Sequel: Pull My Strings ›
Chasing Dragonflies
She Hangs Herself as I Try to Disconnect
At around seven thirty I was standing in my brother and I's kitchen downing Pepto-Bismol and stirring a pot of homemade sauce. I closed my eyes as another wave of nausea washed over my body.
"Hey, someone doesn't look good."
I opened my eyes at Jeph's voice and looked over at him. Most of his hair was hidden under his ever present black baseball cap and his black jacket was zipped up, dark denim jeans hung low on his slim hips and new white sneakers were on his feet. He must have though I was pissed at him because he suddenly looked panicked.
"I didn't mean you didn't look good. You look great, like always. Really, you should wear dresses more often. I just meant that you look a little hungover. Not that that's a bad thing -"
"I know what you meant Jepha," I smiled at him but quickly closed my eyes again as I swayed a little.
"Here, sit down. Let me finish up," his tattooed hand found my elbow and led me to a kitchen chair.
I watched as he slid his jacket off and rolled up the sleeves of his grey v-necked sweater.
"What are you making anyway?" he peered into the saucepan.
"Pasta with tomato and basil sauce, it was about all I could stomach," I shrugged.
Jeph looked over at me, "You really don't feel good, do you?"
"Nope. But it's all self inflicted so," I shrugged again and smoothed out the skirt of my petrol blue dress across my knees.
He crouched down in front of me and pushed back some of my hair from my face.
"What?" I asked, looking into his brown eyes.
"Nothing," he stood up, "You should just be careful when you drink, you know. You're not used to it and your body's pretty little anyway, so it can't handle it."
I shrugged again, it was about all I had the energy to do, "I don't plan on making last night a habit."
It suddenly dawned on me that we were chatting away like normal and neither of us had brought up the kiss last night. I had only just remembered so maybe he had forgotten too, or maybe he thought that I couldn't remember cause I was so wasted.
What if he didn't want to remember? What if he wished it had never happened?
comments = ♥
"Hey, someone doesn't look good."
I opened my eyes at Jeph's voice and looked over at him. Most of his hair was hidden under his ever present black baseball cap and his black jacket was zipped up, dark denim jeans hung low on his slim hips and new white sneakers were on his feet. He must have though I was pissed at him because he suddenly looked panicked.
"I didn't mean you didn't look good. You look great, like always. Really, you should wear dresses more often. I just meant that you look a little hungover. Not that that's a bad thing -"
"I know what you meant Jepha," I smiled at him but quickly closed my eyes again as I swayed a little.
"Here, sit down. Let me finish up," his tattooed hand found my elbow and led me to a kitchen chair.
I watched as he slid his jacket off and rolled up the sleeves of his grey v-necked sweater.
"What are you making anyway?" he peered into the saucepan.
"Pasta with tomato and basil sauce, it was about all I could stomach," I shrugged.
Jeph looked over at me, "You really don't feel good, do you?"
"Nope. But it's all self inflicted so," I shrugged again and smoothed out the skirt of my petrol blue dress across my knees.
He crouched down in front of me and pushed back some of my hair from my face.
"What?" I asked, looking into his brown eyes.
"Nothing," he stood up, "You should just be careful when you drink, you know. You're not used to it and your body's pretty little anyway, so it can't handle it."
I shrugged again, it was about all I had the energy to do, "I don't plan on making last night a habit."
It suddenly dawned on me that we were chatting away like normal and neither of us had brought up the kiss last night. I had only just remembered so maybe he had forgotten too, or maybe he thought that I couldn't remember cause I was so wasted.
What if he didn't want to remember? What if he wished it had never happened?
comments = ♥