H U N G
02:23 a.m.
13 December 2016
Her Father had just texted her, he wasn't coming home for New Year's Eve. He had previously informed this possibility to her, but it didn't lessen the hurt; never lessened the feeling of being disregarded. She missed him too much for words yet he never came home for her. She brought the cigarette to her mouth taking a quick puff.
It always ended up like this for the past year. Her Father kept on choosing his business meetings over her. Now it was perhaps a one too many. She was good at hiding her feelings but her system was messed up courtesy Pretty Boy.
She quickly took another breathe of the nicotine, puffing out white smoke. It felt nice. Smoking was a healthy way of dealing with the pain.
At least healthier than the other shit I do.
"Pretty Boy," she acknowledged him on hearing the door open.
"How did you know it was me?" The boy questioned, wearily eyeing all the cigarette ashes and bottles of beers littering the floor, "You do realize that the amount of your nicotine and alcohol is good enough to land you a death at an age of thirty?"
"Simple. You're only stupid enough to come on to the roof at 2 o'clock in night." She ignored the latter question. What was the point of worrying when she would die? Death at thirty or seventy led to the same oblivion. Quickly crushing the cigarette ashes on the ledge, she clambered down the ledge, slightly tipsy from the cheap beer
"Whoa! Easy there SpongeBob Girl, one wrong move and you could have fallen." He chuckled.
"But I didn't, you Party Pooper," she snapped.
I might be little more than tipsy. Fuck.
"Party Pooper? Is that the best you can do?"
"That's the best tipsy Rory can do." The girl quickly let her gaze run on the boy. His white hair was styled carefully in contrast to his normally disheveled ones. Paired with black pants and a crisp white shirt, Sebastian King looked ready to attend the Oscars.
"Where are you going to? The Oscars?"
"I wish. Currently, I need to make a visit to a business associate."
Or at least something of that sort.
"At two in the night? Sure," sarcasm dripped from her words.
"Well, I never said my business associate was sane?" he retorted.
She just glowered at him, "Oh, fuck off, Jerkface."
The boy stared at her amused. She was cute – annoyingly enough as it was.
"You love me, you know it." He winked before walking away. He knew there was no need to come to the roof. He knew he needed to maintain his distance. But he also knew she was a walking grenade parallel to him.
Rory Sandsburg would have never admitted it to anyone if asked, but it had cut when Pretty Boy walked away. It was an irrational feeling, more owed to her Father's call than anything.
Or maybe she liked his company, not because he was mysterious or handsome but because he stole away all her worries. Made her feel like a child, bring back the childhood, she had lost to all the business meetings and appointments.
She needed to get a hold of herself. She couldn't keep on relying on him to make everything better. Pretty Boy had shit to do. Quickly grabbing a hold of herself, she wished Sam would return already. She missed her best friend. She couldn't wait 'till the twentieth.
Deftly she took another gulp of the drink, allowing herself to soak up the burning sensation in her throat. It was a pleasant distraction from the hurt and disappointment building up inside her.
She needed to get her shit together. Soon.
"There's an infestation in my mind's imagination," the lyrics of Twenty One Pilot's Heavy Dirty Soul broke the eerily quiet atmosphere of the roof. Cold breeze brushed past her, as she suppressed a sigh before answering the call.
"Next week? Same day, same time?"
"Zee?"
"No shit. Are you on board?"
She should have checked the Caller ID. She was screwed if she said no, screwed if she argued and screwed if she point blank refused. The only difference between all these would be the damage inflicted on her.
Pursuing her lips, she replied, "Fine."
"I missed you."
She swallowed her bile, "Me too."
She h u n g up.
{OMG. ROOFIES IS IN #134 ON THE HOT LIST. HOLY SHIT ILYY.
I dont even get why you read this piece of shit but thanks ly guiyz lol. And sorry about the updates. I keep on forgetting to edit it. So yea. #LazyProbs yea.}
YOU ARE READING
Roofies
Historia Corta"People who share the same roof are called Roofies. Singular form: Roofy," She did a small nod at the end as if approving her logic. "You do know it's a drug, right," He questioned, perplexed with her need to give them a name. They were barely ac...
