thirteen months 》cal

//two//

updating this for lolly<3

song / i had a heart by real friends

photo / calvin the asian one ((omg pls don't hate me))

- enjoy -

☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹☹

I keep watch on him and vise-versa. I notice there's a scar on his right temple. Hey, when you stare for that long, you are bound to notice all and every little detail.

His stare didn't ever scare me off; but only until his eyes met mine, hungrily, just before he licks his plump lips. They way the light reflected off of them blinds me in the eyes and I quickly turn away for the for and last time.

Before Carol left for duty, he told me not to get near the guy. They don't know anything about him - personal, because paper-wise, they know all. Carol knew all too well as the words left his mouth, they give me a curious, tender feeling.

I assigned it my new mission to figure this lad out; trace by trace. Every single feature that makes him . . . well, whom ever he maybe.

-

》12 months.

It's been a month from the first night I saw him. The whole month I'd studied more about him than I thought I ever would. His middle name's Thomas, I would've never guessed. It's on his name tag, calm down.

I came down to the station everyday of the week and I can tell you he doesn't do his hours on Tuesdays, Saturday night, and only an hour on Monday.

I saw him leave that day, the first Monday I kept a close eye on him. He was signing out. I drew a decoy and dropped a mitten. As I played struggling-to-place-it-in-my-pocket, my eyes scanned over his messy calligraphy. I looked for when he signed in and it had only been an hour. So. Mondays were canceled out.

It continued that way, my stalking. He didn't talk with anyone and no one talked with him. If any verbal action accrued, it was an officer asking the lad a question, he'd make his reply extra quickie and get back to working off his community service.

His job didn't consist of much at all. He'd answer phones for a good bit, do some shít on the computers, organizing out old dusty files not one single soul looks at anymore, or they'd make him sit at the table in the corner, all by himself might I add, and read the Portland City book of laws. The book I knew by heart because, in my past troubling years, they've made me sit in the same exact seat, doing the same exact thing, I think they quizzed the poor lad on that crap, although I'm not entirely sure.

Today is a big day for me. Well, it was up until Carol showed up at the Sugar Bowl, said it was a surprise to see me. Surprise my arse, bitćh. He came and he took something from me. Carol knew. I don't know how, but he knew. He knew what I had planned for tonight.

It was all planned out and ready. I knew exactly what I had to do to go to the station and stay there. Sure it's called jail - serving time, others might say - but it's what I want. It's what I need.

It's not what I need, it's what I need to get away from my problems, my issues, my life - my parents play a big role on all three.

I don't go to the police station because I'm a trouble maker, law breaker, whatever you want to call it, I go to the station . . . because that's my home. Carol and the crew, they're like my family.

Things at 'home' tend to just get worse. I needed to be away a while and the only way I can be away and be sure I'm safe without having to look over my shoulder every two seconds, is by actualy breaking a law.