Matthew Gray Gubler One Shots and Scenarios

If These Sheets Were States #1

Inspired by the lyrics of the song "If These Sheets Were States" by All Time Low. Ignore that it says "Featuring All Time Low"

One

"This bed is an island made of feather down, and I'm still alone

With little else but memories of you, on memory foam."

As daylight crept through the curtains on a Monday morning in June, Matthew rubbed his eyes, the dark bags framing them appearing even darker in the shady cast-off from various objects in his room as the sun struck them. He sighed, his body being pulled deeper into the mattress. Fistfuls of the discarded duvet he had pushed aside when he had decided that it was too hot to sleep with still balled up in his hands. Every time he had felt the sweet release of his eyelids drooping he had been awoken with a start by the echoes of their last argument, the voices getting louder and louder until he had bolted upright in a cold sweat clutching his ears. The bed in which he was laying should've felt warm... comfortable... But it wasn't. Not without her. Instead, the memory foam mattress was cold, ridged. He turned over onto his side. Tired visions of the many times she had stayed over haunted him even in the daylight. From the very first time she had stayed over to the last, the scenes that had once brought him comfort now only provided painful reminders of what he had lost.

His eyes flicked to his cell phone that, in his semi-conscious state had ended up in the space next to him – her space. He didn't need to pick it up in order to see that he had no missed calls or texts. He certainly didn't need it to tell him the time, the numbers from watching his bedside clock all night etched on the back of his eyelids every time he blinked. To say he hadn't had much sleep over the last couple of days or so was an understatement. He was so beyond tired after a restless, sleepless night that he was close to slipping into being over tired and risking falling asleep during rehearsals. He had been awake for so long that he was pretty sure that he had seen every minute on the clock over the last seventy two hours and it seemed the more that he tried to sleep the more difficult it was to catch the night time train to Dreamsville.

His eyes caught sight of a caramel-coloured stain on the side of the bed on which she had slept. He exhaled deeply. That mark would forever serve as a bad memory and ultimately their last together of when their final argument had resulted in spilled coffee and his girlfriend of a year walking out on him. He tried to cast his mind back to last Friday. It wasn't hard. Aside from it only being from a few days ago, it had been all he could think about ever since. He had since tried to make sense of what they had even been arguing about or how what had seemed like light-hearted banter had turned sour but it only made him wince. With his mind coated in a sleepy fog he failed to see what he hadn't been able to before, how what he had thought were only harmless, joking statements about how his coffee wasn't 'up to his standards' and how he liked his toast to not 'be so burnt that even Satan himself would reject it' could be seen as damaging to someone with low self-esteem issues like she had.

It would take him a couple more sleepless nights to fully figure it out but by then it would've been too late. The damage had already been done and she would no longer be interested in what he had to say. Oh what he would give to have one more coffee-stained argument with her.

***

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I've got more to come, just bare with me. It's a weird time.