We Can't Be Friends

⋈ P r o l o g u e ⋈

Spam Call

(Marcus)

"Did you sleep last night?" His voice interfered with my silent room like the exact same lightning that haunted me all night long. I don't want to reply; he knew the answer. I touched my eyelids and tried to recall the sensation of last night's discomfort. Fuck, I'm pathetic.

"I asked you something and expect a word." Trevor stormed into my room, wiping off his sweat with the towel hanging over his shoulder.

"Yeh, yeh, I slept." I grunted annoyingly, focusing on my half-naked body in the mirror's reflection. My abs are getting in shape, even finer. What am I doing all night—a rolling workout? And he needs to stop talking like my uncle is purring shite.

"I knew you did. Have you slept well?" I was zoning out when he said that.

Do I want to meet a doctor? Oh, Trevor insisted a week ago about it.

I was the one to deny that, in the most appropriate way I possibly could—to be more precise, I just murdered my glass of beer on the wall in frustration, which I aimed at his face.

"Just look at me, Makky!" he said, instantly throwing a smiling plush ball at my fucked-up head. He hates when we don't look at him in a conversation.

He hates it like a stain on his white shirt. He f*cking hates it.

But I catch it swiftly, with one palm-clutch, before it even touches my hair, without sparing a glance.

It made me realize my existence that I turned, showing myself as an answer. "Jesus, you are desperate for sleep, man!" he regretted badly, slapping his forehead. And that's because of my orbs. 

I look like an infected zombie with those eyes.

"I know, right?" My shirt was on the floor, and I bent to take it. Trevor's workout clothes and his short shorts were drenched. I don't think I would make it to my gym today. 

"Want a coff-"

"I just want you to leave my room." I put on my t-shirt and walked out of my bedroom, leaving him alone.

-^-^-^-

(Trevor)

"What did he mean by 'leave my room', when he walked away?" Is he brainless too? I thought he only lacked a bloody heart.

"Get out of there!" Marcus retorted from downstairs, like I am a child who was up to ruin a birthday cake of his.

Fine, fine. I'm leaving. Okay, I lied.