how to make a mixtape :: mgc (fin.)

12. virgins & 3am

WHOAAA GUYS IM BACK IM SORRY I HAVENT UPDATED THIS IN LIKE A MONTH I REALLY DONT HAVE AN EXCUSE U WOULD CARE ABOUT BUT YO IM BACK !!!

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"What've you got there?" Michael asks, resting his chin on my shoulder and looking at the piece of paper in my hands.

I flip it over quickly, sliding across the kitchen counter and underneath the rice cooker. My stomach is tied in knots and my voice feels tight and trapped in my throat. I know if I speak, it'll sound restrained and stiff. He moves the rice cooker aside slightly and dips his hand over the paper, pulling it out and flipping it back over. He shifts so he's in front of me, and I begin to bite the skin around my nails. His face begins to contort – I can't tell whether it's in confusion, or anger.

"Who's this from?" he says.

I almost scoff in response. My mind spins from frustration. "You definitely seem to know."

Turning around, I take the rag by his tattooed arm, finishing off the counter he abandoned.

There's a pause, before he talks again. "Could you give me a hint?"

I sigh, hanging the rag off the trolley tucked between the two counters and stand with my hands on the edge of the sink. The water drips from the tap gently, and for a while, it's the only sound in the kitchen. I still feel sick, and I really want to vomit. Pushing my lank hair away from my sweaty fringe, I tug myself straight, attempting to look at Michael in the eye. I can't – I keep missing his gaze by an inch. I settle at the bridge of his nose.

"Have you been sleeping with other girls from when we kissed to now?" I regret saying it as soon as I do. It doesn't sound like my own words – they're too possessive, too jealous. I never was any of those things, and now isn't the time I want to start.

Startled, he steps back, shaking his head. "No, of course not – do you really think I'm that much of a tool?"

Shrugging, I cover my forearms with my palms. "I don't know. You're a very attractive boy, and I guess to you we might not be exactly exclusive, but..." I trail off. I'm no longer facing him, but the lingering feeling of his disbelief weighs into my skin.

"Why wouldn't I think we're exclusive?" There's an edge to his voice, but I cannot put my finger on it.

"I mean... I don't know. I guess..."

"Stop guessing about things," he tells me, not harshly. I hear his footsteps approach me from behind and his arms are wrapped around my waist, pulling me into his chest while his face his buried into the crook of my neck. My hair cushions his nose and lips, just barely letting me feel the little kisses he puts along the side of my throat. Warmth covers me, but I'm not sure whether to believe him, or not. He continues, "I was serious about you ever since I got drunk in your storage room. Which, I understand, you might still be mad about."

I laugh weakly. "I'm not mad about that."

"Are you mad at me?"

I'm quiet for a minute. I don't really know if I'm mad at him or not. He could easily just skip from one girl to another – it's not like anything is holding him down. He's free to do what he wants, but it still is unsettling to think of someone else being the centre of his attention. It's rather selfish to want to be the sun he orbits around, but I still prefer him over anyone else.

"How do I know you haven't been with other girls?" And the possessive speech strikes again. I almost slap myself for being so stupid.

He doesn't laugh at me, or chide me for being so jealous. Instead, he lifts me onto the kitchen table, running his thumbs along the hair behind my ears. His lips are so close to mine, I can feel the breath tickling my chin. His eyes are trained on mine, green and soft around the rims. I lean up, pecking his mouth gently. I taste the sweetness from the popcorn on his lips.