half of my heart // hs ON HOLD

eleven

630 Days Before

If you wrapped your skin into metal shavings and sunk into deep baths of scarred tissue and salty tear drops, you could begin to fathom the pain that surrounded the gasses swimming north of me, my legs numb against tight black jeans, my arms cold along with my heart, an olive sweater with a bleach stain on the left sleeve corrupted like tidal waves, the shore bumping against my burning wrists with the remains of monsters and death beds.

It was so easy to force a smile and pretend the guidance counselor in eleventh grade knocked actual common sense into my skull along with the Don't-Do-Acid and Don't-Take-A-Blunt-From-A-Stranger lectures, and told me the precautions slash difficulties slash whiplash from the real world instead of telling me to keep my head up before giving me a blueberry lollipop and closing the door against my toes.

"Rough time at home, his kids are fucking obnoxious, his wife drives a van and attends all of their second sons soccer games, drinks way too much Mountain Dew, loves college Football, is living the life of an affair, around forty three."

"You read his file," Nick accused me, before chuckling and complementing me on my talent of reading right through the skinny skin that tears with just one wound, "do that one."

It was times like these were I was almost concerned what Harry was doing, he could be having fun, watching television, drinking beer, laughing with friends, hooking up with ladies, or he could be flicking off strangers, passing sluts opportunities, waiting around all night for Chinese and movies, and kicking a rock and calling me a bitch over an over as he stands outside my empty apartment on top of the cool yellow sweatered music studio until it felt better. And it was easy to choose from option A and B, and it was easy to feel bad for leaving a guy like Harry hanging, and it was easy to miss his creamy skin that brushed against your finger tips ever so often, and it was easy to get distracted into the volcanoes erupting in the middle of the street as dinosaurs trampled through the town with tiny stars stripping down poles, the sun drinking smoothies, the moon having sex with a comet, and the world was such a strange place, but it was so easy to get lost in it.

Time seemed to sink into seconds as I was now sitting in the back seat of a cab, my finger tips turning purple mimicking my eye bags, my skin ringing like a bell as Nick's panting turned to a slow steady breathing rate as he settled into the cushion two seats over from mine, his legs pushed into the middle so we could still hold that connection.

His lips wove a new pattern into silk embroidered across my ears as I stared at the expensive fabric to the dress shirt that cuffed against his tanned wrists, his skin dark against the light blue fabrics, I only had time to adore the amount of money he wore as my eyes slowly traveled into a map of my wardrobe, my cheap chunky sweaters from god knows where, my stolen late night hook up sweatshirts, my bleached and ripped and rugged leggings, he was the brightest jewel on the crown and I just happened to be the dust that was cleaned from under the crevasses compared to the god almighty Nick.

"At first I thought you just thought my boobs looked good in my uniform, then I thought maybe you had a little crush on me during dinner, but now since you've passed my street, I'm starting to think you want to fuck then kill me."

Nick gleamed with beauty thicker than any vogue model, and my admiration grew rapidly, his smile twinkling like a star you would find swinging on a playground with his lights blinding but full with passion.

"I'd never have sex with you then kill you, what if you are good in bed?" His lips curled into a tight smile and I chuckled against his shoulder as his hand patted my knee, it was more than a friendly gesture, but not a Hey I Want To Get In Your Pants kind of gesture, so I let his rough skin- which made my bones ache for Harry's touch- rest on the fiery skin coated beneath a thin pair of black skinnies, my flesh turning into mete-acres with fresh good bumps.