The Messy Months [EDITING]

September - 2

It was around five o'clock in the morning when Marcy fell asleep and around six in the evening when she finally awoke. She felt warm and satisfied, as if she could wake up like this everyday, and never get tired of it. She lifted her head to look around, her hair plastered to one side of her face. It was dark and quiet. The ceiling above creaked quietly, as if someone were tiptoeing over her head. Marcy assumed it was one of Trym's roommates.

He had six of them. Trym had informed her last night—or that very early morning—that two of them were "secretly dating" each other, and that the other four boys were waiting for them to come out.

"It's not like we can't hear them," Trym said, as Marcy stumbled along blindly behind him, trying to make out the entranceway through her sleep filled eyesight. How could he be so talkative and functional at such a late hour? "They may 'hang out' on the third floor, but still. They're loud."

Marcy remembered she should've laughed, but she instead she stood there, listening to Trym's laugh. It was melodious. Like angels singing and weeping at the same time.

"Come on sleepy head, let's get you to bed."

Ten minutes later, Marcy was sprawled out in Trym's bed, waiting for the air mattress to blow up. And just moments after her head hit the pillow, she was out like a light.

It made Marcy smile, thinking about last night. She felt like a child who'd done something bad and received a reward instead. It was wonderful.

"Pst, you awake?" Someone peeked their red head down under the railing, twisting to look around the room. "We ordered dinner. Do you want some?"

Marcy stretched and stumbled out of bed. "Sure. What'd you order?"

"Chinese."

"Did you get stir fry?"

"Probably."

"I'm up for it."

Marcy waddled up the stairs, watching the redhead pop his head out from the tiny space he wedged it. Marcy extended her hand, looking at the marks the sheets indented into her arm. "I'm Marcy."

"Hello Marcy, it's very nice to meet you." The boy was loud and he shook her hand roughly. "I'm Charlie."

Marcy smiled, watching their hands drop. "Hey Charlie. Is Trym home?"

"Nah, I think he's at practice. You know the dude's a cheerleader, right?"

"Oh yeah. I've seen it with my own two eyes."

Charlie shuddered, turning to make his way up the stairs. His pants hung too low on his butt, so an inch and a half of his underwear leveled itself at Marcy's natural gaze. She had to look at her feet to keep from staring and cracking up.

"Creeps me out. He was so manly and then...wha wha wha."

Marcy giggled, looking around as they entered the kitchen. Four other boys sat at a tiny table, cards in their hands. "Exactly."

The first boy to lift his head looked right at her, a broad grin on his face. "Hey! It's Marcy!"

"Marcy!"

"Marcy, my lady!"

"Who?" A boy's head perked up, and he eyed Marcy, leaning back in his chair.

"It's Marcy, you idiot!" The dude next to him laughed, whacking his companion on the back of his head with the hand that held his cards. "Trym's gah-urrrrrrl."

Marcy shifted her weight on her feet. "Um, I'm not his girl."

"Surrrrre."

The boys laughed, and Marcy smiled, feeling small, outnumbered and awkward. She thought about how she should've just braved it and stayed in her apartment. Then she rethought that through and decided she'd rather be here than there. Laughter and false assumptions were better than panic attacks.