Hit Me, Again. [Evan Peters]

Chapter 2

“I live around the corner here. There! Those apartments on the left.”

He turned abruptly. Pulling up to the front of my building, he turned to me.

“Rosemary. I think you and I should kiss. Right here. Right Now.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Evan. You never know, I could have herpes.”

“Do you?”

“No, but I could.”

“You’re such a strange girl, Rosemary. Can I see you again?”

“Can you?”

He smiled at me again. “May I?”

“How about tomorrow? You can meet me at the bench in Gaston Park. The one that overlooks the pond.”

“What time?”

I got out of the car, closing the door behind me. He rolled the window down and waited for a response. Crap.

I turned and thought for a split second. “Five thirty-six. In the afternoon. Not in the morning. I need to sleep. And write.” I turned back around, not saying another word and walked through the door into my building.

Pushing the button for the elevator, I stood there for what seemed to be hours, but in reality was probably ten seconds. Instead of waiting another ten seconds, I decided to walk up the seven flights of stairs to my door. Struggling to find the keys in my pant pockets, I opened the door, walked in and threw myself onto the couch.

Who was this Evan? The curls in his hair looked like they could’ve been made of Golden Fleece. His eyes were brown. My eyes were brown too. Evan had muscles. I could tell by the way his sleeves stretched over his arms, like a gentle struggle.

I liked Evan’s looks, but I wouldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t. According to society, boys had to make the move first, which Evan had done. If he told me that he thought I was pretty, then, and maybe then I could tell him that I thought he was quite the looker.

Forcing myself to stand up, I walked into my bedroom and grabbed my journal from the nightstand. Opening it’s pages, I could feel the age and warmth of the book. I’d filled up almost every single page with my words. I thought it would’ve torn and ripped itself apart by now. I have had this one for a month. I opened to the next available page and jotted down words. Just so I wouldn’t forget. I also probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning.

Golden curls, brown eyes, scotch, three a.m., drunk, date tomorrow.

 

Most of my poetry came to me around this time of the night. I would wake up with this great idea, jot it down, and then go to sleep. Tonight, I didn’t really have much.

Walking into the bathroom, I drew a bath. Filling it almost to the brim, I turned off the water and slowly got in. The water released the tensed up muscles in my shoulders. I looked down at my body and saw the mess that I was. Scars and scratches covered my legs and abdomen. Pulling my head under water, I let the oxygen out of my lungs, slowly, then all at once. I didn’t last very long before I was back up and gasping for air. Stepping out of the tub and pulling a towel around my body, I pulled the plug and walked to the mirror. Deep circles formed under my eyes from the lack of sleep I’d received over the past few months. I was out of school and unemployed. Once every other weekend, I’d get a call from some unknown coffee shop that they were having a slam poetry read and that they wanted me to go. Most of the time I went. They would give me tips for no reason. I didn’t ask for their money, but it didn’t matter. It always appeared.

Slipping into a t-shirt and some shorts, I crawled under the blanket on my bed and rested my aching head on the crappy pillow. It didn’t take me long to fall asleep.

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Still kind of introducing my main girl. Next chapter will be interesting. Thank you for reading my story. Like and comment, if you wish. -Lauren