⚙︎ Falling Apart ⚙︎

⚙︎ Not Allowed ⚙︎

We ended up binging the night away with The 100, Parks & Rec, Dark Matter, and arguing about who the best character was ("Emori is underrated!"; "Ya'll are dumb, Andy is clearly the smartest out of all of us!", which wasn't a lie; "FIVE IS LITERALLY THE BEST JUST TRY TO CHANGE MY MIND I DARE YOU!", yeah that last one was from me). It was fun.

That is, until the snack supply ran out.

Everyone immediately pointed fingers at Skye and Gracie, because duh. They lived for food.

I couldn't stop myself. If Lyn were here, she'd be able to magic more food to us.

That thought echoed in my mind until the rest of the night blurred together, and before I knew it, my eyes fluttered open as I stared up at a white ceiling. 

I listened to the gentle breathing of my friends around me, the occasional mumbling from each of them. My arm was laying above my head, and I felt a bit overheated.

I felt even more so when I realised my head was laying on someone's stomach.

Please just be the dog. Please just be the dog. 

For hell's sake, please be the damn dog.

Of course, this is real life we're talking about. Wishes only come true in stories or movies.

Funny. We have literal superpowers, our lives are already something straight out of Wattpad. Why would thinking "wishes are only for fairytales" make any sense in this situation?

I realised I was distracting myself from reality, yet again.

I anxiously tilted my head to see the sleeping form of a person above me on the bed. She was still asleep, and the long brown hair shielding her face from my view gave me a hint at who it was.

Forgetting my whole mission here was stealth, I scrambled off my friend, feeling my face go red. Hells' sake, Gyps. You're losing it. Stop being awkward.

What is wrong with me?

Surprisingly, none of my friends stirred. In fact, the only movement from the others was Skye groaning, rolling over to be closer to Gracie and muttering something that sounded like "stuff you, that cereal is mine."

I rolled my eyes affectionately. What a nutcase. That's why we love her.

I stepped around the crinkled chip bags and glanced at Casey's analog clock pinned high and proud on the wall. Nine in the morning.

Makes sense, but I thought I would've slept for longer. All of us had stayed up until one, after all.

Hmm. I'll worry about it later. I need to sort myself out first, before solving magical teenager sleep schedules.

Muted sunlight filled the corridor outside when I opened the bedroom door. I still felt the sides of my neck burning from how I had woken up.

Maybe cold water would help. Splashing it on my face would cool my skin, and drinking it might calm the butterflies that were trying to rip apart my ribcage, along with my heart.
I cringed. Ew ew ew. What a teenager sentence. What am I, a purple prose writer now? My younger self would be ashamed of me.

This all must just be my hormones messing with me.

I was not allowed to get awkward around my friends like that again.

I made it to the bathroom, muttering curses when I stumbled in like a drunkard. I wasn't thinking straight.

Oh, the irony.