ring pops and cigs

09

there was this science fair project i did in the third grade. i always had these big ideas; this time, it was an electromagnetic glove. i tried getting all the supplies, but my friend insisted more "logical" ideas.

after a while, i complied. she tore me down from the clouds and we settled for a project about pineapples.

it was then my favorite fruit became a pineapples.

apparently, according to the lovely wikipedia, there's this thing called bromelain. apparently, if you eat enough pineapples, the bromeliads that are in the juice will eat away at your tongue.

i did not like it because of the whole it's sweet but too much of it will disintegrate your tongue faster than thanos.

i'm not that quirky.

it's because at one point, my tongue will disintegrate and i won't have to make up excuses as to why i'm not talking.

in the end, the project that one first place was some fucking potato project about energy. [ quite ironic, since laziness is usually referenced by potatoes (i.e. couch potato.) ]

i wish i had eaten more pineapples; maybe then i wouldn't be stuck explaining myself, dripping wet, as a baggy t-shirt substituted as a towel.

though, perhaps the fact i could see all of them is worse. well, maybe not all of them...

"what the fuck were you trying to do?" kaleb's voice wasn't loud, but i flinched anyways. i don't think it would even classify as a "level two"; just slightly above a whisper. i'm surprised i even heard him, the beat of the bass still pulsing though we're out in his backyard, taking refuge in the shed from the chilling new autumn night. placed on a rickety stool as he walks the entirety of the shed-almost tripping over fertilizer thrice, my hands sat between my lap and now-damp shirt covering my shoulders.

"i-i was getting hot so i wanted to go in for a dip. i d-didn't think it'd be that deep..." liarliarliarliarliarliarliarliarliarliarliarliarliar.

"you're drunk. you shouldn't even be in a puddle when you're like this." he seethed, running a hand through his now damp hair. fuck. he was starting to pace, in tiny, tight strung circles.

"y-you could've died," he muttered, and his sculpted jaw clenched as if he just thought of my mortality for the first time. i thought our fateful deaths were brunch topics.

"how unfortunate." i scoffed, before starting to cough. the coughing quickly diffused-reduced to a quiet and embarrassed sniffle when i caught his glare.

"this isn't the time to be fucking grunge, rie." the nickname had slipped his mouth in his frustrated haze, large hand coming up to tug at his scalp. "fuck, you could've died. what the fuck would i do then? huh? what the hell were you thinking?"

"i-i wasn't thinking. my s-shoes were heavier in the water and i didn't know how to get up. i haven't swam in years. so after a while i just kinda accepted it?"

"accep-accepted it? you were sitting criss-cross apple-fucking-sauce at the bottom of a pool. that seems more than just accepting it." his eyes were the darkest i've ever seen 'em, the sparkle replaced with flicker that reminded me of volcanoes and orchids.

my breath got caught in my throat. i closed my eyes.

thisisnthappeningthisisnthappeningthisisnthappeningthisisnthappeningthisisnthappening-

i felt hands cup my shoulders, drawing small triangles onto my skin. i don't wanna open my eyes.

"rie-you weren't trying to do anything, right?"

"no." it was true. trying would imply it was a conscious effort, and being drunk and impulsive doesn't exactly fit the definition of conscious. at least, that's what i tell myself to ease my soul into submission. my heart is pounding, thrumming so loud it's reverberating in my ears. i think there's water lodged in them.

i can feel his nose muzzle against mine, and our foreheads connect. shit. this marked the second time i felt breathless today. i couldn't tell if i liked it or not.

"open your eyes."

"why?"

"do you have to question everything i say?" his chuckle was exhaled like a breath, and i could smell the beer mingled with coke.

i slowly comply, eyelids unfolding to reveal my eyes. i could see the beauty mark right below his cheekbone. my eyelashes must've been clumped together from the water, my eyebrows must be all over the place, and my eyes must be so red and ...

he stares. he just stares and i find a stupid, ugly, dumb heat sprint to the bunches of my wet cheeks and-

our lips meet. a tear rolls down my cheek. i don't think he notices-he must've disregarded it as a droplet from my hair. i could taste all the regret tomorrow will hold. it'd be too awkward to stop now, i convince myself.

he's kissing me and i have an option; and yet i still continue our never ending cycle.

his lips cascade down my neck in flurries of open mouth kisses, and my hands instinctively thread through his hair. i hate this. i hate how he loves me when he's drunk but can barely touch me when he's sober. i hate how we're so on and off and how he never remembers us the next morning.

the door creaks open, followed by rushed apologies and slamming shut...

i've never been so glad for a cockblock.

kaleb sighed. though his actions had stopped, he didn't make any motion that he had the mind to move. his hair is tickling my neck, and his lips are barely brushing just below my collarbone-i can feel his eyelashes fluttering against my skin.

a warm droplet lands on the valley of my collarbones, and i stiffen. treading on its heels are several other warm teardrops and a sniffle. i think the only thing warm about him is his tears.

he crumpled from his uncomfortable position to the floor-his previous stance being bent over to kiss (a trembling) me.

my knees instantly meet the wooden floor, and i wince from the scratches it's probably gonna leave behind.

my hand hovers over his back, battling with myself as to whether i'm allowed to touch him or not. gravity finally pushes my hand to follow his rule and i shatter my golden rule. my hands trace the same triangles he traced on me, and i feel him stiffen. he's so cold. i inch closer.

his head tilts up, and though he's been in my proximity for the past two years, my heart still reacts the same way. i wonder if it'll fade.

his eyes are red, as if he's still suppressing tears. he has never been this vulnerable.

the moonlight is barely doing anything to illuminate the shed, though the enclosed space is trapped in a blue glare that peeks through the window. he's blue and red and pink and before i know it, my forehead is leaning against his.

we don't need to speak. i hear the hum of the cicadas behind us, and the night birds cawing. the fireflies are singing their last lightning song, and i sigh.

i don't know how long we sat there, breathing eachother in and waiting for our hearts to calm down. i feel him stiffen under me, and i feel the moment unwinding. he's leaving, my heart whispers. my mind finally agrees.

he gets up, wipes his nose, and walks away like nothing happened.

i shouldn't have expected anything else.