The Difference Between Getting and Needing

f i v e

i know that i've got issues
but you're pretty messed up t o o . . .

〰️〰️〰️

The next morning, once I could grasp my surroundings after ingesting an unnecessary amount of mimosas at the bridal shower, I was in the bedroom I'd grown up in. A room that, no matter how many times I'd visit it, would feel like walking through a time warp.

I rolled over like a slug in the full-sized bed I despised to this day, and my arm splayed across the plane of a chest. By the time I'd fulfilled my growth spurt and stopped at a staggering five-foot-ten, it felt more like a baby crib rather than my eldest brother's hand-me-down mattress. How he ever slept in it by being six foot tall, I had no idea.

Obviously it wasn't getting any better with time. Sleepovers weren't something that ever really occurred at my house in my younger years, for both reasons of too many people living there already and not enough room to host any friends.

My eyes flickered open one at a time, my vision clouded yet still able to identify Gus' sleeping figure next to mine. The lumpy comforter was pushed down towards his waist, with one arm cradled behind his head and the other against his stomach. Rather than disturbing him too much, I cherished the stillness of my childhood room and nuzzled my head into his side, greeted with the soft cotton of a t-shirt. Which was surprising, considering he hardly ever slept with a shirt on. I rested my arm on top of his, outlining the limb until my hand reached his, and sleepily half-smiling when he instinctively curled his fingers against mine.

Somehow, my mom convinced Gus and me to stay the night after Sutton's shower ended. It was only five o'clock by the time the party was over and everyone left but the few of us who had to clean up. We easily could've drove home; but I was drunk, Gus was tired, and my parents wanted more time with us. All I truly cared about was sleeping off the love affair I'd had with the champagne all afternoon, whether that was back at our apartment or in the town that raised us.

And so we found ourselves foraging my parents' house for clothes to crash in for the night.

It remained the same, my old bedroom. With high school photos and posters of adolescent heartthrobs tacked on the periwinkle walls, cheap and eternally sticky shot glasses on display shelves, and a permanent stain in the carpet by my old makeup desk. I precisely remembered where that stain came from – back when I drank sugar-injected liquor like water. When Collin and I would pregame parties in my bedroom with nauseating, alcoholic concoctions that somehow never got us sick. When we'd get just a little too drunk and end up spilling half of our drinks on my floor.

Granted, they were incredible times, I just couldn't imagine doing it again. My body would deteriorate if I came within arms-reach of that lifestyle again.

The warm daylight spilling through the shades, golden and welcoming, told me I'd slept for long enough. Though under the covers with Gus' breathing and Ziggy's irregular snores across the room was like my own peculiar lullaby, and I could've dozed off for days.

Gus, never having been a late sleeper, rose from his state of slumber with a deep inhale just as that thought crossed my mind.

"Mmm," he hummed, the sound rumbling through his chest to my skull.

"Morning," I said in a small voice. "Did you sleep okay?"

He yawned, albeit dramatically, for an answer. Then he whispered, "Yeah." He freed his arm from underneath mine as our fingers separated, and instead snaked it behind me to pull my body closer to his. I could feel his heartbeat right underneath of my ear resting on his pec.