sto • ic
showing an
indifference
to pain
⇌
- maya -
It was maddening. Absolutely insane.
I was in a state of extreme claustrophobia as the crowd of already drunk and high teenagers began to advance as soon as the stadium darkened, the stage lights glimmered and as the continuous wave of shrieking girls begun to echo through my brain.
I tried desperately to pry through the sweat and the weed scented bodies that were making their way through that I thought I was about to fall into unconsciousness. None of this was worth my while.
When I finally arrived at the exit, the relieving scent of fresh air filled my lungs and I don't think I've ever felt so free. Fresh fucking air and the comfort of my own was all it could take for me to get slightly comfortable.
"Thought you ran off." A voice behind me blurted, followed by a distinct chuckle.
"Needed air," I stated, leaning back at the rails. My body adjacent to the food stands. Two arms slid around my waist and I instinctively leaned my head back so it was resting below his shoulder. He lowers his head until his breath is tickling my ears and down until his lips are on my skin.
"I hate you," I whine, in which he answers with a rather hotly, "Why is that?"
I pulled away and turned around as I tried to plaster an annoyed look, "I felt like I was in a mental facility, one that only had a single room containing a hoard of horny and immature teenagers."
"I thought you'd love it," he pouts, a trail of mock behind his tone.
Even though the concert started about thirty minutes ago, people are still outside as if the concert was out here in the food court. Singing along to the music, jumping up and down, screaming the band's name along with the typical three word sentence before or after they scream.
"I hate places with a lot of people," I frown. Fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.
He shrugs and grabs both my arms, placing them around his neck as he places his around my waist, lifting me up so I could sit on the rails, "I hate a lot of people."
"I hate people," I quickly respond. He laughs silently, as though he was scared people might hear his voice.
About a minute after, he brings my hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles softly, "Let's go home."
"What about your friends?" I furrow my brows. He'd never leave them behind, especially when he knows that their only ride home is through him. He is, as ridiculous as it sounds, the only one who passed his drivers test between the rest of his 17 and 18 year old colleagues.
"I'll text them, 'Find your own ride.'" he quotes, grinning mischievously, "I need to go home with you."
"Finn, I don't want to be the reason your friends ended up hitchhiking at 3 in the morning."
