Sequel: Elysian ›
Status: In Progress
Restless Insomniacs
Daria
My feet are warm and toasty under my covers but I think my heart is warmer as I snuggle into my blankets and press my ear tighter against the phone listening to Yale sigh contently. He had called me twenty minute ago not much has been said but I don’t think either of us truly minds.
We have not found much time to step together lately since Yale got grounded for not coming home for an entire weekend. So Yale has taken to calling me each night at 10pm to tell me goodnight, it is never quite that simple though. Each night he calls me and tells me goodnight but neither of us hangs up until we are so tired we cannot hold our phones or our eyes open any longer.
I can almost smell the cigarette I know Yale is smoking through the phone and as he sighs I can just imagine a cloud of smoke escaping his lungs. And even though smoking is so dangerous Yale makes it look so pretty, and I think that is equally if not more dangerous.
I think Yale is dangerous because he makes even the most awful things seem beautiful. Sometimes when I am really tired and we are driving I think for a moment that I might be beautiful, with the night air in my hair and the moon light reflected in my eyes, I think, as I sit beside Yale, that I might just be beautiful. And for a minute, a single minute, it feels better than I have felt in the last year, better than anything I could ever explain, but when the minute is over I am terrified once more because I am not sure if I should be beautiful.
I am not sure about a lot of things anymore. All I am sure of is that Yale is smoking a cigarette and I am holding the lighter he left at my house all those weeks ago in my small hands tighter than I have held anything since my dad died and took his hands with him.
“What are you thinking about?” Yale breathes into the phone,
“Everything,” I reply because Yale is everything, and on nights like tonight with the smell of cigarettes brunt to my brain, I think having everything would be wonderful, having Yale would be wonderful. If I close my eyes hard enough and listen to Yale breath I can pretend I have everything, including Yale, and it feels better than any string of words could ever sound.
“That’s a lot to think about princess” Yale laughs, he told me when he had called he is lying in bed staring at his ceiling and seeing pretty pictures in the shadows. I had asked what they pretty pictures were of and he had answered so quietly that I was almost sure it wasn’t real, ‘You D,’
And I think I had choked on all the air that had escaped my lungs. After then it went silent and I am not sure if Yale thinks that I am upset by what he said. I shake away the thought as I realise he probably doesn’t care, doesn’t put that much stock in my answers. He is used to calling girls pretty and talking to them late at night. I am nothing special.
I don’t feel so beautiful anymore so I close my eyes and squeeze them tight until I see spots. Yale sighs again on the other side of the phone and I think I might miss him; I am not sure how that is even possible because he is on the phone with me but it is. I miss him and I think even if he were right in front of my I would still miss him because I want more of him, more than what we are.
“Did you know they say every cigarette that you smoke takes a day off your life?”
“You want me to quit?” Yale laughs,
“No I just… I used to tell my dad that every time he would light up a cigarette, every puff is one less day with me and my mum,”
“Did he quit?”
“No… I guess some addictions are greater than anything else,” Yale is silent and I am tired. I want to roll over and fall asleep I but I don’t want to stop talking to Yale, now or ever.
“Are you tired?” Yale asks,
“No,”
“Liar”
“Five more minutes Yale, five more minutes,” And like every night five minutes turns into an hour and I fall sleep to the sound of Yale’s breathing. I think that maybe Yale is an addiction, greater than anything else. He is an addiction I will never quit because he is beautiful. And sometimes even the ugliest things are the prettiest when you are tired.
We have not found much time to step together lately since Yale got grounded for not coming home for an entire weekend. So Yale has taken to calling me each night at 10pm to tell me goodnight, it is never quite that simple though. Each night he calls me and tells me goodnight but neither of us hangs up until we are so tired we cannot hold our phones or our eyes open any longer.
I can almost smell the cigarette I know Yale is smoking through the phone and as he sighs I can just imagine a cloud of smoke escaping his lungs. And even though smoking is so dangerous Yale makes it look so pretty, and I think that is equally if not more dangerous.
I think Yale is dangerous because he makes even the most awful things seem beautiful. Sometimes when I am really tired and we are driving I think for a moment that I might be beautiful, with the night air in my hair and the moon light reflected in my eyes, I think, as I sit beside Yale, that I might just be beautiful. And for a minute, a single minute, it feels better than I have felt in the last year, better than anything I could ever explain, but when the minute is over I am terrified once more because I am not sure if I should be beautiful.
I am not sure about a lot of things anymore. All I am sure of is that Yale is smoking a cigarette and I am holding the lighter he left at my house all those weeks ago in my small hands tighter than I have held anything since my dad died and took his hands with him.
“What are you thinking about?” Yale breathes into the phone,
“Everything,” I reply because Yale is everything, and on nights like tonight with the smell of cigarettes brunt to my brain, I think having everything would be wonderful, having Yale would be wonderful. If I close my eyes hard enough and listen to Yale breath I can pretend I have everything, including Yale, and it feels better than any string of words could ever sound.
“That’s a lot to think about princess” Yale laughs, he told me when he had called he is lying in bed staring at his ceiling and seeing pretty pictures in the shadows. I had asked what they pretty pictures were of and he had answered so quietly that I was almost sure it wasn’t real, ‘You D,’
And I think I had choked on all the air that had escaped my lungs. After then it went silent and I am not sure if Yale thinks that I am upset by what he said. I shake away the thought as I realise he probably doesn’t care, doesn’t put that much stock in my answers. He is used to calling girls pretty and talking to them late at night. I am nothing special.
I don’t feel so beautiful anymore so I close my eyes and squeeze them tight until I see spots. Yale sighs again on the other side of the phone and I think I might miss him; I am not sure how that is even possible because he is on the phone with me but it is. I miss him and I think even if he were right in front of my I would still miss him because I want more of him, more than what we are.
“Did you know they say every cigarette that you smoke takes a day off your life?”
“You want me to quit?” Yale laughs,
“No I just… I used to tell my dad that every time he would light up a cigarette, every puff is one less day with me and my mum,”
“Did he quit?”
“No… I guess some addictions are greater than anything else,” Yale is silent and I am tired. I want to roll over and fall asleep I but I don’t want to stop talking to Yale, now or ever.
“Are you tired?” Yale asks,
“No,”
“Liar”
“Five more minutes Yale, five more minutes,” And like every night five minutes turns into an hour and I fall sleep to the sound of Yale’s breathing. I think that maybe Yale is an addiction, greater than anything else. He is an addiction I will never quit because he is beautiful. And sometimes even the ugliest things are the prettiest when you are tired.