half of my heart // hs ON HOLD

ten

634 Days Before 

It was the icy burn that insulted my barricade that made my crooked spine ache with the sensation of turned to the left, the atmosphere considerably three notches heavier with a dose of deep tension. It was as if somone had shot a gun at a childrens birthday party, almost every eye turned to stare at the magazine prepared front covered couple, with the lava covered volcano hooked aroun the arm of a venomously attractive cinnbon geled hair, my eyes were glued. 

Sharing contact with other human beings never seemed to infuriate me the way that this pure gold star seemed to crush the blushing button inside my cheek cells, my skin flaming into rose petaled finger tips, this thigh heating man smirking into a glass of pure cold vodka, his eyes scanning enough inches of my face to show he was satisfied. 

"Nicholas Swayze," Ed glared into the side of my calming cheeks, Harry's elbows leaning into our coversation as his condesating beer melting into the rusting bar, "quite the eye catcher?"

"Good god Edward, he is a living Adam Levin with a mix of Leonardo Dicaprio before the Great Gatsby." I found the dictionary foaming out of my lips with enough lust to pass around all of Ireland as I watched him from a distance.

"He's okay." Harry muttered before I questioned every thought he has ever processed. It was if this excrusiating man had entered through a heaven of ridiculously gorgeous men with bluer eyes than the deep waves of the pacific on a rainy day.

"He's something else." Ed whispered before attending back to the lava covered girl and the man I wouldn't mind snatching up and trailing along into the thin newspaper stalls. My skull could have been a boundary to thousands of thigh weakening corruptions that insulting my inner self, almost mocking me, but Harry's throat scratched against his vocal cords in the process of clearing his throat, my elbows leaning against the simple bar that held together so many past memories that I was never a part of, but could tell a killer story- my eyes intending to ask Harry a thousand questions a minute, but his smile was enough to lose the goldfish thin memory of Nicholas Swayze. 

Behind a thick curl, I could eaisly get lost in the movement of thick fake pearls and sashaying boas with fluttering glitter feathers and scolding angel wings with a shine that caught anyone's attention, even if I grew to become blind one day, my eyes would find their ways back to the dancers that belonged to Burlesque with enough class to pass around until it sparked into Marilyn Monroe.

"They are so fucking hot." I told Harry, his lips cuffing a beer as he jerked his neck ever so slightly to watch the feathered thick eyelinered females show the remains of their ass in the most classiest prettiest thing I'd ever seen.

His eyes were enjoying the view dangerously from it's seeking corners as I wanted to watch the green in his globes flush into navy, but he remained staring for an amount of time until his eyes found mine, without speaking he watching me for thirty eight seconds before smirking into the hole of his devoured beer, shrugging.

And then Harry began explaining the time he and his immature best friend that smoked too much weed and drank too much light beer snuck into a strip club when he was seventeen and how his weed loving friend asked one of the strippers to have sex with him and a girl with fire bright hair that ended in light blonde tips with quote 'disturbing roots' slapped his friend, whose name happened to be Mikey, and then they left and then got drunk and grounded.

I pinched Harry's cheeks and laughed at the poor innocence that wrapped around his furiously enjoyable life and I almost wished I could say the same, so I made up a story about being seventeen and me and two of my friends stole two bikes from outside an ice cream shop when I lived in California for a few months- which happened to be precisely true so far, but the rest just turned into a disappointment as lies flew out of my ass.