Plunge
Stormy weather
~Cassidy~
The hurricane had finally arrived.
As Harry and I drove back home, large droplets of water were smacking against the windshield of his Range Rover, the wipers working furiously with no such luck. The wind was so forceful that it was rocking the vehicle back and forth, howling, and every so often a flash of lightning would illuminate the sky.
I kept my head buried in my hands the whole ride back, and Harry was decent enough not to try and make conversation. I didn’t want to even see the storm going on, wrenching all of the palm trees back and forth, and not being able to see three feet in front of myself.
We eventually made it off of the highway and were cruising along our street, the rain and wind battling against the car. I dreaded tonight; there was no way in hell that I’d be able to sleep.
Harry parked the car in his driveway but didn’t make a move to get out just yet. I wondered why.
Finally, not looking at me, no humour evident on his face nor in his voice, “Do you want to spend the night?”
What the fuck? Was I hallucinating, or did those words actually just come out of his mouth?
“No!” I almost yelled, but forced myself to stay calm, “I mean,” I hastened, “It’s fine, really. I’ll just call—,” I broke off, realising that Matt was in California. Dammit.
Harry seemed to realise this, because he smirked lightly. I chewed on my lip, not believing that I was actually going to go through with this. This whole day has just been an absolute disaster, and it’s his entire fault, yet here I am, about to spend the night at his house. I would never be doing this if it weren’t for the storm.
“Let’s just go,” I sighed, and he chuckled.
I opened the car door, cringing when it almost flew off its hinges, thanks to the howling wind. Rain hit my face so hard that it actually stung, and a moment later, as if wanting to spite me, lightning flashed in the sky. I shrieked, battling against the wind to make my way onto Harry’s porch.
Eventually we both reached it and he jammed his key into the lock, unlocking the door. We both tumbled in and he slammed the door, locking it, and shaking out his wet hair, pushing it up from his forehead.
“Fuck,” I breathed, shocked at how bad that was.
He chuckled weakly, “Yeah.”
Just then, a thought occurred to me. Fuck, I hadn’t thought this through.
“I don’t have pajamas,” I said suddenly, my eyes widening. I was dreading going back out there to grab my pajamas at my house, but then Harry smiled warmly at me.
“You can wear something of mine,” he told me, and I gnawed on my bottom lip, “You sure?”
“Course,” he said, and then he kicked off his shoes, making his way upstairs. I hesitantly followed him up the steps, down a hall, and finally, we arrived in what I only assumed to be his room.
“Here,” he said; crossing over to his dresser and then pulling out some clothing. He pointed to a door attached to the room, “You can change in the bathroom.”
I nodded and took the clothing from him, mumbling thanks under my breath. I slipped inside the washroom and peeled off my soaked dress, ruffling my hair. I grabbed an elastic band on my wrist and tied my hair into a ponytail, and then slid on the clothes he gave me.
It was a black, baggy Ramones t-shirt that went all the way down, past my butt. It smelled like spearmint, and for a moment, I was almost tempted to take a deep breath of air, breathing in the calming scent. The sweatpants were no better, and I had to pull the string tightly and double-knot it to keep the material seated on my hips. I leaned down, turning the sink on, and scrubbed off all of my makeup, which was pretty much only the mascara.
Finally, I took a look at myself in the mirror, seeming completely transformed.
As I stood there, I couldn’t help but to question what the fuck I was doing. I hated Harry. I hated him. Yet here I was, about to spend the night at his home. I knew that it was only because of the storm, and there was no way in hell that I’d be doing this if it were just a regular night, but I couldn’t help but to feel like I’d betrayed myself in some sort of twisted way.
My life was fucked up.
Why had I even agreed to go to the club with him? I questioned for the millionth time. It had been nothing but a waste of time and gas, clearly. I was such an idiot, thinking that if I went with him, he’d quit pestering me. High hopes. He would never stop bothering me; I was sure of it. God, I was a complete moron.
I stepped out of his washroom, only to find that he’d also changed into a pair of sweatpants, leaving his chest bare. Oddly, it was a bit hard for me to keep my gaze up on his face; the tattoos on his torso, shoulders and arms were so intriguing and intricate. I found myself wondering what each one symbolised.
What the fuck?
When he saw me, he grinned, his eyes surveying my body, “We match.”
I frowned at him, not in the mood for his antics right now. There was a storm going on outside, and I was practically pissing my pants, all the while he was standing here, marvelling at how we matched.
Idiot.
“Just fuck off,” I muttered, looking away, “Where’s your guest bedroom?”
Without waiting for a reply, I slipped out of his room, wandering the upstairs hall to find it.
“I thought you’d be sleeping in my room,” he called out from behind me, following me.
I snorted, shooting him an accusing look over my shoulder as I continued to peek into various rooms, “After whatever you and that slut did in there? No, thanks, I’ll pass.”
He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, looking pained, “Cassidy, the only reason I did that was because—”
I whipped around to glare at him, my hands on my hips. Shocked by my sudden cease of steps, he bumped into me, and I stumbled a bit. His hand came up immediately to grip my forearm, his long fingers winding around my limb like it was a small, crackling twig.
“You should be more careful,” he breathed on my face, sending a shiver down my spine.
I frowned up at him, yanking my arm from his grip, and took a step back, not wanting him close to me, “You bumped into me,” I accused, and then turned on my heel, “And don’t worry about explaining yourself to me,” I told him, referring to his one-night stand, “You can bang whoever you want to bang. Just have the decency to not publish it to the entire world.”
“What?” he asked; his brow furrowing. I just shook my head, not wanting to tell him that I could hear them when they were…yeah. I simply rolled my eyes and let out a long sigh, finally finding his guest bedroom.
“Fine,” he said simply, as I made my way into it. The room was light blue with a white bedside table and two dressers, a small table and two chairs pushed up against the far wall. I studied it within the span of a second, finding it suitable, and turned to close the door on him.
He was standing in the doorway, right behind me, and I made a move to close the door, only to have him step inside, lightning fast, and force me to take a step back.
“Ah, ah,” he said, holding up a finger and grinning, “My house, my rules.”
“And what exactly are your rules?” I seethed, my eyes narrowing.
A clap of lightning echoed outside, making me jump and cower, and he simply smiled lightly at how I was able to go from strong and independent to vulnerable. I fucking hated it, and I hated him. I wished I could just slap him right now.
“If you won’t stay in my room,” he said slowly, “Then I’ll just stay in yours.”
“What?” I screeched immediately, over the rain pounding against my window, “No! For all I know, you could start touching me in my sleep or something!”
I took a step back, the backs of my knees meeting the bed, and sat down on the mattress. Harry just laughed loudly, so amused at my dramatic outburst.
“You said it yourself that you can’t sleep during thunderstorms. So that’s not really an option,” he pointed out, and I gritted my teeth, knowing that he was right. Oh, fuck him.
“No,” I said loudly, but he took a step closer, and I matched it by scooting backwards on the bed.
“Too bad,” he shrugged innocently, shooting me a grin, and I almost found myself jumping off of the bed and tackling him. He pulled over a chair that had been up against the wall and sat beside the bed, while I did everything possible to be as far away from him as I could. He just chuckled and looked down, shaking his head from side to side, and I caught a glimpse of his dimple. It would’ve actually been pretty cute, if I hadn’t been so pissed at him.
I growled under my breath, muttering a few curses, and he piped up, “You know swearing is a major turn-off.”
I thought about it for a moment before glaring at him and saying, “Fuck, shit, bitch, fucking asshole. Whoops, my bad.”
He chuckled again; fuck, how much more annoying could he get? I rolled my eyes and pulled back the covers on the bed, burying myself under them and facing away from him, my back to him. Unfortunately, that meant I had a clear view of the window, and all of the demolition that was occurring outside. The rain pelted the window; trees were swinging back and forth wildly, power lines flying, and the sky dark as ebony. I gritted my teeth again and slid out from under the blanket, walking over to the window and pulling down the blinds. The room got slightly darker.
Once I was nestled back under the covers, the thunder began. I cringed, and my body convulsed after each rumble, or each clap of lightning that illuminated the cracks through the blinds. Usually Matt would be here, lying with me and telling me that everything was okay, wrapping is arm around me, but he wasn’t. Fucking hell.
And there was no way that I was going to let Curly do that.
Ew. Just ew.
I made a small whimpering sound when a particularly loud thunderclap echoed through the sky, and I heard something shift behind me.
“That’s it,” Harry said, and I sat up abruptly, not knowing if he was leaving or coming back. A part of me hoped that he would leave so that he would quit annoying me, and so that he wouldn’t see me in yet another weak position. But a small, teeny part of me hoped that he was coming back, so that I wouldn’t be left completely alone.
I fell back onto the bed as he disappeared into the hall, letting out a sigh, not knowing what to hope for, or what to want. Why was my mind so fucked up?
There was a minute of silence, where I stared up at the bedroom ceiling, breathing heavily. Just then, thunder rumbled in the clouds again, and I squeaked fearfully, pulling the covers up over my head.
Suddenly, I heard more shuffling coming from the doorway, and I peeked out of the blankets to see Harry coming back into the room, holding something large in his hands. When my eyes adjusted, they widened; it was his fucking guitar.
Oh my God. What was he planning on doing?
“I’m going to play you something,” he told me quietly, sitting back down on the chair that he’d occupied previously.
He cleared his throat, and added, “Just so that it shuts you up.”
I sat up, pulling the duvet over my shoulders, and shifted over to the edge of the bed, really not caring anymore. This storm was the worst that I’d ever experienced, and I would take anything that could get my mind off of it. Even listening to him while he would play a song. I didn’t care anymore; I could go back to telling him to fuck off tomorrow.
“Um,” he stuttered, not meeting my gaze for a moment, giving me an opportunity to observe the tattoos on his body. I quickly snapped my gaze back upwards though, not wanting to get caught.
“I’m not exactly the best musician out there,” he told me nervously, and I almost laughed. This was the first time I’d heard him sound insecure about something, and now I felt like rubbing it in his face.
But yet again, there was another flash of lightning, and I ushered him along, “I don’t care,” I said quickly, “Just play something.”
He nodded and looked down at the instrument resting in his lap. Slowly, his left hand came up to twine around the neck, his right gripping a pick between his thumb and forefinger. He took a deep breath, building up enough air to last him, and began:
“One day you’ll come into my world and say it all.
You’ll say we’ll be together even when you’re lost.
One day you’ll these words I’ve thought but never said,
You say we’re better off together in our bed.”
I listened to the song, not having heard it before, and then it hit me; he must’ve written it. Holy fuck, it was actually good. And his voice: it was a deep, raspy sound, but I had a feeling that he could hit the high notes if he wanted to. It was all so shocking. I never knew that he could play, that he could sing, or that he was actually okay.
I’d never tell him though.
“I want you here with me,
Like how I pictured it,
So I don’t have to keep imagining,
Come on, jump out at me,
Come on, bring everything.
Is it too much to ask for something great?”
This was really awkward. Here I was, listening to a song that he probably wrote for his girlfriend back home. I had a feeling that he hadn’t sung it to her yet, and I felt kind of bad for having him have to sing it to me because I was afraid of a goddamn storm. I’d heard it before she did. How exactly was that right?
“The script was written and I could not change a thing,
I want to rip it all to shreds and start again.
One day I’ll come into your world and get it right,
I’ll say we’re better off together here tonight.”
He laughed a bit on the last part, and I could only guess that he found it ironic that we were here together, listening to him play while a raging storm fought dozens of battles outside.
Yep, this was definitely for his girlfriend. There was no doubt about it.
Wait, why am I thinking about this? It’s irrelevant, just like he is. I swear: I’m going absolutely crazy.
He broke into another chorus, and I found myself looking down, fiddling with my fingers in my lap. His voice sounded really good, but I didn’t want my facial expression to give anything away, because frankly, he already had enough shit against me, that he could hang above my head.
A loud boom borne from the storm made me jump, but he didn’t look fazed. He just kept on singing, and finally, the quick movements of his fingers on the guitar seemed to slow, and I felt as though we were nearing the end of the song.
“You’re all I want,
So much it’s hurting.
You’re all I want,
So much it’s hurting.”
He strummed one last note and let it play out; seeming as though it was still regenerating in my ears, even though it had stopped. I pursed my lips, finally growing the courage to look up, only to find that he was staring intently at me. Okay then…
I cleared my throat, looking away, slowly starting to move back on the bed, back to where my original position had been. I still felt his gaze on me as I lowered my body back down onto the mattress, making sure that my back was to him.
Thankfully, the bulky duvet was covering my body, so that he couldn’t really see the huge gulp of air I took in, based on my chest’s movements. I heard him sigh behind me, and then the guitar being set down.
And then I did something I’d never done before.
I fell asleep during a storm.
The hurricane had finally arrived.
As Harry and I drove back home, large droplets of water were smacking against the windshield of his Range Rover, the wipers working furiously with no such luck. The wind was so forceful that it was rocking the vehicle back and forth, howling, and every so often a flash of lightning would illuminate the sky.
I kept my head buried in my hands the whole ride back, and Harry was decent enough not to try and make conversation. I didn’t want to even see the storm going on, wrenching all of the palm trees back and forth, and not being able to see three feet in front of myself.
We eventually made it off of the highway and were cruising along our street, the rain and wind battling against the car. I dreaded tonight; there was no way in hell that I’d be able to sleep.
Harry parked the car in his driveway but didn’t make a move to get out just yet. I wondered why.
Finally, not looking at me, no humour evident on his face nor in his voice, “Do you want to spend the night?”
What the fuck? Was I hallucinating, or did those words actually just come out of his mouth?
“No!” I almost yelled, but forced myself to stay calm, “I mean,” I hastened, “It’s fine, really. I’ll just call—,” I broke off, realising that Matt was in California. Dammit.
Harry seemed to realise this, because he smirked lightly. I chewed on my lip, not believing that I was actually going to go through with this. This whole day has just been an absolute disaster, and it’s his entire fault, yet here I am, about to spend the night at his house. I would never be doing this if it weren’t for the storm.
“Let’s just go,” I sighed, and he chuckled.
I opened the car door, cringing when it almost flew off its hinges, thanks to the howling wind. Rain hit my face so hard that it actually stung, and a moment later, as if wanting to spite me, lightning flashed in the sky. I shrieked, battling against the wind to make my way onto Harry’s porch.
Eventually we both reached it and he jammed his key into the lock, unlocking the door. We both tumbled in and he slammed the door, locking it, and shaking out his wet hair, pushing it up from his forehead.
“Fuck,” I breathed, shocked at how bad that was.
He chuckled weakly, “Yeah.”
Just then, a thought occurred to me. Fuck, I hadn’t thought this through.
“I don’t have pajamas,” I said suddenly, my eyes widening. I was dreading going back out there to grab my pajamas at my house, but then Harry smiled warmly at me.
“You can wear something of mine,” he told me, and I gnawed on my bottom lip, “You sure?”
“Course,” he said, and then he kicked off his shoes, making his way upstairs. I hesitantly followed him up the steps, down a hall, and finally, we arrived in what I only assumed to be his room.
“Here,” he said; crossing over to his dresser and then pulling out some clothing. He pointed to a door attached to the room, “You can change in the bathroom.”
I nodded and took the clothing from him, mumbling thanks under my breath. I slipped inside the washroom and peeled off my soaked dress, ruffling my hair. I grabbed an elastic band on my wrist and tied my hair into a ponytail, and then slid on the clothes he gave me.
It was a black, baggy Ramones t-shirt that went all the way down, past my butt. It smelled like spearmint, and for a moment, I was almost tempted to take a deep breath of air, breathing in the calming scent. The sweatpants were no better, and I had to pull the string tightly and double-knot it to keep the material seated on my hips. I leaned down, turning the sink on, and scrubbed off all of my makeup, which was pretty much only the mascara.
Finally, I took a look at myself in the mirror, seeming completely transformed.
As I stood there, I couldn’t help but to question what the fuck I was doing. I hated Harry. I hated him. Yet here I was, about to spend the night at his home. I knew that it was only because of the storm, and there was no way in hell that I’d be doing this if it were just a regular night, but I couldn’t help but to feel like I’d betrayed myself in some sort of twisted way.
My life was fucked up.
Why had I even agreed to go to the club with him? I questioned for the millionth time. It had been nothing but a waste of time and gas, clearly. I was such an idiot, thinking that if I went with him, he’d quit pestering me. High hopes. He would never stop bothering me; I was sure of it. God, I was a complete moron.
I stepped out of his washroom, only to find that he’d also changed into a pair of sweatpants, leaving his chest bare. Oddly, it was a bit hard for me to keep my gaze up on his face; the tattoos on his torso, shoulders and arms were so intriguing and intricate. I found myself wondering what each one symbolised.
What the fuck?
When he saw me, he grinned, his eyes surveying my body, “We match.”
I frowned at him, not in the mood for his antics right now. There was a storm going on outside, and I was practically pissing my pants, all the while he was standing here, marvelling at how we matched.
Idiot.
“Just fuck off,” I muttered, looking away, “Where’s your guest bedroom?”
Without waiting for a reply, I slipped out of his room, wandering the upstairs hall to find it.
“I thought you’d be sleeping in my room,” he called out from behind me, following me.
I snorted, shooting him an accusing look over my shoulder as I continued to peek into various rooms, “After whatever you and that slut did in there? No, thanks, I’ll pass.”
He sighed, raking his fingers through his hair, looking pained, “Cassidy, the only reason I did that was because—”
I whipped around to glare at him, my hands on my hips. Shocked by my sudden cease of steps, he bumped into me, and I stumbled a bit. His hand came up immediately to grip my forearm, his long fingers winding around my limb like it was a small, crackling twig.
“You should be more careful,” he breathed on my face, sending a shiver down my spine.
I frowned up at him, yanking my arm from his grip, and took a step back, not wanting him close to me, “You bumped into me,” I accused, and then turned on my heel, “And don’t worry about explaining yourself to me,” I told him, referring to his one-night stand, “You can bang whoever you want to bang. Just have the decency to not publish it to the entire world.”
“What?” he asked; his brow furrowing. I just shook my head, not wanting to tell him that I could hear them when they were…yeah. I simply rolled my eyes and let out a long sigh, finally finding his guest bedroom.
“Fine,” he said simply, as I made my way into it. The room was light blue with a white bedside table and two dressers, a small table and two chairs pushed up against the far wall. I studied it within the span of a second, finding it suitable, and turned to close the door on him.
He was standing in the doorway, right behind me, and I made a move to close the door, only to have him step inside, lightning fast, and force me to take a step back.
“Ah, ah,” he said, holding up a finger and grinning, “My house, my rules.”
“And what exactly are your rules?” I seethed, my eyes narrowing.
A clap of lightning echoed outside, making me jump and cower, and he simply smiled lightly at how I was able to go from strong and independent to vulnerable. I fucking hated it, and I hated him. I wished I could just slap him right now.
“If you won’t stay in my room,” he said slowly, “Then I’ll just stay in yours.”
“What?” I screeched immediately, over the rain pounding against my window, “No! For all I know, you could start touching me in my sleep or something!”
I took a step back, the backs of my knees meeting the bed, and sat down on the mattress. Harry just laughed loudly, so amused at my dramatic outburst.
“You said it yourself that you can’t sleep during thunderstorms. So that’s not really an option,” he pointed out, and I gritted my teeth, knowing that he was right. Oh, fuck him.
“No,” I said loudly, but he took a step closer, and I matched it by scooting backwards on the bed.
“Too bad,” he shrugged innocently, shooting me a grin, and I almost found myself jumping off of the bed and tackling him. He pulled over a chair that had been up against the wall and sat beside the bed, while I did everything possible to be as far away from him as I could. He just chuckled and looked down, shaking his head from side to side, and I caught a glimpse of his dimple. It would’ve actually been pretty cute, if I hadn’t been so pissed at him.
I growled under my breath, muttering a few curses, and he piped up, “You know swearing is a major turn-off.”
I thought about it for a moment before glaring at him and saying, “Fuck, shit, bitch, fucking asshole. Whoops, my bad.”
He chuckled again; fuck, how much more annoying could he get? I rolled my eyes and pulled back the covers on the bed, burying myself under them and facing away from him, my back to him. Unfortunately, that meant I had a clear view of the window, and all of the demolition that was occurring outside. The rain pelted the window; trees were swinging back and forth wildly, power lines flying, and the sky dark as ebony. I gritted my teeth again and slid out from under the blanket, walking over to the window and pulling down the blinds. The room got slightly darker.
Once I was nestled back under the covers, the thunder began. I cringed, and my body convulsed after each rumble, or each clap of lightning that illuminated the cracks through the blinds. Usually Matt would be here, lying with me and telling me that everything was okay, wrapping is arm around me, but he wasn’t. Fucking hell.
And there was no way that I was going to let Curly do that.
Ew. Just ew.
I made a small whimpering sound when a particularly loud thunderclap echoed through the sky, and I heard something shift behind me.
“That’s it,” Harry said, and I sat up abruptly, not knowing if he was leaving or coming back. A part of me hoped that he would leave so that he would quit annoying me, and so that he wouldn’t see me in yet another weak position. But a small, teeny part of me hoped that he was coming back, so that I wouldn’t be left completely alone.
I fell back onto the bed as he disappeared into the hall, letting out a sigh, not knowing what to hope for, or what to want. Why was my mind so fucked up?
There was a minute of silence, where I stared up at the bedroom ceiling, breathing heavily. Just then, thunder rumbled in the clouds again, and I squeaked fearfully, pulling the covers up over my head.
Suddenly, I heard more shuffling coming from the doorway, and I peeked out of the blankets to see Harry coming back into the room, holding something large in his hands. When my eyes adjusted, they widened; it was his fucking guitar.
Oh my God. What was he planning on doing?
“I’m going to play you something,” he told me quietly, sitting back down on the chair that he’d occupied previously.
He cleared his throat, and added, “Just so that it shuts you up.”
I sat up, pulling the duvet over my shoulders, and shifted over to the edge of the bed, really not caring anymore. This storm was the worst that I’d ever experienced, and I would take anything that could get my mind off of it. Even listening to him while he would play a song. I didn’t care anymore; I could go back to telling him to fuck off tomorrow.
“Um,” he stuttered, not meeting my gaze for a moment, giving me an opportunity to observe the tattoos on his body. I quickly snapped my gaze back upwards though, not wanting to get caught.
“I’m not exactly the best musician out there,” he told me nervously, and I almost laughed. This was the first time I’d heard him sound insecure about something, and now I felt like rubbing it in his face.
But yet again, there was another flash of lightning, and I ushered him along, “I don’t care,” I said quickly, “Just play something.”
He nodded and looked down at the instrument resting in his lap. Slowly, his left hand came up to twine around the neck, his right gripping a pick between his thumb and forefinger. He took a deep breath, building up enough air to last him, and began:
“One day you’ll come into my world and say it all.
You’ll say we’ll be together even when you’re lost.
One day you’ll these words I’ve thought but never said,
You say we’re better off together in our bed.”
I listened to the song, not having heard it before, and then it hit me; he must’ve written it. Holy fuck, it was actually good. And his voice: it was a deep, raspy sound, but I had a feeling that he could hit the high notes if he wanted to. It was all so shocking. I never knew that he could play, that he could sing, or that he was actually okay.
I’d never tell him though.
“I want you here with me,
Like how I pictured it,
So I don’t have to keep imagining,
Come on, jump out at me,
Come on, bring everything.
Is it too much to ask for something great?”
This was really awkward. Here I was, listening to a song that he probably wrote for his girlfriend back home. I had a feeling that he hadn’t sung it to her yet, and I felt kind of bad for having him have to sing it to me because I was afraid of a goddamn storm. I’d heard it before she did. How exactly was that right?
“The script was written and I could not change a thing,
I want to rip it all to shreds and start again.
One day I’ll come into your world and get it right,
I’ll say we’re better off together here tonight.”
He laughed a bit on the last part, and I could only guess that he found it ironic that we were here together, listening to him play while a raging storm fought dozens of battles outside.
Yep, this was definitely for his girlfriend. There was no doubt about it.
Wait, why am I thinking about this? It’s irrelevant, just like he is. I swear: I’m going absolutely crazy.
He broke into another chorus, and I found myself looking down, fiddling with my fingers in my lap. His voice sounded really good, but I didn’t want my facial expression to give anything away, because frankly, he already had enough shit against me, that he could hang above my head.
A loud boom borne from the storm made me jump, but he didn’t look fazed. He just kept on singing, and finally, the quick movements of his fingers on the guitar seemed to slow, and I felt as though we were nearing the end of the song.
“You’re all I want,
So much it’s hurting.
You’re all I want,
So much it’s hurting.”
He strummed one last note and let it play out; seeming as though it was still regenerating in my ears, even though it had stopped. I pursed my lips, finally growing the courage to look up, only to find that he was staring intently at me. Okay then…
I cleared my throat, looking away, slowly starting to move back on the bed, back to where my original position had been. I still felt his gaze on me as I lowered my body back down onto the mattress, making sure that my back was to him.
Thankfully, the bulky duvet was covering my body, so that he couldn’t really see the huge gulp of air I took in, based on my chest’s movements. I heard him sigh behind me, and then the guitar being set down.
And then I did something I’d never done before.
I fell asleep during a storm.
Notes
Boo-yah...That's all I really have to say, ha-ha :pI really liked this chapter for some reason. Guys, I cannot stress this enough! Please, with a cherry on top, COMMENT! There are people subscribing but barely anyone is voicing their opinion. Please comment, it would mean the world to me.
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10/25/15