Signal of Distress

3 - Thoughts

~ Temptations - Ryan Trey ~
❤︎❤︎❤︎

My mind shifts in gears to the
sound of your thoughts aloud
-Elijah Chambers

"I'm telling you darling, these are the best candies you'll ever have," Marcus assures as he hands me a bag filled with British candies.

I take it. "Thanks, Marcus. I'll see you guys tomorrow." I wave both Ebony and Marcus a goodbye. We've hung out every day this week.

I take out my key entering my dorm. "What are you doing?" I ask as Eli lays in my bed with a highlighter between his teeth. One of my books is in his hands.

Not just any book. "Hey!" I reach for it but he holds it far from me. He sits up on my bed. I look over my wall to see highlights and small notes.

"You vandalized my work," I mutter. He highlighted a couple of the poems and song lyrics I have written on my wall. "What the hell are you even doing in here?"

He closes the book in his hand. "I didn't know you read Trigger," he says. Completely ignoring my question.

"Yeah, I love his or her poetry." Trigger is an anonymous poet. They started out online and soon came out with an anthology book. Blood Runs Deep.

I even wrote a poem myself called Blood Runs Deep a few weeks ago.

He stands up and stares at my wall. I place down my bag still waiting on a response to my previous question. "Indeed. Some of these are yours?" He gestures to the words on the wall he's highlighted in blue.

"Yeah. I write," I answer.

"Me too," he says under his breath. I look back at him.

"You do?"

He shrugs. "A little. Here." He tosses me back my book.

"Careful!" I exclaim. I make sure it's not dented or anything. He stands with his arms crossed observing the work on my wall.

"Trigger seems to be your favourite. His work is all over your wall," he mentions.

I take a seat on my bed. "Their work," I correct. His eyes shoot down to mine. "You don't know if it's him or her. Until they unmask themself, they go by they and them or Trigger."

"You think a girl would call herself Trigger?"

I shrug. "Why not? Don't tell me you're some obnoxious prick who expects girls to pick something sweet and endearing like the name of a flower or dessert perhaps?" I look at him.

His eyes trail down to meet mine once again. "No, you're absolutely right. Trigger is powerful. It's dominant, it has control. Without the Trigger there is no gun, no fire, no harm," he thinks out loud. "There isn't anything more powerful than a trigger, pull it and you do the most harm."

"A thought is," I point out.

The skin between his eyebrows wrinkle as he punches them together. "A thought?" He looks at me as if I had just said something stupid.

"Yes, a thought. A thought is what influences you to pull the trigger. It's the most silent yet loudest attack. No one around you can hear your thoughts but yourself. And everyday, it makes its assault tearing you down. Until you want to pull the trigger," I explain.

His eyes glide up and down my body. "What're your thoughts?" He asks, taking a step forward. My legs dangle half a foot away from him, off the bed.

"You wouldn't be able to handle them," I determine. I don't think anyone could. I can barely, myself.

His hands ball into fist and he places his knuckles flat against the bed. On either side of my thighs keeping me trapped in between his arms. "I think I could," he challenges.