I live for her

Chapter 12: Poet Boy

Emily 🌹

I know what you're all thinking... that we had our first time... in a bathroom... at a party. I also thought we would. However, my dark knight was being too much of a tease. You know poet boys just have a way with words - it's problematic for girls who just have a love for words.

He said all the right shit, I know he did, and he did all the right stuff, his words were literally stripping me down, his smirk was internally heating me up. He had me against the wall, his chocolate eyes piercing my soul. He was lavishing every kiss and every lip lock and every bottom lip bite. And I was just drowning, drowning as his body moved closer to mine, as his lips forced sensation into mine. 

I wanted him to go further. Further than the hickeys, further than the touching, the groping, the domination... I wanted him to go further. Because those eyes have a way of making me forget all his flaws and fall in love with the only thing he was good at: his words. 

The burning running from my face and down to my thighs subsided when poet boy said and I quote, "Shit, look at the time, I haven't eaten for like 6 hours."

And I did try that line... the sexual one, that... you know... he could eat me up. And I really don't know if he was being serious, but he said he meant "real food". And I knew that day that I wanted him, really, because there are some people you like just because of their personality and some people you like just because they turn you on - but when you get someone who can make you feel both the soulful kind of love and sexual kind... I don't know. I think they're special. For me, they are because they don't come by too often. Leroy's special. 

Have you ever seen Leroy laugh? Gosh... he looks awful, but it's also cute. It's cute how he finds his voice in his laughter, he just breaks into guffaws that sound like roars from a dark demonic hyena. I've tried on several occasions to get the fool to tame that disgustingly cute sound in public but he wouldn't budge, he says "Laughter should not be tamed or contained, " and every single time after that he adds an, "Oh, that rhymed, dope. It even rhymed... so you know it's true, 'cause it rhymed.". Besides that he has this way of looking at you, he pulls this strange face, it's a cross between, "I wanna cry" and "I wanna smile". He seldom pulls that face, but that's when he is uttering a thanks that is echoed from the depths of his soul. And in those moments, I just hug him, because his over-the-top and erratic emotions just command me to do so. Plus that's when his hugs are warmest, when they're heartfelt and the embrace comes from the embarrassing weakness from being vulnerable. 

Leroy also has this look... It was the same look he gave me on the bus when he didn't finish his sentence, the same look my eyes have become accustomed to. But my heart is not, because she knows what it means. His eyes yell "help me" and then his straight-faced mask expresses no emotion. In those times, I know what's going on with him and it scares me. It scares me to be well aware that my poet boy has all his mental focus on his hand... has hesitation floating through his motor neurons as his mental voices debate whether they should ask for help. His soul makes a whelp that I can tell from his eyes. The problem is his hand never reaches out, the hesitation dies, but paralysis due to pride or fear of Judgement engulfs those neurons. And he says nothing... nothing of the struggles that are tiring his soul as they slam against it over and over again like relentless waves: relentless thinking waves. 

He said he didn't want me to know of his suicidal thoughts, he told me to leave him because he "knew" I did not want someone like him. It... just makes me hate and love him more. I know it's twisted but I also know suicidal thoughts can be fleeting thoughts. They're like an unwanted guest, they stay over for a few days but when there's no food left or when your parents find some courage in their vocal chords - they kick them out. I know. Maybe I just need to be that parent? Or maybe I just need to help him through the starvation period as his fridge gets empty - to give him persistence and perseverance so he keeps his resolve until the unwanted guests egress his mental cess. You know, it takes a fucked up person to admit they like a self-proclaimed fucked up person. But love in itself is fucked up, isn't it? 

A/N: To the beautiful person who's read up to here, thank you very much. Please tell me what you think via comments section or a private message - I'd really like to know.

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And wow guys... Emily said the L-word... And you think she's been suicidal too? Or she's helped someone with the torment of their suicidal thoughts?
What's your suspicion?

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Thank you 😘