Ford
I SHOULD HAVE TOLD HER.
My parents always told me growing up to be honest with people, even if the truth will destroy them. It's better to be hurt by the truth than kissed with a lie. But when it ties in with feelings, that's where I struggle. My thoughts are foreign sensations I can't fathom into expressions.
Even now, my head's completely fucked and I can't think straight. All I know is that visions are playing in front of my closed eyes and I'm powerless to stop them. I can only watch as my fantasies play out in front of me with the knowledge of how it all abruptly ends because of my own fuck up.
I should have told her so fucking much. I should have told her how I feel more truthfully and frequently.
I should have told her that she's every hue in my colour world, from the darkest to the brightest. She's my star that guides me through my darkest times. She's my fantasy, drugging me into believing it can be reality. And most importantly, she's my heart; it's more than she owns it. She is my heart. Without her, I'm incomplete.
I'm so irrevocably in love with Genevieve.
But she's so much better off without me.
♠ ♠ ♠
ANOTHER NIGHT, MORE EVASIVE SLEEP.
Even with Genevieve tucked under the crook of my arm, snoring softly, my body refuses to surrender to the blissful slumber. My mind focuses too much on her. Her closeness. The way remnants of her floral perfume linger on my skin and bedsheets. Her hair sprawled over my arm, tickling my skin. Her hold she has over my mind, body, and soul. And my heart.
Her body shifts while mine remains immobile. Maybe it's my stillness that stirs her awake, because suddenly she's turning over, arm draped across my lower stomach. Her head tilts back until she's squinting at me through fatigued eyes, dark smudges underneath them.
"Morning?" she questions, her voice quiet and slurred from sleepiness. It sounds divine.
The chuckle cascades from my lips. My eyes remain on her and not the darkness that encompasses us because it's the middle of the night. "Not quite."
"Thank God," she groans.
My smile slowly falls as she gets comfortable again, now resting her head against my chest, though I can see her expression. My arm tightens around her shoulders, drawing her even closer to me. "Go back to sleep, princess."
She mumbles something unintelligible before saying louder, "Talk to me. Wake me up." After several moments of remaining silent in the hopes she'll fall back asleep because she doesn't deserve to share my insomniac tendencies with me, she nudges me in the ribs. "Talk to me, Ford."
"I can talk dirty to you," I quip.
She somehow manages to roll her eyes, despite them being shut the majority of the time. Chick's got talent. "Talk to me normally. Ask me questions." She pauses. "I'll go first. What do you wanna be when you grow up?"
Wow. Okay. We're going deep.
"I'm twenty-one. How much more grown up do I need to be before I can answer that?"
She nudges me again. "Fooooooord," she whines, and while the sound might be grating from anyone else, from her it's nothing akin to annoying. She's laced with so much tiredness that it's more comical than anything, and to just tease her for that moment longer, it was entirely worth it. But she's starting to wake up a little more now as we're conversing.
