Cliché // a.i.

twenty

I need to write more chapters (for both my fanfics for that matter) cause I've been slacking. I feel bad, and I'm sorry. Anyway, hope you enjoy this episode - Jess (:

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Friday, October 17th, 2014

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It was warm and muggy when I went out to feed Gandalf this morning.

The weather is so damn bipolar here, I swear.

I made myself some cereal and watched Pokémon. Julie yelled at me to stop watching such childish things, because she was trying to sleep in. I just flipped her off. It's my dorm as much as hers. She finally gave in and joined me. No one can resist Pokémon. Muahahaha.

I decided to be productive and go thrift shopping. It was tiring, but I found three floral dresses, a Killers tee shirt, a dozen or so sweaters, and a worn bomber jacket. I had trouble lugging it all home on the bus though.

Probably should have thought that through.

When I finally made it home, I found Ashton sitting on the couch while Julie was cooking herself some pasta. Julie told me that he'd been calling my phone while I was out, and I should be less careless about leaving my phone at home.

Ashton told Julie thanks for trying to keep his girlfriend safe, but he'd be handling that business from now on, and proceeded to drag me out of my dorm and in to his car.

He drove me to the park, parked in front of a little lake, and then pulled out picnic supplies. "In honor of our one week anniversary," he told me. The sandwiches were a little mushed, the apples slightly warm, and the champagne just a little flat, but he apologized so many times I just didn't have the heart to mention it. We watched the sun dip down and turn the lake a golden hue as we sipped on crappy champagne, and held hands.

Cliché, yes, but I wouldn't change it for the world.

It grew dark, and Ashton pulled off his tee shirt and shorts and picked me up, running in to the lake and dunking me. I screamed and protested, but he wouldn't let me swim to shore. We splashed and laughed until our lips were blue, and our knuckles turned white.

When I could barely stand the cold anymore, Ashton and I wrapped ourselves in the flannel picnic blanket, and sat in the back seat huddled together until we warmed up. His toned arms were wrapped around my shoulders, making me feel safe and at home, and his warm lips traveled up and down my shoulders and neck.

I couldn't help but notice he had angry red lines running up and down his forearms, but before I could say anything the moment passed. I need to remember to ask him about it.

He picked up our clothes and the picnic trash while I sat perched in the backseat, watching his every move. He tossed me his giant shirt and made me put it on since mine was wet.

When he finally dropped me off outside my building, the walk through the halls was awkward to say the least.

I just showered, pulled his shirt out of the dryer, and put it on before crawling in to bed. It smells like cologne, pine trees, and vanilla.

I might not ever give it back.

Is that cliché?