His soft hum, and chuckle he lets out against my ear lobe has me shivering. "You can keep telling yourself that once we leave this school, graduate, you'll go back to forgetting me, and how you felt while you were with me Alex." Morgan whispers in m...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Song :Pyramids | Frank Ocean 𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐀 • 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐘 ••••••••••••
I've always consider a 'rude awakening' to be an expression, and an expression exclusively.
It's like when your in a argument with your parent, and they go 'You're in for a rude awakening young lady!'
So I've always just viewed as some analogy that people say as if it's proving a point, not a literal statement.
Until I woke up this morning with the blankets being ripped off of my cold body, curtains wide open, resulting the sunlight coming through to stab into my corneas, and a pounding headache.
My groan is muffled as I turn my face into the pillow at my right, the attempt to shield my eyes from the sun only causing the aching pain in my skull to increase at the movement.
It feels like my head is about to fall off.
For the first time in a almost a year, I felt bad about myself.
Not in the sense of appearance or disliking myself, but rather feeling as if I did something wrong with the day prior.
My thoughts are short lived as I hear the door open and close, and I don't bother making a move to look up, fully aware of who walked in.
The memories of the late night yesterday unfortunately remain intact, much to my dismay. It's not like I'll let on that I remember the events, but because I do, it's latched on to my every thought like a bad melody.
Ew- never-mind. I'd rather not refer whatever the hell I heard last night to be compared to a melody.
I flinch and breath out a small yelp, as something hard comes in contact with the side of my head. "Ow!" My head shot up, glare on my face no doubt. "What the hell was that for?!" I cried.
Morgan's back faces me, and he seems to be unzipping his suitcase. " "Ibuprofen." He just mumbles, and I turn my head and see the bottle that now lies discarded on the pillow.
Am I supposed to thank him?
I roll my eyes and snatch the bottle from the plush pillow. "So you had to hit me with it?" I plop a couple of the white pills into my palm, using the remaining drops of water from last night to get them down.
It's even worse warm.
He doesn't make eye contact with me as he turns around, almost as if he's avoiding it. "Get up. Shower." He responded, again, not acknowledging my question for the second time in the spam of two minutes. "We have the dinner, and then we're on the road."
