"shut up" "whatever" | l.t. au

once

~((disclaimer: once is how you say eleven in spanish, like, once like beyONCE, ya know, yeah... not like once...but once like beyonce...i started writing this while I still took spanish (lol quit after one semester haha) (oh well) (ok bye anyways)))~

--

"So...how's it going?"

My tired, bloodshot eyes tear away from the blank T.V. screen on the hospital room wall, and to the human being I have all the world's hate for.

And I just stare.

She rocks on the balls of her feet as I think back over how much I really and truly despise Ryn.

After rolling me around onto her sister's back driveway, a slick shiny Mercedes Benz SLR McLaren paused before slowly pulling into the garage.

"Oh, crapola, that's my sister's fiancée. I think he saw us," she whispered very loudly, and stumbled as I prayed she wouldn't fall onto my broken wiener--again.

She did.

"Quiet, you frigging butthole wash. They're already so frickin' fed up with me." She gasped before continuing, "Oh my god. I'm going to be like you. Homeless. Greasy."

"It's Arabic Hair Oil," is what I chose to correct her on out of all of that. I didn't even comment on 'butthole wash.'

"Ryn."

Our eyes followed up to the voice and the sexy man that holds it. (I am in fact straight.)

"Oh my god," I whisper absent-mindedly, my eyes watering as I look him from head to toe, admiring his chizzled, beautifully structered jaw, adorned with perfect facial hair. I want to be fed a bowl of his facial chair and drink his spit with his chest hair mixed with it to add some extra flavor, and that isn't even gross, it's just fucking honest.

Yes, I'm super gay for Jamie Dornan (no homo, bro.) I've seen every movie he's ever been in, and I'm still scared to see 50 Shades of Grey, and not because it promotes absusive relationships or it's too scandalous, like, I don't even think I'll be able to focus on any of that, I just don't think I'll be able to handle seeing Jamie Dornan shirtless and steamy and sweaty and I am in fact straight.

Just....Jamie Dornan...

His biceps--oh, god-- his biceps flex as he lifts a few shopping bags from the trunk of his all black, shiny Mercedes Benz SLR McLaren.

I think my wienee got fixed.

Jamie Dornan fixed my broken ding-dong.

And in one, glorious, highlight of my life: Jamie looks at me--a double-take.

disclaimer:(look i didn't plan any of this, this just kind of happened, but im not sorry)

"Pppbbthtbhfppfbbth"

Did I just fart? Oh, no...that was Ryn, once again, ruining my life.

She covers her mouth.

"i'M SorRY IT WAS MY MOUTH"

"Ryn," the beautiful forest fawn sighs, "You do that everyti--"

"Everytime, I [pfffthbfp] I know, I'm sorry you're just-oh, god."

(i cant even look at my screen anymore why)

"Jamie!" A woman's voice yelled.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot, yeah, we got to go."

"Ryn, what are you--" He's Irish, oh god. Oh, God. (I am in fact straight.)

Ryn, being the curse from hell she is, pulled me back into the hellish reality I live by shoving me back to lay against the ground again to hastily roll me around.