Acomist
that someone so handsome
"Why won't you eat?"
Joel hides his bright eyes behind a mane of windswept hair and tilts his head down at the painfully clean floor, coffee cup in one hand and shining apple in the other. Cathy won't stop cleaning (can't stop cleaning) and it's hard to believe someone as messy Martin used to live here.
You think that's the point.
"I'm not hungry."
He shrugs his shoulders and the edge of his t-short finally dives down his shoulder, falling from divine valleys of collarbones and revealing a slither of the torturous stretch of bumpy ribs. It makes you sick that all you want to do is run your finger down each one, counting it, weighing it. It makes you sick how much you want it.
"You haven't eaten in days, there's nothing in the house!" Cathy shrinks slightly from your voice and brings her sharp shoulder inwards, towards her dry hands and tea cup. Joel pushes his hair back and places the apple on the kitchen, lifting his eyes to meet yours.
"Neither have you."
You take a seat at the kitchen table, opposite Cathy, and frown as Joel takes the seat at the head of the table, bones flexing uncomfortably with the moment, like it hurts to breathe that way.
"I..."
Cathy's cup touches down delicately on the tabletop.
"I eat at work."
Joel doesn't look as you don't eat the apple next to you, and you don't look as Cathy doesn't add milk or sugar to her tea and Cathy's never seen, really.
Not since Martin.
Joel hides his bright eyes behind a mane of windswept hair and tilts his head down at the painfully clean floor, coffee cup in one hand and shining apple in the other. Cathy won't stop cleaning (can't stop cleaning) and it's hard to believe someone as messy Martin used to live here.
You think that's the point.
"I'm not hungry."
He shrugs his shoulders and the edge of his t-short finally dives down his shoulder, falling from divine valleys of collarbones and revealing a slither of the torturous stretch of bumpy ribs. It makes you sick that all you want to do is run your finger down each one, counting it, weighing it. It makes you sick how much you want it.
"You haven't eaten in days, there's nothing in the house!" Cathy shrinks slightly from your voice and brings her sharp shoulder inwards, towards her dry hands and tea cup. Joel pushes his hair back and places the apple on the kitchen, lifting his eyes to meet yours.
"Neither have you."
You take a seat at the kitchen table, opposite Cathy, and frown as Joel takes the seat at the head of the table, bones flexing uncomfortably with the moment, like it hurts to breathe that way.
"I..."
Cathy's cup touches down delicately on the tabletop.
"I eat at work."
Joel doesn't look as you don't eat the apple next to you, and you don't look as Cathy doesn't add milk or sugar to her tea and Cathy's never seen, really.
Not since Martin.