Okay. I know that was a bit of a mess. We tried to write it after everything happened, but you know... Doesn't really work out to well with the boys. I still don't know what's going on to be honest. Ashton and Michael are arguing, Luke is staring at me intently, Heather is raiding my fridge and Macey... Well... Macey is gone. She came but left as soon as she saw Luke. It's a lot to process. Let's start at the beginning, shall we?
"I want to go home." I mumble into Heather's ear. The sound of the deep rhythm is pounding through me, and I just want it to be quiet for a while. My headache is starting to come, meaning I've sobered up a bit, and as I hang onto Heathers arm she guides me outside. "One too many drinks, huh?" She whispers as we clumsily wiggle across the pavement. The dress, a loose, elephant patterned dress, is exposing me too much. To men and the cold. I'm too tired and my head hurts too much to nod.
Halfway there I kick my black pumps off and bend down to grab them, trying hard not to lurch and throw up right there and then. "Don't step in anything." Is the only thing she says when I get up, breathing heavy, grasping her arm again to steady me. Best thing about Heather is no judgement, whatsoever. You could tell her you wanted to get a tattoo on your cooch that said "Enter Here" and she would say: "Sure, need a hand to hold?"
"You stay home, while I get you a burrito, kay boo?" she says, plopping me on the couch and swaying over to the kitchen to get some water. I here footsteps going up the stairs, and close my eyes to block out the sound. The pictures of tonight flip through my head like a powerpoint. Number one: The beautiful girl in the corner of the club. Number two: Shaky hands as I held that girl's face while she kissed me. Number three: I only want to experiment. Number four: Doing shots with her best friends. Number five: Thinking this was going in the wrong order, that maybe she called her friends over because she chickened out. Number six: Dancing with Heather. Number seven: More kissing girls. And finally, number eight: Drinking a glass of expensive champagne and smacking the guy who gave it to me, who was puckering up as soon as I finished. "Are you awake?" I hear, a few minutes later, and a soft hand gently shakes my arm. She has an adville and two burrito's in her hand, my half empty glass of water still on the table. I groan and try to push myself up off of the couch.
"I hate this." "Yeah"
Somehow, it's morning. Somehow, I'm on the couch, in sweatpants, and somehow the house smells like bacon. "Uuuuuggghhh" I groan as I roll over on my back. The couch has suspicious stains on it, weird memories subconsciously popping up. "Morning Sunshine" Heather chimes and sways into the room. She always seems to be swaying. Her curvy hips just naturally move from side to side, making it impossible not to look at her. She's just so noticable. "Bleugh" "I made you bacon" "Mmmm" "Did you have fun last night?" "Grrrrr" "Well geez I shouldn't 've taken you out in the first place"
She's not always this nice, you know. Only when I need to be nurtured, or loved, is she ever this sweet. It's a good thing. Means I can never have a crush on her, because I know every little dirty secret. Because I have so many pet peeves. Because she is truly the most annoying human on earth. I geuss you get used to it though.
"I hate maths." I grumble as we sit next to eachother, the sound of the TV filling up the silence as we do homework. "I almost forgot it was Sunday." She says, as a reply to my complaint. "Yeah me too. I wish I didn't drink that much, my head hurts like hell." "Mmm" It's quiet again. Somehow, even though my headache is drumming and I feel like I could throw up any second now, it's peaceful. Nice. The smell of bacon and rustling of tree's is calming, the clutter on the floor feeling like it belongs there, the TV chiming in every few seconds as if it's trying to catch my attention. Yeah. This feels right.
Dinner is pizza. Yes, as cheesy as it sounds (pun intended), pizza. Because we already had burrito's, and chinese food sounds horrible right now. Loud sex scenes in "Getting over Sarah Marshall" aren't awkward, but funny. Having discussions about Miley Cyrus' hair color isn't ridiculous, but playful. Making inappropriate noises every time Channing Tatum comes on the screen in "Magic Mike XXL" isn't disgusting, but a ritual. And falling asleep on the couch with your mouth open and a sauce stain on your shirt isn't weird, it's cute. Because you get to be the one to wake her up in the morning, and tell her how bad her breath stinks and how terrible she looks. So, as a day goes by, I enjoy the company of someone who points out but loves my imperfections, without needing anything back but demanding it anyway. Someone who you could call your girlfriend, without benefits. For now that's enough. For now.
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Cinnamon Bun Fudge Goo
Random"I wrote something down. And then I erased it. And wrote something else down. And erased it. Thing is, it's easy to write something. Easy to please other people with what you're writing. But how do you write down something that is so damn weird that...
