Confessions to a Drool Stained Pillow

By Miss Moo.

"Here's the thing," He said. Her body was curled up on the lumpy pink couch in her bedroom. One of her arms was wrapped around her torso while the other hung limply off the edge. Her eyes were gently closed while her mouth hung gently open; a little bit of drool trailed down onto the pink, fluffy pillow beneath her head. Every now and again she'd make a soft noise; something between a pig's oink and a dogs growl and shift slightly deeper into the crevice between the two pink couch cushions.

He paused and looked at her for a moment.

"Yeah, you see, here's the thing."

Another pause.

"Ah, shit!"

He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair and thought about how he'd much prefer to be running it through her much smoother brown hair. Fuck, she was gorgeous. She was even gorgeous when she was wearing a massive navy jumper with drool dripping down the side of her face.

"You're asleep! Fucking asleep! God, I'm such an asshole." She made a little grunting noise and the fingers that hung limply off the couch twitched a fraction.

"Okay, here I go," He took some deep breaths to console himself, "You're my friend, Carla, you know that. But well, I haven't been a really good friend. I mean, yeah, I know you think I have been, but I've actually done some pretty shitty things. Like you know when Kyle Harrison told everyone you had genital herpes? Well, I kinda started the rumor. But I had to do it, you know. Do you think you'd have even looked twice at me if I hadn't been able to punch him out for you? And besides, if I hadn't started that rumor then James Ferguson would've asked you to the year nine dinner dance, and I'm pretty sure you would've said yes. So it was kind of a good thing for you too; you got to go with me."

He tapped his fingers against his jeans in a nervous gesture, "Oh, and remember when you got chewing gum stuck in your hair in fifth grade? And you always thought that it was Cindy 'coz she always popping away at the stuff? Well that was me too. I didn't mean for it to get stuck so bad you'd have to cut your hair off, although you did look cute with a bob, I just wanted you to notice me or something.

"I'm fucking crazy about you Carla. I have been ever since you proved that you really could skip fours on the monkey bars."

He plunked himself down on her bed and picked up one of her soft toys. It was a yellow teddy bear that had become faded and murky over the years. He adjusted the cute yellow ribbon around it's neck with his fingers before putting it back down on her pillow. His eyes darted around the room at the numerous posters on her wall; The Clash, Okay Go, some pictures of her friends and some irregular French verb conjugations. His leg was doing that thing where it bounced up and down like a four year old on a trampoline after eating a whole packet of sour worms. Or Carla's teeth on a cold day. She's really cute when she's cold; her nose and cheek go all pinkish and her teeth start to chatter. She does this little 'cold' dance too. It's like a shivery version of the 'I need to find a bathroom or I'm going to piss myself' dance without the connotations of bodily fluids.

"Why don't you even sleep on your bed?" He asked her suddenly, and her steady breaths were his only answer, "Won't you get a crick or something? I slept on that couch once and my neck was stiff for days."

He shifted awkwardly on the bed.

"I love you, Carla."

She slept peacefully in response.

"Carla?" Nothing. "Aren't you supposed to say something? Isn't this the part where you're supposed to wake up and I'll realize that you've been feigning sleep all along and then you'll confess your undying love for me?"

Her foot twitched a little and he was reminded of the way his dog would run and bark in his sleep.

"You really suck at this, Carla."

He thought about picking up the yellow bear again and chucking it at her. That was what he usually did when she ignored him.

So the teddy bear went flying across the room and hit her squarely on the head before bouncing down onto the floor with a muted bump. He was seventeen; maturity was not yet a factor in his decisions regarding Carla.

She jumped up in surprise and made a startled sound halfway between a grunt and a gasp. Her sleepy eyes darted around the room in confusion before zoning in on the bed. He sat with his eyes wide and clearly guilty.

"What did you do that for, asshole!?" She groaned, her voice was croaking from her nap and he found it unbelievably sexy.

"I, uh, I was saving you from a stiff neck. I don't think I've recovered from my restless night on your lumpy excuse for a couch."

She rolled her eyes and stretched her arms out behind her like a cat. As he stated before: Sexy.

"The last time you stayed over was like, a month ago." She informed him.

He grinned at her, "Exactly my point."

She brought her hands to her face to rub the sleep out of her eyes and he noticed the way she blushed a little when she wiped the small smear of drool from her cheek.

"How long have you been sitting there?" She asked him.

"Not long." He told her. It was true, he'd only been sitting there for a minute or two. The other fifteen had been spent pacing. "Just long enough to hear your semi-pornographic dream about Mr. Warren."

Her mouth popped open like a fish and he smirked at the image she made.

"I do not have dreams about Mr. Warren!" She spluttered, "He's like, one hundred and twelve! He's my calculus teacher!"

He laughed, "Relax Carls, I know you weren't dreaming about Mr. Warren."

The flush in her face faded a little, "Thank you," she said.

"Yeah, it was quite clearly my name you were moaning." He said carelessly as he flopped back onto her bed and lay there.

"What!?" She screeched, "Oh my gosh, you're so full of yourself!"

He smirked and continued the lie, "You sounded like you really wanted to be full of me too."

He could see her disgusted expression out of the corner of his eye and it caused the tiniest fracture to his ego.

"You're disgusting!" She spat and threw the fluffy, pink, drooled-on pillow at him; but he knew she wasn't really mad.

"You love me." He said cockily.

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah right; you wish."

"Don't worry," He said, "You can admit it. I love you too."

At least he'd told her. Kinda.

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(So something cute, but kinda sad, and really not deep enough to be confusing. Now I'll ask you my favorite question; did you like the characters?

For those to lazy to write their own review;

Hey, I (verb) reading your story.
I really liked _____, but I wasn't so fond of _____.
I felt like the character of (noun) was (adverb) portrayed.
I'm looking forward too / dreading your next piece of work.

Simple, huh? Most creative response gets my firstborn's pet goldfish named after them.)