Just Love

Washout

Washout- One who fails to measure up; an unsuccessful enterprising or undertaking; lack of luck.

MACY'S POV

I said I screwed you

His words echo through my insides like a empty cave.

"Why would you say something like that?" I choke from the disbelief of his statement. "Especially if you knew he didn't like us together."

"I don't know; it was a dick move, really. I'm sorry." Uncertainty radiating in his tone.

"You can't say things like that." I practically yell. I didn't sleep with him, I hardly know him. I haven't even slept with Marcus.

I rub my temples overwhelmed by frustration.

"I-I" I stutter with my words. "I need to talk to Marcus."

Dan lets out an irritated sigh. "On Friday we have our state math competition; it's at the library, I guess you can talk to him there."

"Okay." I sigh, turning around to walk back to my apartment.

"Bye." Dan says, a hint of bitterness in his tone.

-

After walking back to my apartment, I attempt to process everything that's happened. I try to organize my thoughts, feelings, and emotions orderly and carefully.

Obviously, Dan isn't the man I thought. He flat out told Marcus a false statement out of spite, which earned him a remorseless bruises just barely under his jaw.

On the other hand, Marcus physically assaulted Dan, and although the circumstance it was still was morally wrong. I don't know the whole story but I know enough, enough to know that Dan is an untruthful man.

This entire situation is just exhaustively messy, reverting my mind only to swell with wild unruliness of everything in the vicinity of my life. It's utterly mystifying how the universe knows exactly when you're on edge, how it distinguishes when you're at the brink of falling. Giving what you think is hand to help you but instead a hand that pushes you, plunging you in a knavery pit of bad luck.

Perhaps, it's the world screaming at us, telling us we can do better or maybe it's the world laughing at us; amused by our struggles. Anyhow, either way, it's still a flashing omen beckoning for you to get back up.

This disheveled wreckage evoked by two deadly attractive men, has retailored my formally tabulated frame of mind into an absolute washout.

I just know I have to talk to Marcus about this.

-

FRIDAY

My fingers won't stop quarreling in my lap, I just arrived home from work and I hardly got anything done. The anticipation of tonight has taken a tenacious toil mentally. I was essentially useless at work today, with my disposition being so cloudy I hardly could do anything. Ever since I woke up this morning my mind hasn't stopped thinking of Marcus.

I just feel very restless in the fact that the conversation I need to have with him may not go as I desire.

I hastily change out of my work clothes, putting on something more suitable for the competition. I wanted to still be causal but I also wanted to look my best since Marcus would be there, so I decided on a causal floral dress that went just above my knees. I also knew the weather would be unforgivingly frigid so I slipped on a pastel pink knit cardigan to hopefully keep me sheltered from the bitter temperature.

After touching up my makeup and grooming my appearance to my finest, I grab my keys and leave.

When I arrive at the library the imperious side of my antsy nerves begin to emerge as I anxiously amble into the auditorium.

The auditorium is consummately compressed with people, I reluctantly survey the crowd, looking for an empty seat. When I sequentially find one, I hastily sit down and smoothen my dress.

Just a few moments later the host stands on the stage welcoming the two teams. My eyes waver agilely, looking for the Marcus's familiar caramel hair and warm coffee eyes.

When I irrevocably spot him in the midst, my insides stagger a tad from the submerging daze of his overcoming presence. It made me realize how much I truly missed him.

I tuck a loose strain of hair behind my ear while impatiently listening to the host recite the rules and regulations of the contest.

I'm barely paying any attention; my engrossment of the mathematical debate is minimal, for I had other things that occupied my already dense apperception.

But as I heedlessly wander about in my thoughts, I conclusively notice an abrupt applause saturating the room. When I look up I see Marcus, Dan, and Floyd all standing center stage with a shiny golden trophy glistening in the lighting.

They won.