Young and Beautiful

Pillow Fight?

We both woke up late that morning, trapped in our duvet. We had somehow managed to tuck both our entire bodies underneath and even into the covers. How and why we probably don't want to know. Once unravelled from our bed den, Tom got up to go and make tea. His hair was growing now and as he left, I couldn't help but smile at two curls growing and springing upwards at the back of his head.

After I'd fully woken up and we were both ready to seize the day, (ie. dressed), I decided to try and be a better girlfriend and 'help' my perfect man learn his lines. We went outside into the garden as we had spent too much time cooped up in the house lately. The summer breeze was nice and relaxing as it blew through my matted hair and even moved Tom's hair slightly too. Scripts in hand, we started the painful process of learning lines. I say painful because unless we're both in the mood and hyped up about his scripts, we're literally the worst and most boring people to be around. Luckily today felt chilled and relaxed and I was sure I wouldn't start throwing a tantrum anytime soon.

Two hours later and we were still reading his script. I found it absolutely fascinating! The fact that these stories have sometimes been based on real lives and the idea that thsee few hundred pages could  change the atmosphere of a whole room, change people's views and opinions on the littlest of things like music. These scripts are real life, and they have a power that most people can't even begin to imagine. And someone, somewhere in the world has trusted my man to take on these characters and these people and influence audiences more...this is why I could never take Drama at school.

Tom on the other hand was different. He saw these people as blank canvases, and he the artist. He was in control of their lives, stories and thoughts. He knew each character inside and out by the end of each 'project'. If you asked for an essay on his character in less 3000 words he'd give it to you, as well as so much more. So why then was he being so...down?

As he spoke each line, his energy dropped and I felt worried. He was leant against the wall and I walked over to him, a sympathetic smile on face. I placed my hand on his knee and started drawing tiny circled patterns onto it. He smiled, then grinned, and then flinched. I'd always known he was ticklish. It was just finding out where that had been the problem. By the end of it, his hand had ended up on my knee and I was the one who was flinching.

"I want to play a game." I said, my voice was projected and loud and it instantly caught his attention.

At first he scoffed, but being the curious man he is, he later started giggling and turned around to face me. "What are we playing?"

Within thirty minutes, our house looked like a bomb sight. Cushions and shirts and slippers were thrown across the floor. Books and DVDs had been pushed away from the center of the floor so as not to get damaged. The room had been split in half equally, two first built either side. On my side, cushions and blankets made the walls of fort, my armour, a Minnie Mouse onsie I had been bought by Tom as a joke, was to protect me throughout this war. On Tom's side, he had copied my idea and used cushions as the walls however, I also caught him moving pillows over to his side and I was scared that he would launch an attack on me. If you've lost all idea of what talking about, I thought he might start a pillow fight.

He jokingly shouted "CHARGE!!" to his 'army' and leapt across the room, collapsing onto my fort and me, crushing me under layer after layer of pillows and blankets. We just lay there laughing and ocassionally hitting each other with a pillow or stray slipper. It was only about ten minutes later where the pain became real and the weight of my boyfriend and 'comfy' pillows were actually starting to decapitate my legs. Tom immediately started lifting up all the cushions and apologising for the 'trauma' he had caused. He was skittish and acting wierd so I straightened my back, sat up and reached up to hold his arms still. I could feel his fast and beating heart rate, pump the blood and energy around his body.

"I'm fine." I whisper, calming his body down. We stayed sat on the floor until he stood up and wandered into the dining room, his slippers clicking on the lamanet surface beneath him. "Shit!" He said as he looked at the clock. He eyes were enraged and for the first time in a long time, he was angry. He held up his script from across the room and swore again. "I wasted the while fucking day!" I just frowned and stared at him. His veins and hands were flexed. I felt a wave of panic and fear wash over my entire body and I started shaking. His voice picked up again, a sharp and brusk tone taking over. "If you weren't so bloody childish, the I woul-" His voice trailed off and I felt his eyes meet mine. They stayed there, transfixed, making me feel uneasy and even more worried. I stood up and wiped away the now stinging tears that fell down my cheeks. My hands lifted up again, this time to pull down on the door handle. He opened his mouth slightly, trying to call me back but no words came out. Instead I just whispered "We need milk."

And within twenty minutes, I'd left the bomb site and walked into the bedroom, got changed and was now  slamming the front door shut behind me, never once looking up at the window of our lounge.