PLATFORMS ↛ D.A

Tears and Fears

Waterloo | 01:52am

Having a period was the definition of a punishment. Sharing a bed with Damon was also a punishment. Combine the two together, the equivalent of life on death row. Ok, maybe that was a tad harsh but who else was to blame for the loud snoring and lack of space.

Fuck sake it was even worse lying wide eyed awake next to him, the snoring was amplified in mix with the menstrual headaches and it was not a good combination. Amelia was only seconds away from twatting him if he'd reached over and pulled her closer once more. The cramps were enough nevermind his bony fingers digging into her stomach too. The joys of cramps, something men would never understand.

The darkness of Damon's room felt somewhat claustrophobic and every thought in the world was weighing in on Amelia's brain. Why cramps hurt so much, why men were arrogant shits, why people blew bubbles at football games, why she wasn't good enough for Liam and the hail thought of why did he cheat? She decided her thoughts were down to being on her period, never usually did she get upset over stupid shit like this. Who did Liam think he was? No. Switch thoughts, happy places. Watching children fall, ugly babies, Noel's eyebrows.

It was useless.

You know when you haven't cried in a few months and then one night it all comes out, the drains burst and you're suddenly drowning in your own tears. Well that was Amelia's current. What a pisstake, she had made a vow not to cry about Liam the last time he'd fucked her over.
He wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth much at all actually. The cunt was probably balls deep in some tramp this fucking second.

She sat up in the bed, grounding her feet on the floor and holding a hand over her mouth. Careful not to wake up Damon as he would end up taking the piss or laughing about it, something she could not be arsed with.

What even was this? In a strangers bed, head pounding, stomach feeling like it'd been ripped apart, yesterdays mascara running down her cheeks. This was a new low for Amelia Harris, there had been a lot but this takes the cherry. Especially since Dan fucking Albarn was a mere two feet away from her none the wiser.

Why was crying such an aggressively ugly thing? Embarrassing actually. The nick it leaves you in, the energy it takes not to mention the way it sounds fucking hell. Peggy once said Amelia was scared of being vulnerable, now, that may be true but fuck it. If labelling it as scared means she didn't need to do it, bob's your fucking uncle.

Sometimes however, it did slip through the cracks like just now and she hated it. There was anger with her tears, a seething regret for her choices that ended in a state. A dismissal of her emotions.

"What're you doing?" Here we fucking go. "Amelia?" Damon sat up with a groan.

She ignored him, wiping her eyes profusely and reaching for a cigarette from the bedside table. Damon was the last fucking thing she needed right now.

"You alright?" He leaned forward, catching a glimpse of her mascara stained shirt. "Amelia." He stared.

Damon had no idea on how to deal with upset women. They were complicated, an upset girl could want a million different things and if you don't project the first and only wanted idea then you'll get your balls cut off. Ask her if she's alright you're in the shit, don't ask and you're equally as fucked. It was a tricky game and Damon had next to no experience.

"Are you crying?" He spoke quietly, slowly moving closer to her unsure of what else to do.

"No. I'm fucking laughing, go back to bed."
She spat.

See.

He instead moved even closer, sitting himself on her side of the bed, the two of them silently parallel with one another. Amelia took a drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke up to the ceiling before sighing and Damon clasped his hands together, sitting them over his lap and looking down to the floor with a distant gaze.