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

10. pink haired girls & sucking body parts

Something's been ticking in my room for the past half an hour. I'm pretty sure it isn't my cricketing analogue clock -- I took out the batteries before I went to sleep. Now, it's three thirty in the morning, and along with the echoing tick, tick, ticking, what Ale said to me draws tracks into my mind. Exposed, Visa, passport, debt... debtdebtdebtdebtdebt. I hear the ticking again, this time louder, more persistent. I am so done.

I throw the muffling covers off my legs, opening my eyes and shuffling around feebly in the dark. I touch my retainer in my mouth out of habit, and set to silence the godforsaken tick. I inhale sharply when an arm catches onto my waist, tugging me back sluggishly onto the mattress. I lay down, regulating my pulse before slowly switching on the pale lamp, letting dim light illuminate Michael's slumbering face. He's hidden into my side, holding my fingers and sucking his thumb. He sneezes quietly and turns so his head is flat on my stomach. Sighing, I switch off the lamp and put an arm around Michael awkwardly. The ticking can wait until the morning.

+++

I wake up again -- sometime around ten -- and feel my nightshirt hitched slightly and a finger tracing circles onto me. The smell of burnt toast hits me and I peel my eyes open reluctantly, gazing down at Michael. He has his hands around my waist, the tip of his finger dancing along my stomach. Alina must be attempting to make us breakfast, I muse. I shiver, and he looks up at me with excited eyes.

He shuffles up the bed so he faces me. "Hi."

"Hi." I pass a hand over my face tiredly. "When did you come in here?"

"I didn't think you'd mind," he says sheepishly. I'd never mind. "Sometime around two."

I nod.

"You're really cute and squishy," he murmurs, pinching my stomach and watching me shrink away. "And you have a little tummy. Like, it's not fat but you have a little pudge and... Aw."

I bite my bottom lip, tugging the hem of my shirt down. "Oh."

His face drops, and he holds my right hand. "No, no, no, it's not a bad thing." He lifts his shirt up slightly. "I'm like that, too."

My cheeks grow warm. I poke his nose and watch him scrunch up his face.

"You should get up," I tell him, "before Ale comes up here and wonders why the hell you're in my bed."

He rolls off the bed and stretches. "Don't deny our love, Maricruz." He glares at me when I laugh. "You're not getting any pop tarts."

"I don't like them, anyway."

He leaves the bedroom door swinging against the latch, and shortly afterwards, I stand up. Tugging my retainer out, I pad to the bathroom and rinse it, fitting it back into its case.

"Mierda!" I shout, leaping onto the bed and clutching my throbbing foot. Something caught into my skin -- something sharp and already really dug into my skin.

I brace my hands into the comforter and inhale softly, setting my foot over my knee and looking at the pin protruding from my skin. I wince, trying to brush away the crusted blood with my finger. I tug the nail out with a sharp whine, throwing it in the bin. I don't even have a board to stick a pin on, or have pins generally lying around my room. My foot stings; I slip on a pair of worn sandals and make my way downstairs.

+++

"You're not listening to me," Mara repeats for the seventh time. She grimaces out the window of the noisy ice cream parlour, taking a lick of her sundae. "Look at me." She gestures to her gaze and I sigh, flicking my eyes from my cup to her. "Just..." she starts again and I roll my eyes. "Brendon Urie."