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The sun has long since left, and in its place a waning moon. A sliver of silver in the sky.
Wisteria wandered the streets with no clear purpose, weaving in and out of the night crowd. Things are getting loud, bar music spread throughout the street. People laughing and talking obnoxiously grate her ears. She takes another swig, her nose scrunches but she no longer hisses.
Theres a huddle of people before the crosswalk, chattering excitedly.
"Its on the roof!" "You'll never guess who Michelle invited!" "I heard.." She toned them out, eyes staring ahead blankly. The alcohol gripping her brain, making it foggy. Her thoughts wandered, the man she met, red eyes of judgment, falling in the street, her earlier fuck, the anxiety attack- everything rushed her senses. Breathing heavy, her world rushes in and out of focus. Her void becomes too much.
She stumbles back reaching for stability.
Her eyes are wide open but she cant see. Reaching for something, anything, nothing comes into contact. A strangled cry is lost in the mirth around her.
No one notices the drunk girl losing her mind. Not as she slams into the brick wall. Not as she slides to the ground, kicking her legs out and holding both hands over her racing heart. Her face becomes red as she tries holding her breath. Trying to find some control of her body. No one sees her.
He sees her. He followed at a distance, not wanting to frighten her. He saw her waiting at the crosswalk, he watched as she freaked out. He walks faster, hurrying towards her. Being held back by passing people, he pushes through and breaks from the crowd in front of her. His heart twists faintly at the sight of her. Reminding her of a plucked flower she sat there, withering away.
Slowly he walks forward. No one watches him either as he kneels before the sobbing girl. No one sees him sit next to her, grab her hand and start picking at the chipped nail polish.
He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on her nails. Those damn black nails. He glares at the grey sidewalk, and tightens his grip on her hand unconsciously.
"My names Morgan, meatpancake." His low voice filled the air.
"Dont call me that." Her shaky voice flat. Her breathing still erratic. She holds her breath.
One.
She wiggles her captured hand.
Two.
He grips her tight.
Three.
She pulls away from him.
Four.
He let's her.
Five.
She exhales.
One.
Her name is Wisteria.
Two.
She is sitting on cold concrete.
Three.
That man is here.
Four.
That man is called Morgan.
Five.
He followed her again.
Rolling her eyes, she pushes herself to stand up. Resting a hand on the brick wall, she recuperates. Breathing deeply in and out.
He stands as well. Reaching deep into his pockets he feels for another crinkly wrapper. Bringing it to the light, he checks the flavor. Watermelon. He holds it in his palm before her.
