I Keep on Running

I wasn’t sure what time I woke up from the dream during the night, but I knew I slept at least another three hours since then. And for those three hours, I didn’t dream of anything in particular. It was complete blackness. I was turned towards Jorel’s chest- I could see his chest rise and fall right in front of my face. I could smell the nicotine etched into the cotton, which was covered up by some sort of axe, and his own smell. I smiled to myself; cigarettes didn’t smell good to me at all, but it was still one of my favorite scents, because it came from him. His snoring hitched lightly, causing me to look up at his sleeping face. I instantly grinned at the sight; he was just too cute.

His eyes twitched slightly as he dreamed about whatever it is he dreamed; his breathing was even and deep. His face was calm, with his mouth curled up slightly on the right side. Whatever he was dreaming was making him happy, that much was for sure. I continued to watch, and eventually his nose twitched out of random. I giggled lightly, hoping not to wake him up from his slumber- thankfully I didn’t. His breathing stayed deep and even for a few more minutes, until all of a sudden, he inhaled heavily through his nose. I watched his eyes open a crack, just for a split second, before they snapped shut again. He rested for a brief moment, and then he finally opened his eyes; pupils engulfing the beautiful brown color of his iris as they took in the light that was pouring in from the windows. He shut them for a second again, but they opened back up, having the pupil now contract. I grinned to myself as I stared at the beautiful brown color of his eyes. They weren’t dark; they were almost a light colored brown.

His fingers rubbed at the small of my back, telling me that he was awake and understanding what was going on. His eyes fell shut for a third time as he took his left arm into his possession again, stretching out on his back. He did this every morning, whereas I would just push myself up with one of my arms and sit up sideways, like I just had. I rubbed my face, scratching my eyebrows and kicking the blankets off of me. He groaned, which let me giggle. I didn’t have to look at him to know that he rubbed the tired out of his eyes before he sat up, swinging an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his chest. He pecked my head again, before letting go and standing up to continue his stretching procedure. He arched his back slightly, letting his arms go straight in the air with a yawn. Yawns were contagious; I found myself yawning, too.

“Copying me, eh?” he jokes with me.
I nod. “Of course I am.”
“…Copy-cat.”
We chuckle at each other, before he holds out his hand, which I grabbed. He pulled me out of the bed and right into his chest. “Do you want to eat this morning?” he asks.
“Food actually sounds good to me, for once,” I answer him, which causes him to grin, showing his perfect teeth.
“Okay, well, I’m cooking for you. Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my left hand with his right, having him pull me out of the room, and down the stairs.
When we reached the hallway, we went our different ways, considering I always had to pee when I first get up, and he just went to the kitchen to start cooking for the both of us, for once.

When I was done with what I had to do in the restroom, I washed my hands, but took my time to stare at myself in the mirror. I felt my face fall as I took in my appearance; my brunette hair was thrown all over the place, my cheeks bright red and tear-stained. It was the usual- but the bags under my eyes only increased. I was wearing myself out, in my mind, I think… I got enough sleep, but I honestly think that all the memories flashing back into my head were just fucking with me, being brought out under my eyes. I pulled back my bangs with my hand, seeing the tiny stress hairs protrude from my hairline. I sighed- at least I wasn’t losing my hair. Yet. I tugged at the collar of the shirt, glancing at each and every crevice that normally hadn’t been there a year ago. My collarbone stuck out far more than it used to, due to the lack of eating… I just never got hungry anymore. There wasn’t really a need to eat.

I pulled up the shirt, looking over the deep scar once more in the light- the skin was a light pink, compared to my pale-white skin. It was funny, living in LA and not having the slightest tan. Jorel had a nice tan line on his arms, his legs pale-white, though. I traced the scar with my middle finger; my hand shaking as I remember that day like it was just yesterday. Sighing, I threw the shirt down, getting sick and tired of doing the same thing every morning- waking up, peeing, looking at my distressed self, and then examining the scar. It was the same every damn time. And of course, I usually would find something sharp in here, and press it against my skin next to an existing cut, exactly an eighth of an inch apart- but this morning, I hadn’t. There was a knock at the door, “Are you okay in there, Payton?”
I nodded in the mirror; I knew he couldn’t see me though. I guess I was trying to convince myself. “Yeah, I am.”
I pictured him nodding, and walking back to the kitchen. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was remotely happy this morning, and that we were going to share a decent breakfast (which wouldn’t be just toast anymore, considering I taught him how to cook) together, I would have sliced my arm open again… It isn’t worth the extra pain. I blinked, a tear streaming down my cheek once again. I ran my fingers over the cuts, feeling each and every bump- he was right, that it wasn’t worth the extra pain. But- I don’t know why I did this, honestly.

I sighed harshly to myself once more before I turned on the faucet again, cupping my hands under the streaming water, and splashing myself over the face with it. I took a random hand towel, and dried my face. Tear stains gone, good. I placed a forced smile on my face, in hoping I could make myself smile true to myself… It didn’t work, though. I slipped out of the bathroom, and walked into the kitchen, taking in the aroma of what smelt to be pancakes, and bacon.

I licked my lips, my stomach growling for once. I watched him cook from behind, seeing his muscles move different shapes and colors, considering the millions of tattoos he had. I glanced down at his boxers- frowning slightly. They were uneven, his right leg being tucked up a little higher than the left. “Babe, fix your boxers,” I tell him, chuckling at myself as I remembered the first day we met.
He turns around slightly, raising an eyebrow in a joking matter while puckering his lips. The spatula was in his right hand, which I could see- this was such a Kodak moment; it was funny. “Excuse me?” he lets the ‘u’ hang out a little bit.
“Don’t make me fix it for you.”
He cracks a small smile, probably remembering that day, as well. “‘Why do you wanna touch me, man?’” He quotes himself, as I recall.
“‘Who said I wanted to touch you? Please, don’t be so full of yourself.’” I tell him back.
“‘Full of myself? Please-’”
“‘Fix the fucking clothing, or I may have to man-handle you.’” The only reason as to why I was putting up such a fight about his un-even clothing was because of my OCD; which, by now, he’s pretty used to.
I watch him laugh, shaking his head. “‘You’re just looking for an excuse to touch me. You dirty bitch.’” I could hear him hesitate on that last part, considering my emotions were out of whack, but this was just reminiscing in the old times.
“‘Oh, you know it. Now, what’s it gonna be, ass-wipe?’” I had to cover my mouth from laughing at his next part.

He put the spatula down and spun around on his heel, making a triangle with his hands over his crotch. “‘Can’t touch this, bitch! You can look it, but you can’t touch it. If you touch it I'mma start some drama, you don't want no drama. No, no drama, no, no, no, no drama.’”
I couldn’t contain myself, I started laughing. I heard him laughing along with me- he was probably just so happy to see me express some sort of emotion, other than depression. Hell, I was, too.
“Hey. If I remembered correctly, you didn’t laugh after that.”
I stifled my laugh, “You’re right. I called you a freak, to lay off the drugs, and not to quote Fergie. Then, I said you were a fucking slob. And then you got all serious and called me a bitch, or something.”
He grimaced, “Yeah. I called you a cunt.”
I shrugged it off. “Memories are memories. You were a fuckin’ prick then, just saying.” I smirked towards him.
He shrugged, “What can I say? I’m an asshole.”
I laughed lightly at this, before walking over to him and hugging him tightly. He joined right in with that hug, making me feel welcome. I looked up at him, only to have him crash his lips down on mine. We smiled into the kiss together, pulling back at the same time, too. “Thanks for making me laugh.”
“Not a problem. Thanks for laughing.”
I blushed, tucking my head into his chest.

We stayed like that for a little while, before I smelt burning butter. I pulled back, “Jorel, flip the pancakes!”
He turned around abruptly and did just what I asked- luckily, they weren’t burnt, not even in the slightest. We both let out a sigh. I watched him continue to cook- that was the only problem he had. He got distracted a little too easily, probably from his little man-ego that he had. I smirked to myself, before looking down at his boxers again. I sighed, bent down and fixed them for him before I went to grab plates and set the table. I hear him chuckle, though.

Minutes later, we’re both sitting around the table, throwing pancakes and bacon onto our plates. It’s almost completely silent, besides the occasional scraping of the fork or knife across the ceramic. The pancakes were fluffy and light, the way that I always loved them. For not having an appetite in over three months, I managed to scarf down about two and a half pancakes, with two strips of maple bacon. I feel a light kick on my shin, causing me to jump slightly and look up at Jorel. He had a playful smirk playing on his lips, still chewing on whatever he had on his mouth. “What?” I ask him.
He shrugs, “Whaddya mean ‘what’?” he speaks, mouth still full with a small chuckle in his voice.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I giggle lightly, “Well, anyways, you kicked me?”
“Sorry,” he mumbles, now purposely with the food still traceable in his mouth. “I dunno. It was extremely quiet.”
I smirked. “You hate it when it’s quiet, don’t ya?”
He nods, “Duh. I mean, c’mon. I am a rock star, after all.”
I pointed my fork towards him. “Point. Which reminds me, are you gonna leave me tonight?”

He shook his head ‘no’, cutting a pancake in half and dipping it in more syrup before stuffing in his mouth. He continued chewing on his food for a moment, before taking the other half of the pancake and shoving that in his mouth as well.
“Why? Jorel, you can’t just sit here and babysit me all the time. You need to go out more, hang with your friends, band mates, whatever. I know you get bored of me-”
“No, no. Pay, I don’t get bored of you. The guys? Fuck’em, they don’t need me right now. I just want to be around you, and make sure you’re okay,” he tells me seriously.
I sigh, “Well, are you sure they don’t need you? I mean, you need to practice and record. Right?”
He shakes his head again. “Are you trying to get rid of me, or somethin’?”
I laugh, “No, no. I'm just worried that you’re inside too much.”
He chuckles, “That I’m inside too much?” he quirks and eyebrow, a toothy smirk back on his mouth.
I look down, back at my food. It was true, though- I’m inside way too much.

But that’s only because I don’t want to leave- however, Jorel probably does. I don’t want to get out of bed half the time. I sigh, taking the rest of my pancake and eating it, just to avoid the question, and avoid breaking down in front of him. He understands what I’m going through- and he still wants me to go out sometimes. I choke back tears- I’m becoming a freak who’s on house arrest. Honestly, he just made me feel slightly worse; like it bothers him I’m never outside. Truth was, I’m uncomfortable with who I am; I’m a mother of a child who didn’t make it out of the hospital. I’m uncomfortable with the way I look, too. “Hey,” he says.
I don’t look up.
“Payton, I’m sorry… You don’t have to leave, because I know you’re uncomfortable.”
I nod without looking at him, still.
“I really am sorry, doll…”
“It’s okay,” I mumble. “You just need to go out sometimes; I can tell that you want to.”
I hear him put down his fork. “Sure, sometimes I do. But right now, you’re the only thing that really matters. My social-life doesn’t.”
We both chuckle. “Just go out with the guys tonight, okay? I feel like I’m holding you back, and we’re not even married. I don’t have you strapped down yet,” I let a small smile graze my lips.
He snickers. “Yet, good one. You’re not holding me back if I want to, babe. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll go out later. Sound good?”

I lift my gaze to him and nod. “Sounds great.”
“If only you would come…”
I sigh, “Maybe… Whenever I’m up to it again.”
He nods. “I don’t want to push you, so I’ll wait.”
I smiled at him before I stood, taking my plate and bringing it to the sink. He follows after me, doing the same thing. I feel him press his torso against my back, resting his chin on my shoulder while wrapping his arms around my waist. It felt good to have him around me, as usual. I leaned into his touch; his warm embrace. He kisses my neck lightly, just keeping his lips against my skin. I felt his lips curl into a smile, and he pulls away. I turn my head towards him, kissing his jaw. He kept his arms around my waist, only bringing his hands up and against my stomach, rubbing it like he used to when I was pregnant. “It feels so weird… Having your stomach so small all of a sudden… Even if it’s been three months,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I… I don’t like it, too much,” I confess. I didn’t like having such a small stomach now, and not having a baby with me… It crushes me every time I think about it, still- I could have her in my arms, holding her to my chest. But now? My stomach was too flat. It was flatter than it used to be before I got pregnant. Then, I had some figure to me. I was just too upset to eat, and it got to the worst of me… I’m pretty much a stick.
He stayed silent, however, probably wanting to say something that might just come out wrong. I look at him, seeing his lips pursed together tightly.
“What do you want to say, J?”
He shook his head. “I don’t like it, either. I mean, I do; it looks nice… But knowing that it was so big once because of our bundle of joy, and not having her here… Just seems so weird. You’re so skinny.”
I sniff, nodding. I was too skinny, I think. This was my first real meal since being in the hospital, and it didn’t really sit well in my stomach. It was probably trying to get used to the fact that there was something in there to digest, rather than the mucus layer. I felt a tear roll down my cheek- should I be getting so emotional over this? Emotional over the fact that I have an eating disorder, and Jorel thinks it’s weird?