she cursed beneath him, her palm to his chest haulting the way he held her by the arm.
"i can walk," she huffed before standing tall in her slim black heels. holding his hands out in front of himself he watched her take a step, her ankle wobbled, his attention on the small rose carved into her dark skin. one glance at her strapless top showed long delecate strokes from a tattoo gun all over her slim shoulders.
she walked with a tilt, weaving from one end of the hallway to the other, but to his suprise she made it to her appartment without falling face first.
"im drunk." she pouted, her fingers brushing away a strand that hadn't fell until she brushed it, his eyes retracing another tattoo of hers, a small anchor on the side of her wrist. he's seen them a hundred times, and every time he wonders if she was so fucked up after him that she covered her beautifully clear skin with ink...
the idea of his heather beneath a mans tattoo gun, with her eyes glowing as her teeth grinded in pain made his stomach turn.
"Ben, look at me."
"i am" he said, obviously he was staring at her.
"no, look at me, see me, not wherever it is you go in that big head of yours." she pouted, her arms crossed to protect her from the chill she just now noticed. maybe it's been radiating from him all night.
"im here with you, alright"
"come inside?" she tried with a smile
he glanced at the door, the same door hes walked into, burst into with her in his arms, around his waist, chasing after her, he took a step towards the door and her eyes sparkled
"wait" he stopped, pulled his beeping phone from his pocket and waved for her to go on without him, holding the door with his foot he opened the message sitting in his envelope.
// please don't touch her the way you used to touch me...
it was as if his own eyes were untrustworthy, he almost wanted to carve them from his own skull when he read the message. the same eyes that he used everyday were somehow against him.
'this cant be real,' he thought to himself,
"Ben?" Tanisha called down the hall once the stairwell door slammed behind him.
YOU ARE READING
Drunk Texts
Short Storya series of texts typed by the influence of alcohol, that may or may not be sent