Like Words || Ramshackle

IX

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"Mh." a jolt of early sunlight hit my skin through the makeshift tent. I wake up to a drowsy Skipp hugging me, his visage in rest. I am no stranger to this situation.

My breathing was put into remiss. It feels like I'm getting suffocated. Both of his arms are locked onto my resting psyche—spooning me from behind. With caution, I slide his palms of my arms. I do want to stay like this a little longer, but a portion feels odd. Shifting to look at him, I whisper random Gaelic praises as I gaze at his palm; which is covered by his torn glove.

Staring at that clement boy makes me feel a pang of stirred up emotions in a risky cauldron. Too much emotions—that the cauldron might shatter.

And I'm just here, staring. Especially our interaction last evening.
Never knew a stare could make me feel this much.

He's a good friend. A good friend. Why am I feeling some tension this way?
No. I don't want to take our relationship further, I'm sure he'd rather stay as friends. I want to as well.

I part his tangled hair to the back to leave a quick fondle kiss on his forehead; just to wipe my lips soon after. It felt weird that I did. I did it only because I can. It felt weird that I could do that.

...

Gosh, why did I do that.

Our hair is a mess, and my coat is coated with dust from the floor. As I put it on, my eyes kept landing back at the boy. Vinnie is on my right, him on the left. Sparrows are chirping outside, basking in the wind's early greeting.
They sleep with such peace. I adore them, I really do, but my stern look states otherwise. Then I grabbed his wrist again—casually removing his fingerless glove to see the lines of his palm.

"... You don't know what you do to me."

I start to feel something.

I don't know how to describe it. I can't seem to find like words.

But the feeling is sure strong.

Picking and shoving off the dust clinging on my long coat, I can't seem to take my gaze off him. Head to heel. Oh God, Stone. Stop this monstrosity.

...

"Darling, that party was exquisite. Rather spectacular."
"Oh, It's nothing, dear. A dozen wine glasses got shattered by the drunkards, but my maidens will eventually tidy them up in a jiffy."
"Don't you worry. I'm positive your place will be as spotless as before."

Loud murmurs of the privileged were like the sizzling pain of the vegetable oil hitting your skin from the pan, blending with the tall, dull buildings with barely any emotion to me. "Rich hoes."
Roughly pressing my thumb to crack my knuckles, I greeted the gloomy buildings of old Ramshackle with familiar uncertainty in a cloudy, mild day. Large chunks of smoke were blown away rapidly.
I start to mimic the rich's ridiculous formal tone and gestures. There was a hint of a British accent in my voice as I rolled my eyes, posing like one of them. "Oooooh, I bet that party was sure exquisite!"

Their vintage-styled petticoats swung elegantly to face me. God, their faces are even more hideous. Of course, the absurd, expensive ladies are furious with a scrap.
I elegantly flipped them off before casually swaying my black heels away alternately, their broad figures fogging into a messy mosaic as I grew distant.
... Why did I even do that. It was a reflex, I assumed. I almost tripped.

I wore Skipp's fingerless glove as I walked around the busy town. Without him this time. Just me, and a lonely cigarette meeting my lips. The same lips that were once kissed by him.
...
Oh, why am I even thinking about him. The purpose of this walk was to stop my thoughts about that stupid boy. It didn't help. At all.
Those thoughts swirled around my brain like a magnanimous cloud of tornadoes.
"Auughh, damnit... Skipp." I smack my forehead with my cigar. It was stupid, I flinched and dropped it when the burning material hit my skin. It left a visible cerise mark on the right side—aaaaand it's on the part where my side bangs don't cover it.