drunk fantasies ; one shot book

gone (bea)

for anyone who doesn't know who bea is, she's rose byrne's character in peter rabbit and y'all should watch it :))

"Pssst," you laughed softly, brushing a stray hair away from your girlfriend's face. Her auburn hair shone in the morning sunshine, her nose twitching ever so slightly as she stirred from sleep. "C'mon, wake up, sleepyhead."

"Give me a kiss first," Bea chuckled, her words slurred delicately. Your only response was to yank the blanket off her, exposing her to the cool air, "Nope, you only get a kiss once you get up, missy."

She rolled her eyes at you, and you just stared back at her with an eyebrow raised. Seeing that she wasn't going to budge, you stretched languidly and lay back on your spot beside her. Bea gave a small laugh and got up just to sit on your stomach, peppering your face with her gentle kisses.

Not one to complain, you took the opportunity to admire her beauty. The sunlight giving her an ethereal halo, your shirt hanging loose around her slim figure, you mentally captured the curve of her smile, the faint freckles that were splashed on her nose and cheeks, and the love bites on her neck you had left the night before.

"What are you looking at?" she asked curiously, a cheeky smile on her face. Giving her an exasperated sigh in reply, you sat up, readjusting her so that she sat on your lap, and planted a loving kiss on her nose. She sniffed in mock offense, "You do realize you didn't answer my question, right, Y/N?"

"What else is there to look at? You're the most beautiful being I've ever laid eyes on."

"Still the same old charmer as ever."

"And don't you forget it," you laughed, pulling her in for another kiss.

You sighed at yourself, reminiscing the good times you had with Bea. Your polaroid photo together, taken at the New Year's Eve party, sat on the table next to your sheet music, endless hours spent crying for three minutes of raw pain and emotion borne from all those years you spent in love.

Your instrument, a messily painted black electric guitar, sat at the corner of your apartment. Ever since you had broken up, you had to get away from anything that reminded you of her and everything you two had shared. 

"Can I paint your guitar?" she smiled sweetly, flashing you the look she knew you couldn't resist. The colorful stains on her face, paintbrush in her curly hair, everything about her drew you in and kept you there, so all you could do was agree.

Walking over to the other end of the room, you ran your hand through your now-long hair, a pale shade of pink, and tried to block everything, all the memories, from your mind.

As you watched her brush gently graze over your precious instrument, you realized that it was as if she was a black hole you could never escape even if you wanted to. But in truth, she was a trap you never wanted to leave, and instead of running scared, you were holding on to the promise of her love and letting her pull you in deeper and deeper.

You traced the messy, furious strokes your own hand had left behind, remembering that day like it was yesterday, the way the tears had flowed down your face as you tried to erase every bit of her from you.

The delicate daisies, the sunshine and clouds, Bea painstakingly detailed them with such care and love, you could only watch her with a mesmerized expression on your face. She laughed at your amazement, trying to reassure you, "I like painting, it's not a big deal, Y/N."

A soft tune emanated from your guitar as you plucked the strings, trying to make yourself feel something other than the emptiness Bea had left behind in you. The black paint stains on your favorite white shirt lingered like scars of a battle fought and lost.