He's Worth It ~ Lams (COMPLETE)

Day Two

I hear a faint buzzing sound in my light sleep, but I groan and toss myself to the other side of the bed. The buzzing seems to mock me, and I feel the sudden urge to throw my phone into a wall. I grumble incoherent words and pick it up, answering the call some random number was making to me at 12 am.

“Why are you, whoever you are, calling me at twelve in the morning?” I mumble groggily into the receiver, still not being awake enough to form coherent words. I assume that it’s someone that lives on the opposite end of the world that’s trying to call me right now, and they’re lucky that they are. I need sleep, or else I turn into a total crab.

“Is this Alex Hamilton?” I hear a voice say. That voice. Oh, that southern voice! I must be dreaming, please someone in this vision pinch me.

“John?”

“Hey, sorry to wake ya, I tried callin’ Lafayette but he ain’t picking up. He'd, uh, given me your number yesterday so I thought It couldn’t hurt to try,” he continues, his voice sewn with hints of panic and anxiousness. My eyes get wide when he says that Lafayette gave him my number and I pull my phone away from my mouth so I can swear. Freaking Lafayette, of course he did that. Why did I ever expect him to not meddle? I should know better than this.

“Yeah, Lafayette is such a heavy sleeper, it’s unreal. What’s up?”

“Is there, um… can I come over?” he says in a frantic rush of words. I can feel my face getting warmer by the millisecond and I instinctively cover my mouth with my hand, trying to suppress a smile.

Alex, don’t do that, there’s probably a legitimate reason why he’s asking to come over.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, everything's just peachy, I just need a place to stay for the morn’,” He laughs dryly.

“Oh, um, yeah you can come over.”

“What’s y'all's address?”

“34 Gilcrest Circle.”

“Alright… Thanks, Alex.”

“You’re welcome… just come to the back door, I’ll meet you there.”

“Ok. Bye, I’ll see ya in a few.” He hangs up and I flop face-first into my pillow. Dear Lord, please help me.

I tiptoe my way to the back door, careful not to wake up Martha or George. I calculate how quiet my steps need to be as I walk down the creaky staircase, but by now I know which stairs make unnecessarily loud noises. When I get to the slider door in the living room, I pull apart the curtains and he’s already standing there.

I feel my organs jump inside my skin at his sudden appearance. How did he get here so fast? He puts on a weak smile and pulls on his sweatshirt sleeves, hiding his hands in the folds of his sweater. I pull open the slider door slowly and carefully, trying not to make the door squeak against the doorframe. He slides through the small crack I’ve made with the door and I close it again, making sure to lock it again.

“I didn’t know y'all lived so close,” he whispers, an early morning rasp to his voice that I couldn’t hear over the phone. I feel my insides turn to jello and try to resist from saying anything vapid in my half-asleep haze. “I’m only the next street over.”

That explains the hasty entrance.

I hum wordlessly and lead him silently up to my room, cursing the fact that I hadn't thought to clean at least my floors before I went down to the backdoor. There’s crap everywhere, literally everywhere. When I had music, I’d keep my room clean, singing terribly with the greats as I danced and sanitized my room. Now, there’s no motivation for me to clean, and only after a day, my room has already become a complete disorganized pig sty.