Hate Me

I awoke the next morning to find Nick still passed out on the couch; his arm tucked under his head like a pillow and the rest of him curled into a small ball. It’s amazing how peaceful and harmless this boy looks, curled up on my couch dreaming about who knows what.
Glancing around, I spot his crumpled piece of paper on the floor by the couch, revealing his messy scribbles. Quietly, I kneel down on the floor, and pick up the paper to see what he was concentrating on so intensely in the alleyway yesterday.

Talk to me now while I'm sober
The way that you look
I know it's almost over
The fighting has stopped
But I'm still so lost
will you bring me in
Shame creeps down my spine
Like the blade of a knife
And it's taking its time
Will you wait for me
Cause now I can't breathe
The air runs thin
I'm another lush
I'm another liar
“When will I start learning

It’s beautiful. The pain laced throughout the words is so believable; it makes me hurt just reading it. What has this boy been through?

“What are you doing?”

His voice unexpectedly interrupts my thoughts and I quickly look at him, sitting on the couch. Before I have any time to react, he snatches the paper from my hands and shoves it in his pocket, all the time maintaining an irritated look on his face.

“I. I was just. It’s beautiful,” I stutter, trying to find the correct words to explain what I was doing, but failing miserably.

“It’s ok,”

I look up at him, still staring at me sternly and decide not to say anything further on the subject.

“The bathroom is that way if you’d like a shower,” I say after a minute, pointing toward the small hallway, “there’s some clean clothes on the end of my bed, and since you fit the ones I gave you last night,I think we’re around the same size so if you want to wear them, you’re more than welcome, and I can wash your clothes,”

He raises his eyebrow at me and a small smile forms at the corner of his mouth, “thanks mom,” he laughs suddenly while getting up and heading into my room to grab the clothes.

Well that was a shocking change of attitude. I think while sitting back on my butt.

While he’s in the shower, I meander into my room and sit on the edge of my bed with my old guitar, absently picking at the strings, composing a melody I probably won’t ever remember again. But that’s the way it goes. No reason to remember any of the songs, so none of them get written down.

“You didn’t tell me you play guitar,” A voice mutters from the doorway.

I quickly look up and see Nick standing in my doorway, wearing nothing but a towel, his wet hair clinging to his face, the enhanced darkness of his already jet black hair forcing his eyes to shine like some lighthouse beacons. Oh my, those eyes.

Close your mouth, idiot. My conscience chides me.

“Uh, you never asked,” I shrug, setting my guitar by me on my bed.

Look at the way the water runs down his chest. It’s so-delicious

He raises a quizzical eyebrow, once again snapping me out of my reverie.

“Why aren’t you dressed?” I asked, attempting to get rid of the reason I’m feeling a little lightheaded and more than a little flustered.

“I left the clothes on the bed,” He answers, pointing behind me.

Oh there they are, I hadn’t seen them there.

He timidly, with one hand on the towel around his waist, grabs the clothes and heads back into the bathroom to get changed.

“Wow,” I whisper to myself, running my hands through my hair.

If that boy’s got that effect on me when I’ve only known him for less than 24 hours, than I can only imagine what he’d be like if something actually did happen. Not that it would even if I wanted it to.

I hear the door open, and he comes back into the room and sits on the floor against the wall just inside the doorway.

“So, can I ask what your writing was about?” I ask, curious to know this boy’s muse.

He looks down at his hands, obviously considering his answer very carefully.

“They’re song lyrics. About my ex,”

His ex. Of course he’s got one of those.

“Well, they’re beautiful; I think you should keep writing,”

He simply nods his appreciation. Obviously his way of telling me not to continue on this topic anymore.

I look out my bedroom window to see the rain pouring down in sheets so thick; I can’t even see the cars parked three floors below me.

Looks like he’s not going anywhere today, at least not while he’s wearing my clothes.

"So what do you want to do today? It's still raining, so we can't go anywhere, and you said you wouldn't leave until after the storm passes. I'm afraid I don't have any board games or anything. But if you wanna watch TV, we can totally do that," I ask, padding across the room to put my guitar back on the stand.

"Do you want to fuck?" He asks, shrugging his shoulders.

Immediately I lose the feeling to my knees and feel the blood rush to my cheeks, and somewhere else.

"I'm sorry. What the hell did you just say?"

He laughs for a second and buries his head in his hands before standing to walk, stopping only inches away from my frame.

I wonder if he can feel the heat radiating off my body

"Isn't it kind of obvious?" He questions, running the tips of his fingers down the side of my face, "I know you want to fuck me, why else would you bring a stranger into your house and put him in your clothes?"

"No." I respond, stepping away from his reach, "No I don't want to fuck. I don't even know you,"

Why the fuck is this boy so hard to predict?

"Ok," He smiles, "So get to know me,"

Oh lord. This is going to be a long day.