Why Don't You Just Kiss Me Then.

Drunken

HEYYYYYY YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTE I WAS JUST READING COMMENTS AND UGH ILY ALL
READER APPRECIATION NIGHT *claps all by myself* *smiles awkwardly and trips over my life* *falls and turns into a potato* IDEK

ALSO, IM WRITING A SHORT LOVE STORY, AND, YES. I THINK IT WILL BE CUTE. YOU GUYS CAN EVEN IMAGINE THE GUY AS THOMAS. ALSO, MATT'S SISTER ANNIE IS THE MAIN CHARACHTER. IDEK WHY I DID THAT, BUT IT DOESNT HAVE MUCH MATT IN IT.
I know how much you guys hate him.
ITS HONESTLY HILARIOUS.
HEY THERES A CHAPTER DOWN THERE FOR YOU CAUSE ILY BTW ENJOY

  I woke up with my covers off. I was curled in a ball and freezing. I looked around, half asleep, for my lost blankets and found the fluffy blue comforter, pulling it closer to  me to try to warm myself. I didn't know what time it was, but it was pitch black outside. I decided that it was the middle of the night, remembering the quote 'it's always darkest before the dawn' from a particularly frightening episode of Merlin, one of my many favorite shows. I began drifting off again, dreaming of Merlin, when a crash downstairs startled me enough to fully wake me up. This time, I turned to look at the clock on the bedside table. It read 1:37. Fear crept up my spine as I slipped out of my bed slowly and stood at the top of the stairs. Another crash made me jump, and I wondered if there was a burglar in the house. Or a murderer. Oh no, a murderer? What if he already got Thomas?
Oh, Thomas.
I stumbled as emotional pain once again welled up in my chest at the thought of last night. I banged my wrist on the railing, and the pain seemed to bring me to my senses. Reason slipped into my mind, dissolving most of my worries. Someone invading the house wouldn't be so careless as to mess up twice. As if on cue, another crash echoed through my ears. I gathered up my bravery and crept downstairs, silent as a mouse, and tip- toed toward the kitchen, the source of the noise. My heart dropped when I saw the person I most did not want to see at this point in my emotional stability.
"Thomas?"
He turned around to face me, a saucepan in one hand and a frying pan in the other.
"Look, I'm Edward Scissorpans." He drawled, giggling slightly at his own joke as he bumped the two utensils together lightly. I instantly realized what had happened.
Me, drowned in my own misery, fell asleep very early, around nine. Thomas got bored and went out when I was asleep. I had no clue why he didn't just wake me up, and this made me sad, since he would have done that before.
Before this dang beach trip.
Somehow, he found a bar, and from there I have no idea what happened.
"Are you drunk?" I ask, venom lacing my tongue.
"No, I'm Thomas. Wait no, Edward Scissorpans." He giggled again, and I couldn't help but smile. Thomas had only drank once in his life before (as far as I knew), and I found that he became silly x10 of what he usually is. I take the pans out of his hands gently and place them on the counter.
"No, cow." He scolds me. I roll my eyes at him and smile as his brows go together.
"What do you want?"
"I want. . . eggs."
"Thomas, it's one am."
"I want. . . eggs." He says, taking my face in his hands and looking off in the distance dreamily.
"Oh, fine. Just go sit down and try not to hurt yourself." He does as he's told and stumbles over to my Aunt's kitchen table, taking a seat.
I take the eggs out of the fridge and set them down on the counter, deciding to only add salt to punish him for doing this to himself.
"Scrambled or sunny-side-up?" I ask Thomas.
"Eggs." He replies.
"Okay then." I murmur to myself and make them the easiest and quietest way possible. My Aunt was still asleep, and I knew that she would whack Thomas into shape if she knew of what he had done. She hated alcohol and everything that had to do with it. Alcohol took away her husband, my Uncle Jer. Thomas knew that too, and I had no idea why he would do this. I was fifteen, and absolutely shattered when he died. I was crushed. I was devestated.
I was burning the eggs. I immediately turn off the stove and grab a plate and fork for Thomas, bringing them to him before sitting across from him at the table. He looked down at them.
"Eggs." He says to thank me.
I watch him as he picks up the fork and picks at the yolk, causing the yellow liquid to spill out over the white part. I look away, remembering the hurt in my chest and tried to refrain from crying. Even though Thomas probably wouldn't remember any of this, I didn't want to cry in front of him.
"Amabel."
"What?" I snap, causing him to raise an eyebrow.
"Quite snappy tonight, aren't we." He mumbles slowly.
Conversation died down again and I tried to think of anything than what was weighing on my mind. I thought of Matt.
"Amabel." I tried to compose myself before responding again.
"Yes?"
"How was your date?" He asked, hardly able to form coherent sentences.
"It was good. How was yours?" I asked, a bitter taste in my mouth.
"It was good. Wait, did I have a date? I don't remember having a date." He stuttered along.
"Lilia."
"Who's that?" He asked, lazily slopping the two words together. I smiled a little as he continued to eat his egg. He remembered me and not Lilia in his time of drunkeness. Well at least that's nice.
"Hey, Amabel. Lama-Ama-Poma Bell." He says.
"Yes, Thomas." I reply, sighing through my words.
"I want you to know something." I look at him out of the corner of my eye and turn in my chair to face him.
"Yes?" He looked off into the distance before replying.
"I think I love you. But elephants should be orange. Why aren't elephants. . ." He trailed off, eyes drooping, before his head fell forward onto the table. I was stunned to the spot. I didn't want to believe it.
I stand up and walk over to Thomas, lifting him up slightly by the armpits. He grumbled something incoherent and stood up, leaning on me heavily. He rested his head on the top of mine as my shoulder was to low for him, and I led him to his bedroom, deciding that stairs were not a good idea.
"I love you. Luh-luh-luhuv you." Thomas mumbled as we walked. I swallow hard as my eyes water with emotion. We finally make it to his bedroom and I let him drop, facedown, onto his bed. I crawl under the sheets beside of him, and he eventually did the same. I didn't want to leave him alone until he slept this off. He wraps his arms around me lazily and clings on for dear life. I wanted to beleive it, but then I didn't.
"I love you." He murmured into my hair.

The words of a drunken man are the truth of his sober self.

HEY HEY HEYYYYYYYYY
YOURE FRIKEN FRACKEN WELCOME YOU LITTLE POOPHEADS HATING ON ME FOR THE LAST CHAPTER
YOU CAN MAKE IT UP TO ME BY READING MY NEW SHORT STORY, CALLED "THE ADVENTURE OF THE AMAZING FRIEND-GIRL"
THAT WOULD BE SO KIND OF YOU
ANYWAYS I LOVE YOU, HAVE A GREAT WHATEVER YOUR HAVING (DAY, NIGHT, CHEESEBURGER)
BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!