers and I kissed her, only gently, for a few seconds before she pulled away slowly, the features of her face turned into a confused frown.
In order to cover up my nerves, I smirked and winked at her.
Oh, fuck. Have I fallen in love with Morgan? Oh, how cliché.
Remember, 5,000 reads on The Meaning Games for an update of this. Sorry I've had to resort to this, but I want people read my book. It's a better deal than making this private so only fans can read these (although I've been thinking about it)... 10,000 on The Meaning Games and I'll finish this story.