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

27. get some & breakups

We tell the taxi driver to drop us off one mile prior to Michael's house - partly so we can feel the winter air while we walk, mostly because we don't have enough money for the fare. Michael's hand takes mine, warm and homely and much better than Scout's. It's dark, now - well, blue. The sky is a deep shade of blue, and the trees against the dark stretch are black. It's the kind of hour where you aren't sure whether the streetlights should be on, or not, but they're kept on, anyway. I pry my palm away from Michael's and slide it into his pocket. It's cold, and I don't have gloves. His hand meets mine in there, giving it a light squeeze.

"I don't really like Scout," he finally says after a while of silence.

He kicks a little pebble into my path, and I kick it back. It skitters underneath one of the parked cars.

"I picked up on the hints." I hook my pinky finger around his.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

We walk a little longer, until there are no more cars passing and barely any people around. There are a few houses here and there, but most of all, there's a large expanse of a wall blocking the residential areas from the public street. It smells distinctly of a roast dinner, and through the slightly open windows and bustling homes, we can hear families and kids talking together, and the bustle of plates and glasses from a kitchen. My heart aches. I haven't had a proper family dinner in God knows how long. Michael feels my hand loosening around his, and kisses me gently.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Y-yeah." We've both stopped in the middle of the pavement, now. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he holds onto the small of my back. His green eyes reflect the shine of the moonlight, and I can see all the hairs on his cheeks are erect. I peck his lips gently. "I've just really missed you."

"I've missed you, too." He leans down and kisses me, lifting me up so I'm not on my toes. He breaks away for a second, and looks at me with raised eyebrows. "Why do you taste like blueberry chapstick?"

I wipe my lips with the back of my hand, laughing nervously. "I borrowed some off of Scout. You know how I was saying I really like it."

He gives me a measured look, apprehending something else, although I can't pin point what. Shrugging, he picks me up, so my legs are around his waist and he's pressing me up against the wall. His hips are strong beneath my ankles, and his lips are warm where he glides them across my neck. His musky scent of rain has dulled down, now - mostly by his cologne. I lift up the back of his jacket and run my hand along his spine. He's stocky, there, and I can feel his back rise and fall with every breath he takes.

His phone buzzes on my chest, and it's hard to enjoy him kissing me when there's a large oblong object digging into my collarbone. Not to mention, it vibrating.

"Michael," I breathe. I blow out a gust of clear fog from between my lips. "Your phone."

Reluctantly, he draws back, dropping my legs gently to the ground. While he takes out his phone, I pull the fluff from my jeans off and onto the floor. I'm pretty sure it's from my sweater, but it's one Michael bought for me, so I still wear it. He's filing through a couple text messages, although I can't see what. His face contorts into confusion, before he breaks out into laughter. Looking up, I raise an eyebrow, and he shakes his head, pocketing his phone.

"Someone told my entire Facebook friends list I lost my virginity." He shakes his head again, chuckling and running his hands through his red hair.

My heart stops. Maggie. But, if she only told his friends, and didn't post the photos... that's okay, right? He isn't mad, or anything. He seems rather amused, after all. I exhale, biting my bottom lip and trying to smile with him. It doesn't work. My lungs feel strangled and I can't breathe in correctly anymore. I take his hand, rubbing it between my own and kissing his wrist. His pulse strokes my lips - I can't feel mine.