𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 | 𝗆𝗂𝖽90𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗅

𝟎𝟎𝟔

FUCKSHIT DIDN'T hate anything more than dreaming about Ellie. He despised it. Almost to the point that he would force himself to stay awake at times. He dreamt about Ellie all the time, every few days in fact, and they were always the same. He'd always be holding Ellie on his chest and she'd be rambling on about something he mumbled out, he would just stare at her, for hours it felt like. But when we woke up this morning, his dream had been different.

He had dreamt that Ellie was hovering over him, holding his cheek while he talked. He could smell the vanilla scent lingering off of her while he held her hip in his hand. He could see her so clearly; from her neatly done hair to the brown lipgloss she wore. It felt all too real for him.

With a groan, he pulled himself up. Light punched through the blinds of Estee's room, blinding Fuckshit as he dangled his feet off of her bed. His head felt more groggy than it ever had before; even more groggy than after he flipped the car. He tries to avoid thinking about that.

His eyes slowly adjusted to the light, which was between the sunlight and the fairy lights that were still on from last night. He barley remembered even coming into Estee's room, let alone being left there all night. Usually, Ray would've taken him home or something.

With a struggle, he pulled himself out of the too soft bed and wobbled into the hallway. Across from Estee's room sat the guest room, that was slightly open. Fuckshit could see the legs of a girl — Estee he assumed — hanging off the bed. Freshly painted white toes and a gold anklet. Definitely Estee.

He didn't even know where his keys were, so he knew he'd probably have to wake Estee up, but anyone would want to avoid that.

His feet dragged across the hallway, into the living room that was completely trashed. Red solo cups sat covering the floor, and half filled trash bags sat near them. Fuckshit's eyes scanned the living room before they stopped on Ray, who lay snoring on the couch.

"He didn't want to leave you, last night" Fuckshit's eyes snapped to Estee who was pulling a trash bag into the house from the backyard. She looked exhausted, Fuckshit thought. She was in a pajama set, paired with some slippers. Clearly, she had been awake for a while.

"What the fuc- weren't you just-" Fuckshit pointed back to the room, but quickly dropped his hand. He was too exhausted for his brain to be so confused.

"Why didn't he just take me home?" Fuckshit asked, pulling himself into a bar stool as Estee stood on the opposite side, dropping cups into the trash bag.

"You literally would not wake up. I thought you were dead"

He felt like he was.

"Mm" he hummed, rubbing his palm over his eye.

"Who else is here? Teresa?" he finally asked, referring to the pretty toes he saw.

Estee's eyes lit up, locking with Fuckshit's. He stared at her for a moment, uninterested, but then Estee leaned down across the island, so close that Fuckshit's head moved back unintentionally. His eyebrows furrowed as she took his hands in hers, "Estee. I love you but.. you're like my sister.."

Estee frowned hard before rolling her eyes, "Oh please, you couldn't have me even if you wanted me," she paused, coming around the island where Fuckshit sat wide eyed. His long hair fell down to his back as Estee came up to him.

"I have something to show you.. and you have to promise you won't freak out.."

"Is it something that you know will piss me off?"

"Erm.. maybe.."

"Then no. I ain't promising shit."

Estee groaned, sending a playful punch to Fuckshit's upper arm. She needed him to not get mad, for her sake and both of theirs. She knew Fuckshit was already going to be upset that she was even back, but being confronted about Brianna was just going to make it worse. It would be just how it was back then. Hell.