Make me stay

Dangerous fish tank

I always wake up late. I hate that; it makes it hard to sneak out, which means you always get kicked out. No one ever wants me to stay. 

It's so awkward to wake up and feel their eyes on you, like you're yesterdays beer can that never made it to the bin. An eyesore. Or being jerked awake by a cold hand or even colder words. Though they were so hot last night. A fake heat. I know the heat won't be there when I wake up. 

I'm not good at falling asleep. I don't like the cold. I want to stay warm. The morning is cruel. In the night you can pretend. 

I lie awake for hours, hoping to keep that warmth. I never do. My body slowly but surely cools off, but that's not the worst. It's when they get cold. They always wake up cold. 

It's made me into something that can never thaw. I'm like a fucking snowman. Even though I don't want to fall alseep it doesn't matter because they do, and I can't do anything about that. Except keep the heat going. I'm good at that, but never good enough. 

He never kicks me out. 

Jason is made of something different. I don't know what. He's always warm. But I don't like that. Because he's warm with everyone. Always kind. Always smiling. I really am an idiot. Only someone who likes everyone would like me. I don't like me. 

As I roll over the bed is empty. I don't like waking up alone. I actually don't know what I like. I've never had it. The sheets are so worn out that they're all smooth. I slide my hand against the touseld cover. He's up but the house is quiet. I don't want to go. I never do. I always must. My sleep-sore body protests at the head's order. Up. Go. NOW. 

I know better than my longing flesh. 

My pants stretch around my thin legs, showing of the good parts. I have very few but I know how to use them. Last night was good. I wore my best jeans and danced with my friends. I drank a lot. Partied like I was dying. It was nice, for once. But then I didn't have anywhere to go home to. 

I could have gone home. I didn't want to.  

As I use the bahtroom I slowly adjust to the light. I should be more hung over, concidering how much I drank. Strangely I feel fine. A fine as I can. I'm not a person that goes around feeling peachy fine. 

After washing my face I look just as ragged and fatigued as before, but I slowly walk through his room. The window blinds slice the sunlight as it splays across my body, painting me in warmth. It feels nice. I have to get out of here. 

The couch is empty now, when I pick my shoes up. Somehow it feels like I'm inside a fish tank. The glass now wooden, the water now sun dusted, the decorations not a treasure chest and some alge anymore, but a plump sofa and a messy kitchen. 

I make my way around. Slowly. Like a mindless godlfish. It feels safe. It feels odd. It's not home. Home doesn't feel like this. I can't stay. He doesn't want me to stay. Not really. 

My hands don't dare to slide against the meaterial but they do anyway. I have no courage but no self preservation either. Otherwise I wouldn't be here. This is basically risking my life. My carefullt held tougether life. I'm scared now. Restless. I have to go. 

It's sunny. If I'm lucky he's far away. I'm never lucky. Reluctantly I open the door. 

"Hi there, sleepy head" he says as I let the baked air in. I don't want to go out into the sun. I don't want to leave this dangerous place. My carefully iced chest is tingling. Don't call me sleepy head with that perfect smile. 

"Morning" I answer quietly, my voice awfully raspy and uncomfortable. I don't want him to hear it. 

"Did you get some breakfast? Otherwise, please help yourself" he says and gives me that careful look. Taming the street dog. Calming to the core. I shiver under his look. 

"No, I have to go. It's late. Sorry I stayed so long" I apologize and let the door close with a nice creaking noize. His brother looks at me, a phone in his hand and a pair of eaqually kind eyes. Maybe it's genetic.

"Hi, man. I'm Tim" he says and shifts in his seat at the porch. I scramble down the few steps before he can get up to take my hand. I have to go. 

"Ryan" I croak with my back towards him. Get going. I have to get going. 

Jason is in a wife-beather and some dirty jeans with a hand lodged in the engine of his MC. Looking like that should be criminal. But then again I always pick the hot ones. That's how we met. 

As I get stuck in his eyes again I wonder if I could relive that night. I would do anyhting to hear those words again.