A/N: This is an idea, that is all :) Read/Review/Comment. Much love, Lunarlover:) *Please be aware that there is a smashed drunk man involved, so there'll be some lewd thoughts/freaky moments* I had this as part of a longer scene, but unfortunately I gave my written manuscript to someone without bothering to make another copy (DON'T BE LIKE ME), so I've had to go on memory and improvisation to design this. I hope you'll find it well-written. Read/Review/Comment. Much love, Lunarlover:)
I stumble blindly down the otherwise eerily silent hallway, barely able to see more than a few feet in front of me for my blurred vision. Sweat cools my skin, rolling off of me in little rivers, but instead of actually making me feel better I feel like I may puke at any moment, a fierce headache pounding inside of my skull. Guess you shouldn't have drank that extra bottle of Ketel, huh Morgan, whispers that annoying little voice in my head as I manage to stub my toe on one of the coffee table legs, almost falling face first into the glass tabletop. I have a voice inside of my head that often feels the need to randomly blurt out shit when I get hammered, like it just can't help itself. Sometimes it sounds almost conversational, like it knows how desperate I am to have someone to talk to; even the voices inside my head will do every once in awhile. A drunken "Fuck you" escapes my loose lips, as if the inner-voice can hear me. Lately, the voice has been sounding like my good-for-nothing birthmother, Emma Chase, so I've been drinking more and more to shut her up since she made a very stupid decision to come here to my family's home looking for me after her stupid ass somehow found out about the impending arrival of my little girl, then she dragged the rest of her replacement spawn off to California from Tennessee. Who'd put a fucking table in the middle of the fucking family room?
The tiny sadistic part of me loved to tell her: "Fuck you" in no uncertain terms, to hear her little brat tell me: "You said an ugly word." I've been binge drinking like a fucking tick on a dog ever since, hiding out in my ex-fiancée's childhood room among all of her treasures and sleeping in her bed with its purple daisy comforter where her scent clinging to the cotton drives me fucking insane with longing. I fucked her just hours ago, drunk out of my fucking mind of course, but even in that state I heard her scream my name, felt her warm breath on my neck, her body welding itself completely to mine of its own accord. The sight of the body just now as I woke up with chills running down my spine, the shakes, haunts me as my eyelids flutter against the early morning sunlight streaming in through the drawn kitchen curtains, a mannerism somewhere between a hiccup and a dry heave making me clutch at my abdomen as I mount the stairs, nausea churning in the pit of my stomach as the world tilts back and forth on its axis, fragmented images of my hellish nightmare rushing into my head too fast for me to comprehend. There's nothing in my stomach but two bottles of vodka, but right now I feel as if they'll end up all over the damn floor unless I get to a toilet or a trash can, something that I won't feel guilty about ruining with vomit before someone wakes up and sees me sweating alcohol or hears the ungodly retching that my body wants to produce.
One thought remains clear in my sick, twisted brain, as hideously cliché as it is: Get To Lenny. The door to her room opens with a sharp creak, and right then I freeze, watching her small form stir beneath the dark blue sheets, her mouth mumbling something incoherent as she rolls over, curling up on the other side of the bed, blissfully unaware of my presence as I feel along the walls with my fingertips, watching the peaceful rise and fall of her chest with an almost predatory gaze. My face still hurts like a bitch from where that little lapdog of hers hit me twice in the jaw, a wave of fresh rage making me glare in her general direction, my gaze drawn to the unused spring-assisted knife I'd given her earlier at the bar sitting placidly on her nightstand, making her an easy target for anyone that may want her dead. Luckily for Lenny though, I'm probably too smashed and happy to see her alive after that awful nightmare to let anything touch her. As for her little friend…well let's just say that he's lucky she was there to stop me when she did, otherwise I'd have been content to strangle him with his own bloody intestines. You won though. You got your girl back, and Adam's got a nice boot print on his ribs and a busted lip to match. That's pretty damn good for him, eh? But I so wanted to do more than that.
What I want is to hurt him so badly that he'll never forget who the hell he's dealing with. I would've succeeded in it if she hadn't kicked me in the family jewels with those big ass boots of hers. She looked so fucking sexy while doing it though: All those tousled curls spilled out over her smoky gray eye shadowed blue eyes, searching mine for that shred of humanity right before she incapacitated me. I lick my lips in a come-hither fashion, approaching the bed with studied silent footsteps, hardly daring to breathe. My heart still races painfully fast inside of my chest at the sight of her, or rather, the blurry shape of her in front of me, framed by a rich, dark indigo paint that brings out the luster of her hair on the pillow, and the creamy white of her complexion as a sliver of sunlight hits it through her floor length picture window.
She curves her fingers into a fist around the top of the matching beaded comforter, pulling it up so that it hides half of her face and snuggles deeper into its warmth. The sunlight peeks around the rest of her room, touching a collection of portraits featuring her and her twin brother and their little sister, Sunny, my goddaughter atop her dresser in heavy silver frames. My eyes wander over her as I get to the bedside, marveling at how small she looks in the corner of the queen-sized bed, her lips parted slightly in a stage of deeper sleep, light snores escaping her. No one will ever hurt you, my beautiful Lenny, and no one will ever take you away from me, especially not fucking Adam. The thoughts are a growl inside of my head, a promise to finish him off if the little bastard ever has the balls to return and fight me face to face again. You won't be able to stop me next time, Lenny, I tell her sleeping form, skimming my fingers along the satin comforter, content for now just to watch her sleep. I'll kill him next time, I swear to fucking God I will. A tiny sound of alarm comes out of her mouth, a whimper as if I'd said the words aloud, and without thinking about the consequences I hurry to quiet her, gently stroking her bare shoulder and pulling up the slipping sleeve of her black T-shirt.
Suddenly, she gasps, grabbing hold of my wrist and sitting halfway up in bed to focus bleary eyes on me, panic showing clearly in her ocean colored gaze as her nails dig into the sensitive skin. Someone else's voice comes out of her lips, relieved and soft as recognition clicks in her fearful expression. Wait one fucking minute, you're not Lenny!
"Oh thank God, it's only you, Morgan." she whispers in a grateful voice, releasing my wrist from its captivity and reaching instead for her glasses lying beside the knife on the nightstand.
"Only me." I repeat, my words thick with liquor, eyes focusing on hers. They're the only discernible part of her as I sway dangerously back and forth, a frown gracing her delicate lips as she watches, glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. Before she has time to do it herself, I push them back into place for her, causing a look of surprise to cross her face. Her gaze is so fucking similar to Lenny's that it borders on freaky, but I don't care; I love her so fucking much that I'd cut my own heart out and hand it to her on a silver platter if I thought for one second that it wouldn't scare the hell out of her the way that it did her daughter. Lenny. Her name echoes at the end of every thought that I have, and I can't drink her away no matter how much that I want to, the image of her body thrusting itself into mine burned forever into my memory, followed by the image of her corpse floating towards me in the middle of that raging river, her black and lime green intertwined jelly-bracelets still attached to her wrists.
She'd been broken beyond repair; her brain and body turned into road kill from being tossed around in the current like a feather, lost in the black waters. A convulsive shiver makes me shudder as I check my scarred arms for the words that had been branded into my skin in the dream: "You are guilty." "You said that you loved me." "Why did you leave?" "How could you do that to me?"
"Is there something that you wanted?" My gaze is stuck on my arms until she pulls me back, her gaze anxiously poring over my drunken body as terror fills me once again. I don't remember ever being this freaked out by a nightmare as a kid, but I'm obviously drunk as hell right now judging by the way that the room keeps tipping back and forth like a seesaw. The vomit comes up like water from a hose, horrible tasting yellow crap that burns on the way up and lands on the sheets, causing both her and Mr. Thomas, Susan's cat to jump up away from it. I feel truly horrified that I'm spilling the contents of my empty stomach all over her bed, and even worse that I can't seem to run myself to the bathroom across from her bed like a normal person and at least finish throwing up in the toilet so that I'll have some dignity left, but the urge keeps coming, forcing me to stay hunched over the once-decent looking bedspread, listening to her mumble in a terrified voice about getting me some antacids. I don't have the heart or the voice to tell her that I'll probably toss those up too, just because I'll probably have to stop trying to cough up my rusty insides to take them.
This is why you cut, Morgan. Cut, don't drink. Shut the fuck up. Emma's voice again, so vivid inside of my head; I imagine shoving her into a table to make myself feel better. Then she and Adam can have sex and have weird, freakish, unhinged children. You get on my nerves so much. With cutting there's only numbness; pure, beautiful, mindless numbness, but with drinking there's vomit and headaches and chills and dizziness. Not the good kind where you pass out, but the bad kind where you're just so spun around that you feel the vomit moving around in your gut as if you're on one of those whirly spinning amusement park rides after eating all that ridiculously greasy fried food, and you just know that you're going to barf when you get off, or in my case you end up turning to your then-mother and hurling all over the spinning tea-cups at Disneyland in front of Cinderella. I hate being this hungover with no one to hold me, no one to tell me it's going to be okay, and no one to wipe my mouth or give me a sip of water. Someone keeps rubbing my back, but truth be told it's just annoying the piss out of me.
Their fingers are too fucking hot on my already clammy skin, fat and disgusting. The alcohol has mercifully stopped flowing for now, but they've been rubbing my back since I remembered Disneyland, and now I can tell that their fingers are definitely not Lenny's fingers, and that bothers me. Why did I leave her again?
"I-told-you-no sex tonight and I meant it," the fingers still at the weak but somehow ominous tone that I use, going a little further down my back as if to test me. Natilie is always horny these days, hugging and kissing and putting her hands on Lenny's twin Luke and I, although I make sure to stay as far away from that as possible as much as I possibly can. Yeah she's got my baby inside of her instead of Luke's, her fiancé, and I don't treat her badly, unlike some baby daddies that I've known, but I don't think of her the way that someone should if they want to have sex with a girl. She isn't bad-looking, but she's not Lenny, and I don't love her the way that I love Lenny. If I were to start that aspect of our relationship up again (we've only had sex twice, in the beginning), it'd feel like I was betraying Lenny all over again, and I don't want to feel that way just to get Natilie off. It's selfish of me, especially considering how uncomfortable she's getting with the forty extra pounds that she's supposed to be carrying around about now, the swollen feet and aching back, the insecurity... hell, if I were her I'd want someone to jack me off all the time too, just to escape the feeling that I was going to explode at any moment if the human stealing all of my energy and ruining my body didn't get out ASAP; I'd be fucking everything in sight. "Nat, I really don't feel like playing tonight." I finish in a hoarse whisper, bracing my hands on the edge of the bed to stay upright.
Her hand falls away, dejected. "How was Lenny?" she whispers next, tears creeping into her voice. I close my eyes, doing a mental count to ten to resist the urge to tell her to go away.
"She was fine." I reply simply, coughing at the end.
"You know that's not what I meant." Nat answers angrily, suddenly prickly. Curling my hand into a clean portion of the sheets, I open my eyes a sliver to stare at the puddle of sick before me, trying to block her out by playing up the cough, a hiccup taking its place instead. No, I didn't know that, I answer cheekily inside my head, not daring to say it aloud; she'd probably get even more hormonal on me and slap me or something, and in this state I'd undoubtedly slap her back for it. Is she seriously asking how Lenny is in bed?
"Do you honestly want to do this now, Nat?" I hiss back at her.
"I want to know if she's as good as you thought she'd be when we were together. Or was it a total disappointment? You did this to me, Morgan Chase, and it's time that you grow up and realize that. I'm not Lovely Lenny, Hellcat, Lenny, and whatever else you call her." Dear God, don't let me turn around. Just let me ignore it.
"You could-never-be Lenny-if you tried," I spit back "And she was wonderful." There's blessed silence for a few minutes except for my hiccups, during which Natilie seems to contemplate what to say next, but I catch the badly suppressed sound of her quiet weeping, doing my absolute best to remember that I'm the one who put my dick inside of her and made her into this unrecognizable emotional wreck of a human being. Haven Rachel is the only good thing to come out of this entire mess, and I wouldn't give her up for anything in the world. I just wish that I'd knocked Lenny up instead. "Why are you crying?" I sigh in exasperation, wanting nothing more at this very moment than for the whole process to be over and done with and to hold my child in my arms so that she'll stop clinging to this idyllic notion that I'm still here because I want to be with her. She's too whiny for me, and definitely not someone I'd have chosen had I been sober the day that we hooked up.
The red contacts that she wears for some odd and stupid reason look absolutely repulsive, the dark brown hair doesn't suit her at all; the blue streak in it combined with those two things just doesn't do anything for her…who the fuck told her that that crap looks good on her? I'm almost angry that someone told her to drop the natural white blond hair and emerald green eyes that she used to have. Almost. Natilie's sobs grate against my eardrums, making the pounding in my head worse. Without warning, I find myself whipping around, grabbing her shoulders in a firm grip, shaking her to try and quiet her, fierceness in my eyes. I need to get the hell away from her and the earsplitting sound, but I can't bring myself to leave her like this, no matter how much I hate her at the moment for making my headache worse. "Tell me, damn you. Don't just stand there like a lump! Open your damn mouth and make words!" The impatience showing clearly in my narrowed gaze and in my harsh tone of voice doesn't snap her out of it the way that I was hoping it would, but it does scare her into talking, albeit her words are strangled by tears, her eyes swimming with anguish.
"Luke is-already-going to leave me! I kn-know he is!" she sobs helplessly, gazing up at me with pained eyes, her lower lip quivering. "And you-you are-t-too, aren't you?" What do I tell her? That yes, I am planning to do just that once I have Haven Rachel? But I can't lie to her, not when she's like this. As if she senses my thoughts, Natilie breaks free of my grasp, clearly disgusted by my touch, practically boiling with rage. "How could you fucking do this to me? Me? You fuck me, and then you walk away as if nothing ever happened, waiting for me to pop this kid out and just hand her over to you like I'm some kind of… nursemaid or some crap like that? Well let me tell you something, Morgan Chase: I'm also this baby's mother, and I deserve a lot more fucking respect than that!" During her rant, I've had to bite the inside of my lip to resist the very real desire to either clamp my hand over her mouth, or to punch her in the face to shut her up, but she breaks down again at the end of it, letting herself back up away from me once more, a new fit of tears streaming down her swollen and flushed cheeks.
If it were Lenny I'd already have my arms snugly around her, gently shushing her cries and mumbling sweet words to her; I do it for Natilie when I'm home, but something tells me that if I were to do it now that she'd break my jaw, and I wouldn't take that very well at all. She stares at me with red-ringed eyes, angrily swiping at the tracks underneath. "You don't care about anyone but yourself," she hisses venomously, glaring at me. "Yourself, that little lost puppy that you fucked tonight, and that stupid woman downstairs." It's obvious from the way that she leans against the wall behind her and cowers that she knows that she's said the wrong thing to the wrong person as I brace my hands on both sides of her, leaning in close to her face, literally cooing the words to her.
"It takes two to do what we did, Natilie, and you gave me permission, begged for me to make you cum even. So cut the "I hate you, Morgan" shit, because you and I both know that for those two and a half hours you loved every fucking bit of me. If you regret that now," our mouths are almost touching as I lean closer, brushing a lock of hair back from her face. "Then you shouldn't have gotten in my way when I was drunk, and one more thing, Sugar Pie: Lenny may be a lost puppy, but at least she didn't fuck someone else's fiancé like you and I did, and at least I'm not constantly trying to get back in your pants. Even in the middle when it was supposedly the easiest part you were all over Luke and I. Susan is not, a stupid woman, you got that? Do not, say that again." She nods, reaching for my neck, and only then do I let her kiss me. I'm able to plainly feel her wet core as she moves her lips against mine, practically begging me for more as her fingers thread themselves through my sweat-drenched hair, her mouth moaning against my lips. "Save that shit for your fiancé." I tell her as I break away from her half-starved kiss.
Not that I blame her of course; Luke hasn't fucked her in months and I'm hardly ever home, and when I am I'm hiding up in my attic room, brooding about the world. Just as Natilie is walking out, Lenny comes back in carrying a set of freshly dried sheets and Susan's spare cream colored comforter from the hall closet underneath her arm, giving me a concerned smile.
"I'm really-sorry that I threw up-all over your bed, Lenny." I say with a half-smile as I watch her tug the sheets onto the bed, the soiled ones in the washer along with the comforter. I can tell that I'll have more vomit coming up later from the way that each of my hiccups brings that awful burn with it, but I'm more focused on the eyes staring back at me as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth.
"I'm not Lenny, Sweetheart." she whispers softly, fear lacing itself through her tone. She flicks her gaze towards the knife on the nightstand before returning her attention to me, watching me like a trapped rabbit as I stumble towards her, eyes softening to a gentle caress.
"You don't need to be afraid of me, Susan," I whisper quietly, trying to appear shorter and a little less like the slobbering drunk that I am, at least for right now anyway, to soothe away some of her anxiety as I stare down into her pretty blue eyes with mine. "I won't hurt you. Nat's just being scarily hormonal at the moment. I'm sure that you can relate to that."
"We've talked about it a few times, yes." She lifts a hand slowly to my face, brushing her fingertips against my forehead and sweeping my hair out of my eyes. Her hands are warm, soft, more like Lenny's were on me last night.
"I just want it all to be over," I whisper tiredly, looking hard into her eyes, drinking up the compassion that I find there before she pulls me towards her, wrapping small arms around my back and nodding her head over my shoulder, giving me a safe place to land in the midst of the storm. "I want them to go away, I want her to go away, I WANT IT ALL TO FUCKING, GO AWAY!" She clutches me tighter, a little shudder going through her at the way that I shouted just now, and my arms pull her up against my chest, winding around her of their own free will. I need her close to me right now, so badly that I feel as if I'll die without her here to hold me together, as if my whole world is falling apart and she's the only one who gives a damn anymore. Lenny said last night, or early this morning because I was both drunk and medicated when she came over to get me, that she did, or something like that; I really don't remember who said what and when. I remember my hands trembling when I took her black corset dress off, kissing her in the hall on the way to her bedroom, what it felt like to finally have her underneath me, all the important shit.
"I know you do," she whispers, patting my head as a sigh comes out of her from deep inside of her chest. "I know you do, Honey." This goes on and on for what feels like forever; her just standing there holding me, saying the same phrase over and over like a chant, and me holding onto her like I never want to let her go, both holding her and holding myself upright with her as my crutch.
"I miss her so much. I feel like I can't breathe without her." Susan nods again, gently shushing me.
"You're going to work yourself up over this again, Morgan; you have to calm down and not give yourself a panic attack like last time. Everything's going to be alright in time, you'll see. It won't be like this for forever." Smiling warmly at me and picking up the bed sheets and the comforter from the floor, she kisses my cheek before devoting herself to her work around the room, picking up Sunny's discarded toys and rearranging the pictures on her dresser till they're just so, throwing completed books into the antique Queen Anne style bookshelf on the other side of the bed, hastily gathering scrawled notes and manuscripts and stacking them up in a meticulously neat pile before shoving them into a drawer in her nightstand. Once she's gone to the bathroom to make sure that we have enough towels and creature comforts for our guests to arrive later today, I flop drunkenly onto the now freshly made bed, letting a loud, inhuman noise of frustration shake through my body, burrowing beneath the covers like a mole so that only my head is visible. It's in this state that Susan finds me when she comes out to answer the doorbell, and without my having to say anything she goes and draws the second set of curtains closed over the first, throwing the room into nothing but shadows of dim sunlight. "Maybe you should stay in bed and meet the parents another time, huh?" a rueful smile crosses her face for a few seconds.
"Don't leave me up here alone."
"Do you feel that bad?" Yes.
"No, I just don't want to be alone. I don't feel good." I moan uncomfortably. Well that part's true at least.
"Sweetheart, I can't just leave the Dewy clan to fend for themselves. That would make me a poor hostess. They probably don't know where everything is and how to put it up or any of that." She sighs, an inner dilemma going on as she reaches for my hand in an attempt to comfort me. "Do you think you could keep some scrambled eggs and toast down now? I could make some for you and bring them up." I shake my head, anger boiling at the Dewys for picking today, of all days to come over from Maine to throw this big baby shower for Natilie. I hope they don't expect me to visit all that often; I'm not too crazy about the cold, or water. God, I hate water.
"If I can keep anything down at all it probably won't stay that way for long. I swallowed a lot of Ketel last night." Susan nods, anxiously nibbling her lower lip.
"I worry about you, Morgan. You're under a lot of stress right now, and I just wonder if…if you really understand how that extra weight can affect you. You don't eat as well as you used to, you're moods just seem to flip on a dime…you drink a lot more than you used to. Have you been cutting any more since that one time?" Her eyes speak of nothing but a gentle concern, so I lie to her, again, feeling like straight up shit for it.
"No, I think I might though, sometimes." I can't look at her. It hurts that I'm able to lie to her so thoughtlessly, but I do it almost every day now. If I tell her what a mess I really am then she'll try to help, and people who try to help me usually leave me in the end. I'm a stubborn son of a bitch. I hate change, probably more than any other American. In politics they call my kind a conservative, but that's all bullshit to me: You have your way and I have mine. If I want to know about your way of doing things I'll ask. Otherwise, I'm an alcoholic with an opinion, so leave me the fuck alone unless you want a butterfly knife brutally shoved up your ass, thank you very much. Damn, they're loud as Hell. Inconsiderate much? I think I'm going to go barf again.
Even though I can feel the whole cycle starting over again in the pit of my stomach, bile slowly churning upwards I turn anyway when she rests a caring hand on my shoulder, staring down at her through hazy vision. "Well I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you ever need to talk about anything. Whenever you're ready, my door's always open."
"You-don't-know-how-much-that-means to me, Susie." I reply right before running straight to the bathroom and harshly slamming the door in her face. Rinsing my mouth out twice with mouthwash after I'm done, I crawl into the shower, curling up with my knees to my chest and resting my head against the butterfly mosaic tile. Everywhere I look there's a butterfly in some form or fashion, although my eye is drawn to an aged piece of computer paper, framed in a simple, warm teak colored wood and hanging conspicuously on her mirror from one of those sucker hooks.
My own clumsy six-year old scrawl stares back at me from behind the glass, an over- exaggerated array of purple, yellow, and blue blobs of watercolor circles and squiggles depicting my childish imitation of the winged creature, and a heavily painted black sky for it to fly in sharp contrast to what I'd be able to do now if I could stop drinking and cutting long enough to actually sit down at my dusty easel or pick something up besides a blade. "I love you, Susie. Love always, Morgan January 7, 2015"is written in the corner in my "best", boxy boy writing. It hangs in a cluster of three framed pictures, although the other two are done in crayon: Luke's dinosaur and Lenny's cat if my memory serves me correctly. They were still a family then. It's hard to think that Lenny, Luke, and I were once that young and innocent, that Lenny and I went through that typical stage where she had cooties and I was a "meanie" for not letting her color with me, and she, Luke, and I played together because he refused to play without her.
Susan hands me a glass of water when I come out, and although I don't think it'll stay down I drink it all, swallowing gratefully before wordlessly giving it back, easing my body down onto the sheets again and letting her tuck the covers around me. "I'll be downstairs; if you need me you call, alright? Don't try to walk down in this condition. When you think you're ready to try some food you let me know, but for right now I want you to rest and try to sleep. I'll deal with everyone so don't worry about that."
"You won't tell them, will you: Natilie's parents? I don't want them to know about what's really going on." She kisses the top of my head, the warm smile back on her face.
"No, I won't tell them Sweetheart. That's your story to tell. I'll be back up in about an hour or so to check in."
No sooner have my eyes closed than an annoyingly familiar voice assaults my eardrums, the cloudlike mattress sinking a little as the owner of said annoyingly familiar voice climbs onto the bed next to me, right by my head to be exact, bouncing up and down on her ass like fucking Tigger the Tiger, as idiotic as ever. My heaven turns into pure Hell, and I fantasize about slapping her hard enough in the face that she falls off of the bed. "Good Morning Mr. Sleepyhead, or are you just faking sick so that you don't have to go see Ms. Matthews suck someone else's cock?" I don't even know if I would've fucked her drunk. The singsong voice turns jeering at the end, blistering my ears as she leans over me, practically asking me to do something about it. Boy, do I want to, badly.
"Get the fuck off me, Hoe, and get the hell out of here. I don't even want to breathe the same life-sucking, plant-killing, happiness-stealing air as you. Don't touch anything on your way out; don't even breathe within a foot of anything; Susan doesn't need you polluting her space with your bitchiness." Although my hands itch to push her away, Erica reaches over me, taking the knife that I gave Susie, stroking the hilt thoughtfully.
"I could just end you right here for upsetting my sister, fucking manwhore," A sadistic smile stretches across her face, her emerald eyes practically glowing with a dark mirth as white-blond hair falls in front of her face. "You'd be killed with your own knife, how cowardly of you, and by a girl no less."
"Here's the thing, Little Bitch," Sitting up so suddenly that the room begins to spin faster I savor her look of startled surprise, willing myself not to vomit as I part slide part yank the knife from her hands, grasping her chin between my thumb and forefinger. "I wouldn't need this knife to kill you, that'd simply make the experience more…enjoyable, you, on the other hand, wouldn't even see it coming. But don't fret, my little demon, it'd be a waste of my life to go to jail for murdering you. But I do suggest…that you stay away from me, this family, and that you just never talk to me again, 'cause you have a tendency to bring out…the absolute worst sides of people, and you don't want to see my worst side. Now get the fuck out of here." She recovers from the shock and glares at me violently wrenching herself from my grip, spitting her words at me.
"Do you know what I could do to you for saying that?"
"I could just tell the police that you said that you could "end me right here for upsetting Natilie" that would be a motive for murder, and that you had access to a murder weapon should you decide to carry out that threat. Susan would have the cops arrest you in an L. A. minute. If you don't like being threatened…don't make threats. Like I said though, just stay away from me, this family, and never talk to any of us again: Me, Lenny, and Luke. We both agree that your sister is much better in bed by the way. Enjoy your stay in Cali, Erica." Topping off our exchange is the entrance of Luke. He glares at her.
"I'll. Sum. It. Up. In. Fewer. Words: Get. Out. Of. Here, And. Go. Spend. Time. With Your. Sister, Because. She's. The. Only. One. Who. Wants. You. Here." The bitch's gaze settles on him in the doorway, a sharklike hunger in the depths of her bright eyes.
"Still can't get your words straight, huh Luke?"
"Fuck. You, Bitch." Then the normally quiet Luke flips her the bird on both hands, striding towards her and grabbing her easily by the arm, marching her outside before closing the door quietly behind her. He settles himself casually on the side of the bed, the wheels in his head turning as his eyes stare blankly at the carpet below.
A slight smile moves onto my face as I watch him. "Have you come here to revel in my misery? At last I'm getting my just dessert?" Immediately his gaze whips towards mine, his blue eyes narrowing into slits, his tone hard and uncompromising.
"This. Is. Just. You. Being. Your. Usual. "Drunk. Off. My. Ass" Self, That's. Not. What. I'd. Call. "Just. Dessert." My. Idea. Of. Just. Dessert…Would. Actually. Be. To. Participate. In. A. Little. Incest…So. That. You'd. Know. What. It. Feels. Like. To. Know. That. The. Person. You. Love. Most. Actually. Turned. Into. A. Backstabbing. Liar: Adam. And. Vicenza. Don't. Count. Because. They've. Never. Had. Sex. With. Lenny, And. You. And. Lenny. Weren't. Together. When. Charles. Was. Around."
"Why are you still with her if you obviously can't stand living with her? If she drives you crazy just by being here then tell her to leave, this is your house, Luke." From the conflict storming in his eyes when they meet mine I can tell that he's certainly thought about doing just that.
"I. Can't. Do. That. To. Her," his eyes sparkle with a deeply rooted anguish. "I. Love. Her.; Definitely. Not. Like. I. Used. To, Hell, I. Hate. Looking. At. Her, But. I. Do. Still. Love. Her. I. Don't. Know. What. To. Do. I. Just. Want. Out." As crazy as it is, and despite the pain that I've caused him, Luke and I are still fairly close; I can talk to him when I'm drunk and not worry about anything coming back to haunt me, tell him about my exs, even what happened with Lenny's ex, Charles, and also with my ex-best friend, Vicenza, and I know that he still thinks of me like a brother despite my horrible past and present behavior.
I'll never be his Lenny, no one will ever get as close to him as his twin, and no one will ever be able to develop the same strong bond that they share, no one will ever be able to destroy that the way that all of his exs have tried to. If two trains are coming towards you, then the only thing for you to do is hope that you don't feel the force of impact. That's seriously how close that they are: Nothing could ever tear them apart, not even me, Natilie, and Erica. They have to be together. But we actually get along pretty well. It's extremely comforting to me to have Luke in my life right now when I'm having such a hard time dealing with everything, even though he probably doesn't feel the same way about having me in his life.
"It sounds like it's a different kind of love than what you used to feel for her." I answer, surprising myself with the irony of that statement as I pat his shoulder.
"Did. You. Mean. What. You. Said. About. "Enjoying." Killing. Erica?" Despite my hazy vision I'm able to see the horror lurking in his gaze as it pores over my stony expression.
"I had to shut her up somehow. You know that I'm not exactly a "peaceful drunk": I don't know what I would've done if she kept saying shit like that. Every time I hear that accent that she has, I honestly could just punch something. She just likes to talk shit about Lenny and me, and one day she'll go too far. She enjoys this mess, Luke, and I refuse to let her come in here and threaten me, just 'cause she's a girl, and if she would've touched me with that blade…I'd have knocked her ass out cold. I'd have grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of here."
"Okay. Okay, Calm. Down," putting his hands up in front of him in a gesture of surrender, Luke stares at me hard, his face tight with concentration. "I. Just. Need. To. Know. How. You. Feel. About. Lenny."
"What are you talking about?"
"What. Are. You. Planning. To. Do. Now. That. You've. Had. Sex. With. Her? I. Need. To. Know. Exactly. What. Your. Plans. Are; My. Sister. Has. Put. Up. With. A lot. Of. Crap. From. You. With. The. Cheating, Lying, Beating. People. That. She. Cares. About, The. Cutting, Drinking…I. Need. To. Know. That. If. You. Plan. To. Marry. Her. That. You'll. Get. The. Help. That. You. Need, Whatever. It. Is, So. That. She'll. Be. Able. To. Live. In. Peace, That. You. Won't. Wait. Until. Something. Happens. And. She's. Permanently. Scarred."
"I'd never hurt your sister like that, Luke. I'd kill myself." I reply seriously, gazing just over his head at a smiling school portrait of the two of them together on the wall. His arm is slung around her neck, her head resting in the crook of his elbow as they laugh together, amused by some private joke. They're not even paying attention to the camera, fully focused on each other's laughter amidst a dark gray backdrop.
"I'm. About. To. Do. Something. That. May. Startle. You. And. Get. Me. Punched. In. The. Face, So. Don't. Punch. Me. In. The. Face."
"Again, what the hell are you talking about Luke? Fuck!" He's on top of me. Lenny's brother is on top of me. "Damn, carnivores are heavy-get off of me Luke." I groan, making a half-hearted attempt to pry him from my body, but Luke merely straddles my stomach, grabbing one wrist in each hand and pinning them against the headboard of the bed, leaning in close enough to kiss me. "If you're trying to tell me something-I don't like you that way. I'm not too fond of this new position either." I tell him dryly, smirking a little bit for emphasis. His eyes are as hard as diamonds, his voice equally so, demanding a response while his nails probe deeper into my flesh, his fingers unmercifully tight around me.
"I. Need. To. Know…Now."
"What do you need to know? How good the sex was?"
"I'm. In. A. Position. To. Suffocate. You. With. A. Pillow, So. I'd. Stop. Being. So. Cocky. If. I. Were. You."
"I'm just trying to lighten the mood. Would you please not totally sit on me, because even though you look skinny, when you have about a hundred-forty pounds sitting on your organs, and everything looks fucked up…it's morbid obesity," he doesn't move. "Dude, I swear…if you don't sit on my hips like a normal person…I'm going to puke in your face; I'm on the fucking ocean right now, okay? The weather does not look so hot." He moves down an inch or so, allowing me to get air inside of my lungs. "Thank you."
"It's alright," I mumble, a sly smile curving my lips "Ten bucks says I won't remember this tomorrow."
"No. Thanks. I'm. Not. In. The. Mood. To. Lose. Again."
"I could always lie and say that I remember something that never happened," I point out "That's how there's so many people in and out of prison these days: people "forget" the truth. I knew that Charles wasn't trying to rape Lenny, but I also knew that I didn't try to stab him. But Lenny refused to come to court and testify, so it was my word against his." I scoff at the memory, getting angry all over again. "Son of a bitch would've pulled me down with him if I hadn't kicked him in the face with those steel-toed boots. I didn't have my daily dose of Lithium that day either; I tell you Luke, I felt it coming days beforehand; You start almost literally bouncing off of the fucking walls, you can't focus 'cause you're just so fucking up there that it's like you'll never come down. My dad can't leave his damn credit card out now 'cause he'll come home to a bunch of new shit that I don't remember buying. Then everything irritates the fuck out of you, and you just feel so much adrenaline coursing through your veins that it gets to the point where you don't sleep anymore, you don't need to. For me personally, it turns into this ball of energy that sits on my chest; I can't think for shit 'cause I have all these thoughts racing around inside of my head, and I start flipping out. I get fucking insane, man, to where if someone touches me…I just wanna knock the crap out of them. I get all depressed and shit, it comes out of fucking nowhere sometimes." Luke nods, saying nothing about my rant off topic, something that I'm grateful for; I don't want to talk about Lenny right now. Not when I can feel said "ball of energy" on my chest waiting to explode like a volcano.
I know that it's "dangerous", I "shouldn't" do it, not to mention the fact that it's physically taxing, but it's who I am. I am bipolar, so why not embrace that fact? Medicine doesn't do shit for how I really feel. It won't bring Lenny back, or stop me from wanting her here with me every second that she's not, it won't stop me from loving her, a fucking ghost. I can't seem to make her understand that though, so what's a little pill going to do? Absolutely fucking nothing.
"Dysphoric. Mania," Luke answers quietly, suddenly climbing off of me, watching me as if I might suddenly decide to hit him.
"What?" Raising an eyebrow at him, I wait, my curiosity piqued as to how he could get my diagnosis right. "Did you go through my medical records?"
"I've. Read. About. Bipolar. Disorder. A. Few. Times. Over. The. Years; Lenny. Has. A. Few. Books. On. It. In. Her. Bookshelf." His eyes watch me like a hawk's.
"Does she?" I hiss back, anger vibrating through those two words like electricity. I fucking hate it when people tell me shit like this, like just because you've read a few psychology books that suddenly makes you an expert? Look, unless you actually have something, you can't fully understand what it feels like. Sure you may know some of the symptoms, brain chemistry, and some of the ways to treat/manage the symptoms of a particular disorder, but until you've experienced mania, like actual mania, or in my case, mania and depression at the same time, and you get to where it's physically and mentally impossible for you to go to work/school, to where you're up and down up and down, all the damn time, don't fucking tell me that you understand how I feel, 'cause that's just going to get you punched in the fucking face. If it were anybody other than Luke I'd be up and at it. I mean, what's wrong with people like that? Always spouting out crap from books to people like me, do you honestly think I give a damn what you read in a book by some moron, who probably doesn't even have Bipolar Disorder? Really? Well I'd really like to shove my fist down your damn trachea. Seriously, get a fucking life.
"She. Wanted. To. Understand. How. To. Help. You." His gaze pleads with mine, identical to Lenny's, and I want to throw a pillow at him, my blurry vision not helping my anxiety level. Even though he's not saying anything, I put my hands over my ears, desperately trying to make him disappear as I close my eyes.
"You wanna help me? I think I'm ready for some food now! Go get me some food!" Luke nods, backing away from me and towards the door, watching me with a bewildered expression on his face. Without waiting for an answer, I hurl the pillow that I was using at his head, throwing them around the room one after the other as if I'm in a trance. Next I yank the sheets from the mattress, tossing them and the comforter in a heap by the door, my fingers curving violently into the mattress, my head swimming with the urge to vomit. My breathing comes in pants, and I suddenly find myself sliding off of the bed, fucking Susan's request and carefully but not gracefully stumbling out into the hallway, staring down the flight of stairs with disinterest.
"Where are my damn eggs and toast?" All of the chatter and movement down there stops suddenly at my outburst, and then someone, possibly Nat and Erica's father, mumbles a comment, probably to Susan.
"For someone with food poisoning, he sounds more like a bloody alkie, Susan." The snobbish disdain in his heavily accented voice makes me want to throw a vase down there or something, and I fucking hope that it lands on his head.
"He's always a little cranky when he's hungry." Susan replies, a trace of nervousness in her voice.
"You're not in Mainah anymore, Dude: You're in Califoniah: assimilate and speak English!" I reply in an almost perfect imitation of Erica's accent.
"He's awfully rude. I just adore these glasses that you have for the spirits, Susan," gushes an equally accented voice, pausing to take a sip before putting it down "They're wicked cunnin'" These idiots need a thesaurus or something. Don't they know that we don't talk like that down here?
"Thank you, my mama gave them to me as a wedding gift a long time ago." I can hear the withdrawal in her melancholy tone, that retreat that always happens whenever someone even mentions her wedding day, or anything relating to it.
"Where is your husband at these days, does he work and you stay here tending to the housework?" I officially hate Mr. Dewy. Does everyone up north constantly feel the need to ask such personal questions? I mean, you just met her for Christ's sake! Can't you just enjoy the food?
"He's dead, about ten years ago in April." I can hear her nodding, trying to convince them of the lie.
"SUSAN!" I bellow in a not so subtle demand for her to come upstairs. If they start offering her their condolences the lie won't be any good, and I doubt very seriously that these people need another reason not to like me, but if they were to be forced to meet me by probing deeper into her wound than she's comfortable with…bitches better be ready to fight.
"Do. You. Want. Me. To. Take. It. For. You, Mother?" offers Luke, clearly sensing her discomfort with the Dewys.
"I've got it, Sweetheart. Thank you though. I'm coming, Morgan; Get back to bed please, or wherever it is that you plan on lying down at!"
"They were being rude first," I snap defensively when she comes up, frowning at me as I lean halfway over the banister, my gaze caught by the charming little creature known as Sunny Faith Matthews as she plays with a set of plastic bowls and a wooden spoon, banging away in front of the T. V. as Finding Nemo plays on the flat-screen. "I wish they'd just leave;" I moan bitterly "I don't want to do this today." Susan nods, handing me a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, peanut buttered toast, and apple slices. "Jeez woman, are you trying to fatten me up for something?"
"I don't much like him either, Morgan," she sighs "But it's just for a week or so."
"That guy makes me want to shoot myself in the head, and his daughter isn't much better." I grumble, taking a bite of the slightly runny eggs, practically trying to choke myself with the spoon. She watches me tear the bread into tiny pieces, shoveling them into my mouth as if the food will suddenly disappear if I don't eat fast enough. Will it stay down? Hell no, but if I don't eat she'll start asking questions, and I don't feel like answering those at the moment. I let her coddle me 'cause that's what she likes to do, that's what I want her to do, but right now I just want to go to bed and never leave my room again.
Am I starved for attention? Probably. Do I care who I get it from? Obviously. Bitches like Erica I can do without and would almost certainly shoot myself were I married to someone like her. Natilie's tolerable under certain circumstances, but in all honesty I'd rather she just have this kid and send us on our merry way. Lenny certainly isn't perfect: she's stubborn as fuck, gives in to her emotions way too easily, has hardly any girlfriends to hang with…but we're more alike than people give us credit for. Not to mention the fact that she's just about the sweetest girl that I know. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but she's really great. I'm not saying that our relationship is idyllic or anything, 'cause it's this intense, uncontrollable "thing", more intense than any relationship that I've ever had, like a California wildfire almost, but it's easier to remember the times before everything fell apart than afterwards when there's barely even a pile of rubble.
But even Lenny can't match the intoxicating presence of the woman standing in front of me, anxiously watching me finish my food, twisting long fingers in front of her. Unlike Lenny, her mother isn't caring for me or putting up with me because she has to, or because she's afraid of what I'll do if she doesn't, but because she actually wants to, and that makes a big difference to me. I don't want bought love, or an arranged marriage with someone who's always bitter and unhappy, or someone who constantly reminds me of my mistakes, and that's what it'd probably be like with Lenny and me finally married. I guess I just hoped that…oh well. Fuck it and move on to the next disappointment in life I guess; there's plenty of those, believe me. Damn, I guess that's why they make me take that crap: I see the world for what it is: a wretched open pit for the scum of the universe: Child molesters, deadbeat parents, drug dealers, murderers, terrorists, even little liars like me. Not that that's going to make me take my pills of course.
"Thank you for doing that for me," she whispers as I hand her the empty plate back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. Susan smiles a little "It's nice to see you get some actual food inside of you, even if it doesn't stay that way for long. If you want, I could give you one of my pills before we go so that you'll be able to relax this afternoon."
"Aren't you going to be there?" I blurt out, unable to hide the trace of nervousness that steals through my tone as I raise a questioning eyebrow at her.
"Yes, but I'll be stuck greeting guests and what-not, and I think that it'd be good for you to try and enjoy yourself a little instead of being a wall-flower. You could have fun if you'd only let yourself. I know that you wish that things were different, but right now this is what they are; you have to learn to make the best of what this moment has to offer." She pats my shoulder, giving me an encouraging smile, but I don't feel up to returning it. She tries so hard…and this is what she gets in return: a selfish, lazy, pessimistic, sometimes suicidal moron who lies to her…what kind of a reward is that? If there's a God, then he didn't create me. I'm too fucked up. A look of absolute horror crosses her face as if I've just uttered blasphemy, and it's only then that I realize that I've said this out loud, her blue gaze wide. "I just don't deserve all this, Susan," I mumble, turning away to walk downstairs towards the hallway where the password protected entrance to my attic room is. "I'm not the good son that you think I am." I finish before disappearing up the ladder steps, keying in the password on another keypad to hide myself away and giving the combination lock on the door itself one final spin to ensure that I'm not disturbed as I go about my daily ritual.
The small set of five blades feels cool and unused against my skin, yet they're also warm like an unforeseen kiss, promising sweet relief from both the nausea churning inside of my gut, and the swirling mass of energy that I feel getting more uncontrollable by the minute. It has nowhere to go, no outlet except this blessed invention, nothing to do but sit and make me miserable until my cycle switches again. I used to cry when I cut, like it actually hurt, but then I realized that I wasn't crying because of the pain happening on the outside of my body, but because of what was happening on the inside. I wasn't the same person that I used to be; instead, I was angry at everyone for abandoning me to my demons like I'm some kind of stray dog, I was angry at my dad for not giving me enough love and attention when he had women around, angry at my mom for getting married and breaking every promise that she ever made to me, angry at Lenny for not telling me that she didn't feel the same way about me that I did about her, and then for her leaving me without even giving me a clear explanation…people just pissed me the fuck off basically, so I figured why not? By the time they decided to care about it, I was numb. The anger became my comfort, and my comfort became the blade.
I sit in the middle of the plain, dark oak wood floor, absentmindedly drawing a rabbit blood tattoo on my opposite hand with a plain blade that I'd popped out of another plastic razor a few days back for such purposes when the cell phone on my nightstand rings. Sliding the sleeve of my black cutter's jacket over the drying work, I flip the device open, Lenny's voice filling my ear before I've even spoken.
"Hey," she says voice fully awake instead of the grogginess that I expect at ten in the morning due to her usually working at the bar until two in the morning. I nod, not responding as I pick up my "tools" "You seemed a bit…anxious to leave earlier, and I just wanted to be sure that you're okay now. You kind of left me hanging, you know?" Again, I nod, not sure what to say. "Would you please say something so that I know you're alive?" she demands.
"I'm breathing aren't I?" I snap irritably, kicking the Zip-loc bag of razors and blades underneath my bed, resting my throbbing head against the edge, wiping a trail of drool from my lip.
"What's wrong, Morgan," her sigh echoes through the phone "Why are you constantly acting this way?" Her tone is gentle, beseeching.
"You won't listen to me anyway. I'm just a slob, a good-for-nothing slob, so why listen to me?"
"Because that's what you need: Someone to just…talk to. Like a friend." Tell you all of my deepest, darkest secrets? No thank you. Picking at a loose thread on the cuff of my bloodwashed jeans from a suicide attempt when I was eighteen, I wind the string tight enough around my index finger that it digs into my flesh.
"I don't want to talk," I blurt out, unwinding the string and closing my fist around it. "I want to burn off all of this god-forsaken energy! I'm going fucking crazy over here!" As if to prove my point, I start randomly bouncing up and down, getting dizzy as fuck, but I don't care. I'm ready to start hanging myself upside down from my rafters like a bat. A super bat, and then I can dangle there like a beast, with a cape and everything. Yeah, that'd be awesome.
"I can come over there if you don't mind."
"Of course I don't mind, my little gummy drop. Hell, pack a bag and spend the night. Natilie's family is here though; they already hate me hah-hah." A piranha smile stretches across my lips.
"I'll grab my clothes for the shower and have a shower myself and be there in a bit then." When she hangs up I begin pacing, around and around the huge room, over and over again, waiting for her to come to me. My heart-rate increases little by little with each minute that passes with no sign of Lenny, and the sick feeling returns until I have to run back downstairs and purge my body of that food Susan so thoughtfully made for me. I'm sitting out on the front steps when her shiny silver Lexus pulls up, my jade green flask in my hands, apple juice and vodka comforting me until I'm able to clearly feel her arms wrapped securely around my waist. Everything that we've gone through is worth it again, and all of the hard times and bad fights disappear from my memory, too horrible for this brief moment of happiness. I want to lock her away in a box to hide her from the rest of humanity, but I have to share that desire with Luke. What I call his "Twin Streak" comes out as he forces her to let go of me to hug him, literally wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, and picking her up off of the cement, screaming at the top of his lungs while she laughs out loud: "LENNY IS HOME!" And it isn't long before the rest of the family comes out too, Sunny matching her brother and squealing her little heart out, running towards the car as fast as her short legs will carry her. Meanwhile, Susan stands on the step above me, her expression forlorn as she watches the three siblings, and I know that even as their mother she feels as out-of-place as I do right now.
Of course though with all of their yelling and squealing, the Dewys have to come out too and ruin it. Erica glares at the twins, looking every bit like a pissed off snake, Natilie just stares really hard at Lenny, like she's trying to detect miniscule changes in her by her facial expression, while Mr. and Mrs. Dewy simply stare at the hysterically laughing twins, trying to see what Luke and I see in Lenny that we don't see in their daughters.
"Okay Luke," Susan calls once they're both flushed in the face "Set her down now!" I pick Sunny up as she picks her way up the steps, blowing raspberries on her stomach, and as she laughs I catch Lenny smiling at us, but when I mouth 'what' to her she simply shrugs.
"Mor love Lenly," Sunny tells me matter-of-factly once we're inside and I've settled her back in front of the T.V. with her bowls and her spoon. "Lenly love Mor."
"That's right, Sunny," Lenny tells her, accepting the bowl and spoon that her sister hands her, stirring absentmindedly "And do you know who else I love?" Shaking her head, Sunny glances back at the T. V. "I love you." Lenny tells her once Sunny's attention has returned completely to the movie. Lenny's perched on the arm of the recliner that I'm sitting in, close enough that I'm able to smell her orange-coconut shampoo when she laughs at the movie and locks of hair rearrange themselves against her shoulders. It's the same scent that I've been getting high on for days now, the same one that I refused to wash my hair with last night before Lenny came to get me: It'd been unbearable then, but then when we had sex it was like the only part of the whole thing that told me that what was happening was real. Then I didn't want to stop kissing her, touching her, holding her against me…being inside of her: I just liked being with her, even if I was drunk off my rocker and had one of Susan's pills as well as my own Lithium (I couldn't get out of taking it last night because Susan actually stood there while I took both pills), not to mention that I looked like a damn puffer fish thanks to Adam. I hate that idiot with a white-hot passion if I didn't hate him that way before. My left eye is still black underneath, and my face is still swollen, but look who's sitting beside me and not with him…I mean have you not learned that I always get my way, one way or another? Even the bitch that my dad has now knows that, and let's be honest folks…she's not the brightest crayon in the box.
I'm always going to fight for Lenny, even if it kills me one day. Whether you're a boy, a girl, friend or foe; I'll fuck you up so bad your own mama won't recognize you if you fuck with her, except for Luke of course. He sits on the couch across from us eating from a bag of pretzels, completely ignoring Natilie snuggled up against his arm. Enter the demon. Erica settles herself on the fireplace, rudely shooing away Mr. Thomas to sit her fat ass down.
"I gave Susan that cat: that's why he hates you. I was actually hoping that you'd sit down on him so that he'd have permission to gouge your beady little eyeballs out." Erica scowls at my smile, while Natilie stares at me with her mouth open.
"That was rude and uncalled for, Morgan." she hisses angrily, glaring at me.
"Hey, it's not my job to make her feel good about herself." I shrug innocently. Lenny glances uncertainly at her twin.
"Can. We. All. Please. Remember. That. Sunny. Is. In. The. Room?" he says, not even bothering to turn away from the T. V. Lenny hops off of the chair and lugs me to my feet, pulling me along towards my attic room, and keys in the right password to lower the ladder, even though I reset it when I moved in. She leads me up, keying in a different code to hide the ladder (I changed that one too).
"Would it be wrong," Lenny whispers once the trapdoor is securely locked behind us, an anxious smile on her face, her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes dart across my face "If I told you, how much that it worries me to be away from you right now, for too long?" Her fingers inch around from my shoulder blade to my collarbone, neatly curved nails biting gently into my clothing.
"I'm just going through a lot of shit right now, Lenny. Everything is moving way too fucking fast. I barely have time to adjust to one change before another one comes along and knocks me off of my feet again," nodding in understanding, she unzips my jacket slowly, probing my skeleton with her fingertips, letting her hand linger against my abdomen. Her gaze flickers towards mine, intuition flashing in the depths of her beautiful eyes, somehow knowing what she's about to discover, and yet she still has the grace to ask for permission to divest me of both my clothes, and my secret, or one of them anyway. The black V-neck that I stole from her closet slides off of my body at the same time as my jacket, and immediately I feel a wave of insecurity washing over me as her eyes pore over me, a need to hide my scars and the way that my hipbones are beginning to jut out a little bit from my mostly liquid diet.
"I'm okay, Lenny." I mumble, trying to remain aloof about the argument that is almost certainly looming. It's the same ugly argument that we've had since I was eighteen years old and she first discovered my "ice cream habit; I wasn't in any mood to deal with it on that night, and I'm certainly not in any mood to deal with it now.
"Okay," Putting her hands over her ears, I can see her trying to take deep, calming breaths to keep herself from having an emotional meltdown. "I know that you're bipolar, but please try to shut your brain off for a few minutes. You call me…sounding like you're ready to jump off a bridge, but then when I get here, you tell me that everything is fine, that you're fine, even though we both know that you're not."
"Yeah, I…haven't decided if I'm going to go with the "Pissed Off At the World" look, or if I'm going to go with the "Where's My Noose?" look, as they both have their own special allure these days." A smile touches the corners of my lips.
"I can't make jokes about this, Morgan." She shakes her head, glancing at the bag of razors and blades that I'm now holding out to her. Taking them with shaking hands, she throws them against the opposite wall, walking away towards the window where morning sunlight is beginning to get more intense, highlighting the dark richness of her wavy curls and the pale complexion of her skin.
That top looks nice on you. I can feel the compliment burning the tip of my tongue as I watch her statuesque form take in the sunlight, the white of her ruffled tank top complementing her fair skin and dark hair. The antiqued brass hook-and-eye closures in the back offer me tantalizing glimpses of her soft skin, and I want to say something to her about how beautiful that she looks with the sun in her hair and the light color covering her body, but the words won't come. She finally looks to be at peace, and I don't know if I can be selfish enough to ruin that. I want to be; Every night I sleep with her ghost haunting me, tormenting me in my dreams, filling me with an almost soul-deep yearning for her, and I wake up wondering if I'll ever be rid of this strange, sometimes all-consuming ache that I have inside of me for her companionship. No other girl has ever had such a profound and lasting impact on me, and I don't have one single fucking clue if I'll ever stop feeling this way about her.
Would she accept anything from me anymore, or am I just fooling myself? Walking to the foot of my bed I retrieve the folded white chenille blanket resting there and unfold it, holding it up against her shoulders, and waiting. Very slowly, she curves her fingers around the tassels, bunching them up inside of her fists and pulling the blanket up on her shoulders, patting my hand in the process. My lips tremble slightly as I lean down, gently pressing my mouth to the place where her shoulder joins her collarbone, lingering there until I hear her mother calling for me downstairs.
She turns at the sound of his retreating footsteps, still able to feel the pressure of his lips on her body, although she's very careful not to let him see her staring at his back, or any other part of him as he descends to the floor below.
A/N: I don't know exactly how long this story will be; it's probably going to be a companion to my story: The Letter That He Never Read, only this one is told from Morgan's POV. I'm waiting to be inspired for Chapter 10 of that story, so this one will keep you all entertained until then. It'll more than likely end up being a similar length to TLTHNR. If you haven't read that one yet please check it out and let me know what you think in a review or two. Read/Review/Comment. Much love, Lunarlover:)