Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Starving for Attention

Play Dirty With Me

by drowsygrrl 10 reviews

"You sure you're up to this? Don't faint on me now." he smirked, his look a little colder than usual as he started dribbling. "Just bring it emo boy, I'm more in shape than you are." I spat, gua...

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: R - Genres: Drama, Romance - Warnings: [!] [V] - Published: 2006-09-06 - Updated: 2006-09-06 - 5650 words

*(warning, the following is a rant that has virtually nothing to do with my story, if you actually have a life I highly suggest you ignore this and move on, lol)

Okay. I don't keep up with teen drama shows because it's like reading really /bad /stories. It makes me want to vomit. But last night I somehow came across the episode (an episode, one of the episodes, I dunno, I've heard he's recurring but hell if I actually know) of One Tree Hill (online mind you) where Pete Wentz (yuh, Pete WENTZ) sleeps with Peyton (the annoying natural blonde on OTH) (wow is her voice annoying, I wanted to slap How that works I dunno, but can I just say for the record: MOST EVERYONE ON THIS BOARD CAN WRITE BETTER THAN THE DAMN SCRIPT TEAM AT WARNER BROTHERS! OMG! I suddenly have this immense feeling of job security, lol. The writing was SOOOOO bad. Again, I wanted to vomit. There was like one good line in the entire thing and even /that /was kinda lame. UGH! *End Rant*

Ps- The Warped Tour f*cking killed. It was easily in the top five days of my entire life. To read my full report visit:

Chapter Six: Play Dirty With Me

Apparently when I'd wished all the luck I was worth on Ryan, he really had stolen the lot of it because the very next afternoon, as I sat working on a new article for/ 'Fantastic!' /and the boys were messing around on their guitars in the living room, my phone rang.

"Hello?" I answered before sticking my pen between my teeth so I could copy and paste a line in my article.

"Yes, is Bailey available. This is her mother."

Immediately my pen fell from my mouth, "Mom!? Hey, it's um, it's me." Out of instinct I tucked my hair behind my ears, sat up a little straighter.

"Hello dear, how are you?" Her voice was warm, though it crinkled under old age like soft wrinkles.

"I'm fine, yah, we're doing great. The boys just got back from tour so we're all just kind of getting back into the swing of things. How're you guys? How's dad?" I asked.

"Oh he's fine, we're all just fine. You're sister's back in town though."

"Oh really? How come?" My sister was a hardcore med student who hated going home. That's why she had gone the grad school route in the first place, to avoid home as much as possible. Oh, Thanksgiving weekend? Can't make it: studying. Dad's birthday? Send my love, Harvard needs me.

"She's dropped out of graduate school. Hasn't she told you?" My sister? Pick up her phone to call me? On purpose? Cha right.

"No, no she didn't. Is everything alright?" As much as I felt mildly insulted at having just found this out, I was concerned about my big sis. Something really drastic must have happened for Becky to have left Harvard Medical.

"Oh she's great- she's /engaged/." Of course! How could I have forgotten her infamous plan: Get married before having to get a job in order to avoid work her entire life. Clever little bitch.

"Oh really! Well, that's great! Really, I'm happy for her. Tell her I wish her the best of luck."

"Oh no," my mother laughed, "You didn't think you were getting out of this, did you? I'm calling to invite you to her bridal shower."

Head, E-Harmony called, their setting you up with Mr. Desk.

"/Now/? But mom"-

"Don't give me any of that 'But mom' business, you're coming and that's completely final. I've already booked airline tickets and everything. You're flight leaves this coming Saturday." How could she do this to me? I'd cut myself loose of her life for me forever ago. I'd left her in Massachusetts and I hadn't once bothered to look back. I didn't plan on doing so now.

"Mom, you can't do this. I have work and the boys just got back and"-

"Well, the boys can wait." she snapped before softening her voice to try and convince me, "How many times does your sister get married?"

I dunno, we'll have to sit back, wait and find out, now won't we.

I sighed loudly, "Fine just let me...ugh, let me talk to the guys about it later. I'll call you back."

"Alright dear, I love you." She knew she had me, I could hear the smile in her voice.

"I love you too." I forced out before shoving my phone back onto its cradle. /'Whore.' /I growled inwardly, getting back to work on my article.


"Well, I think you should go." Ryan shrugged, "I mean, she /is/ your sister."

"Ryan, you don't get it. She's not just my sister, she's like a freaking piranha. If you knew this girl you wouldn't be sticking up for her." I explained. We were all in the living room that evening discussing my options- well all of us minus Brent. Just /guess/ what he was doing. That's right! Making googily eyes with my computer. In other words, playing Halo2.

"Come on, how bad could it be? Besides, we'll probably be in New York, maybe we can drive up for a day and meet you." Spencer suggested.

I nearly choked on my water from laughter at Spencer's naiveté. "First of all I want none of you within thirty feet of my family. That's just /asking/ for trouble. Secondly, New York isn't even in New England. It would take you at least six hours to drive up and meet me in Martha's Vineyard and I'm not sure I'd want to experience you boys on the level of insanity you'd be facing after six hours in a rented car together."

Spence shrugged, "I tried."

"And I appreciate it, honestly I do. I know you guys would be there for me in a heartbeat if you could. But, don't worry about it. At least we'll be gone at the same time, right?" If my own optimism was starting to make me sick, I had a feeling it wasn't quite doing a great job of brightening /their/ outlooks either.

Brendon was being uncharacteristically silent and I was finding myself characteristically uncomfortable with it. He was sitting across from me on the floor with his knees pulled up loosely to his chest, his black glasses accenting those big, baby seal eyes. He'd been pretty quiet around me since yesterday, but I certainly wasn't going to make an issue out of it. The less drama per moment the better. Nope, I was going to accept fate in all it's shitty, cruel humor and go pack my suitcase. Letting the boys in on my intentions, I sighed and forced myself up from the couch, forsaking it's worn comfort for the disgusting thought of packing for a trip that was threatening to rip apart my insides with blitzed nerves.

Suffering from music withdrawal I stretched over my chair, double clicking Damone on my forever-awake laptop and taking a deep, unhelpful breath before facing my ball of stress head on. Conducting an expedition on my knees in the mess I liked to call my closet for any sign of my Eddie Bauer suitcase, I noticed a crappy pair of converses on the floor in front of me. Ryan. Sitting up straight and backhanding my hair out of my face, I had the feeling I was in for part three of Operation: Fuck, my parents want to see me.

"Hey, have you seen my suitcase?" I asked, knowing already that he hadn't. It was more like a conversationalist game that I used to soften the playing field and let my company in on the fact that topic choice was running a free-range special that night. In other words, anything difficult he'd come here to talk to me about was encouraged to be discussed.

"No, how can you lose a suitcase the size of Rhode Island?"

Knowing he deserved some sensitivity I let him off the hook with an /'oh, you're so hilarious' /smile dripping in hand-dipped sarcasm. Standing, I opted to just pick out the clothes I'd be taking with me before actually packing them, dancing a little in place and mouthing along to the lyrics of my music as it drifted through the open closet door.

"You kill me Ross. So how'd you're soiré with the rents go this morning?"

He shrugged, shoving his hands in the back pockets of his girl jeans. "Meh, pretty alright actually. I found out that my mom went out and bought the album."

'Chya, her and the rest of America.'

I cocked an eyebrow over my shoulder as my fingers leafed through clothes hangers like a box full of vinyl records. "/And..? /Does she like it?"

"Um, sort of,...well actually, she hates it." his sentence was topped off with soft laughter and I chuckled lightly along with him. "But their still proud of it, in a 'Well, at least you've gone platinum' sort of way." he shrugged. That made me turn full around, hands on my hips.

"So, they /are /proud then? And they told you that?" I asked hopefully. If there was anything this kid desired and deserved, it was to be told he was worth a damn by his family.

"Yah, well, I mean my dad turned off the television, so that was a good start. And then we sort of just sat around and I told them about, like just what was going on with touring and whatever, how our shows were sold out, the promo stuff, all that jazz. They were pretty surprised."

"Surprised in a good, supportive, like /'Holy shit, that's so awesome' /kinda way, right?" They /better /have been or the Ross family was going to experience the way-over-protective side of Bailey Lennox and trust me, nobody wanted that.

"Yah." he told me, successfully suppressing the ramble that usually spilled all over my ears. I guess he made up for it in his /un/successfulness to hide a grin while nodding 'yes'.

I couldn't help it, I threw myself at him in a way overexcited hug as I squealed like a teenybopper in pigtails. I was sure I now understood the feeling NASA experienced after a successful moon landing or something.

"That's awesome Ry!" I held his neck in a dead lock for a few more moments before jumping back. "You wanna celebrate? I'll make you anything you want for dinner, or would you rather go out, I know I'm not a fantastic cook or anything so"-

"Hey, hey chill." Ryan laughed, taking my hands in his, "There's really nothing to celebrate. This isn't that big of a deal."

"Ry!" I gave him a /'Are you crazy, this rocks...I want this to rock because it so rocks...Aw, come on, don't you think it rocks?...' /look before sighing and dropping my hands from his. It sunk in about a millisecond too late that he didn't want this to be a big deal out loud and it was my solemnly sworn yet unspoken duty as a friend to respect that. "Okay, okay. Maybe we can just hang out tonight. Or, if you're in the mood for some /real /fun, you can help me pack!" I waggled my eyebrows playfully. Yah right, as if sloth boy was gunna help me do work.

"Or I could keep you company while I /watch /you pack. Sounds like buckets of fun to me. How 'bout it?" He plopped down in a beanbag chair that was laying randomly near the end of my closet. It's a good thing my parents didn't live nearby, I think I'd have given them both heart attacks at the sight of so much mess contained in so small a space.

Rolling my eyes at Ryan, I shook my head and sighed dramatically, "I figured as much, I feel sorry for your future wife...or husband." I couldn't help but add at the last minute. Ever since I'd heard the gay bar story, I hadn't been able to stop taking jabs at Ry's sexuality.

"Hey!" I felt him kick my calf with those gross all-stars of his.

"Ew! Get those things off your feet /before /you attack me, okay? God, I feel like I need to go get tested for STD's or something now. Can't you /smell/ those yet?."

"Hey, no girl has complained /yet/, okay? Thank you very much." he insisted, brushing the 'dirt' off his shoulder.

I snorted, "That's because you've been dancing with /boys/."


"Alfredo?" I gave Brendon a rather uncomfortable look as he stood over the stove, stirring a pot of thick, white Alfredo sauce while keeping his eye on the pasta bow-ties he was boiling at the same time. You gotta give the boy props for multi-tasking.
"Yeah..? Last time I checked you loved Alfredo." He gave me an accusing look over his shoulder, turning down the heat on the pasta.

"Yah, but I'm not so fond of the thighs that come with it." I sighed, grabbing a strainer for him out of a cupboard. As good as Alfredo tastes, don't be fooled kids, it packs a mean cholesterol-infused punch.

"Well, I'm not asking you to eat the entire thing all on your onezies. There's four men in this house too and trust us, we're starving."

'You're also skinny as fuck.' /I wanted to growl back, losing patience like the boiling pasta was loosing steam. At the last minute I held my tongue, knowing that if Brendon and I were going to fight, the worst possible time to do so had to be before dinner- even if it /would/ give me an excuse not to eat his goddamn Alfredo. It would be awkward for everyone else to eat, clean up and do whatever they needed to around a pair of moody lovers turned fighters. That was the downside to living with your boyfriend's best friends-- they /lived with you. Suddenly, making out on the couch was considered PDA in your own house. Fighting was even worse because when it came to sides, things tended to reach a balance of like 2 to 3, and that was on my lucky days. Don't get me wrong, I loved them all to death, but again, it was just difficult at times.

"Whatever, I'm not that hungry though so don't expect me to eat much." I lied. At this point I'd separated physical hunger from mental appetite. I wasn't even sure I had an appetite any longer and sort of liked it that way. If Brendon didn't remind me, I most likely would have completely forgotten about meals altogether in the midst of stressing out over my up and coming visit 'home', my deadline for /Fantastic!/, and my boyfriend's odd behavior. I wished dinner would just fast forward itself so I could get him alone in our room and ask what was up with him anyways.

"How can you not be hungry? You barely touched the sandwich I made you for lunch." Since 'the blackout incident' he'd seriously taken the effort to oversee preparation of all of my meals. If he hadn't been fucking up my regiment, I would have been tripping head over heals with the chivalry of it all.

"My metabolism isn't as off the wall as yours Brend, get over it." I shrugged, holding the strainer over the sink as he shut off the stove, grabbed a pot holder and emptied the contents of the scalding crock, pouring it into the sink. It was his turn to sigh.

"I might just as soon as you chill out about your weight and go back to be being the girl I fell in love with."

Okay, that hurt. How could he say something like that? I hadn't changed at all, I was just watching what I ate. I opened my mouth to reply but the ferocious anger about to spill out of my throat fizzled away like dying Pop Rocks when Brent walked into the kitchen.

"Whatever your making Brendon, it smells orgasmic." he groaned, standing still in the middle of our small kitchen, closing his eyes and taking large, deep breaths.

"It's gunna feel like a third degree burn if you don't get out of my way," Brendon grumbled, taking his steaming concoctions over to the table.

"Sorry," Brent gave in to a fatigued smile and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes (that's what you get from too much Halo2 kids, consider yourselves warned), completely oblivious to the tension in the air as he scooted out of Brendon's way. Lucky bastard...don't you wish you were childishly ignorant sometimes? Hmm, maybe that's why drugs are so popular.

After dinner (and a sink-full of 'Cleanup can wait 'till tomorrow') we communed in the living room, trying to figure how to occupy ourselves. Ryan wanted to play a game of some sort (charades, strip poker, /anything/), Spencer really wanted to work on some material for their next album, and in the middle of it all Brent was yelling at us to keep it down because he was engrossed in the Paintball Championships going on on ESPN (Since when are there paintball championships on ESPN???).

I turned to Brendon, smirking as we watched the boys bicker like old women and whine like toddlers.

"What do ya think? Should we tie-break or go find our own fun?"

"Basketball in the park?"

"Perfect." a wide smile betrayed my elation at his brilliance before going into the bedroom to find some clothes I didn't mind sweating in. Dirty gym shorts, and...aha! A wifebeater, that'll do. We snuck out through the back door, shaking our heads at the argument the guys were conducting of how to waste their evening, still going strong in the living room.

I'll admit, I was surprised to learn Brendon was into basketball as we'd racked up long distance bills so long ago. The kid hated running, but he was all over high-contact sports. So, of course we were overjoyed to find a park about four blocks away from our house with full sized courts and hoops upon my invasion of the Las Vegas suburbs. Technically the park closed at sunset, but whatever, that's why God invented jumping fences.

"You sure you're up to this? Don't faint on me now." he smirked, his look a little colder than usual as he started dribbling.

"Just bring it emo boy, I'm more in shape than you are." I spat, guarding him as best as I could. He lead me on a few times, making me follow him when he'd fake a turn before bouncing the ball under his legs, picking it back up behind him and traveling around me to make a jump for the hoop. I stopped him pretty easily, jumping up and smacking the ball away from him then turning going for a shot of my own. I made it only because he'd been too preoccupied trying to figure out where I was going next.

Next it was my ball and he came around to guard me. Two shuffles to the left, one fake to the right and smack! He'd stolen the ball and was dribbling around me. I went after him, guarding aggressively and jumping up to hit the ball from his hands when he went for the basket. However, as soon as I went to slap the ball from him, he shoved me right in the chest mid-air. Flying back, my ass hit the pavement first, then my back, then my head. What the flying fuck was his deal?

Thoroughly annoyed and my back tattooed with blacktop I stood back up, my face dark with contempt as I got in position to guard him again. But the same dance was played this time, his elbow came out and shoved me aside when I got too close, just before he took a shot.

"You alright there? Should I call someone or are you gunna get up?" his shots were apparently /not /just being aimed for the basket. By then I was simply pissed off, no frustration or annoyance to fringe it. I stole the ball as it dripped from the net, even though it technically belonged to him. Immediately he was on me, guarding me even more aggressively than he'd been defending. I was almost granted a black eye when I lifted my arm up to push him away and his arm came crashing over it, his fist just missing my nose and eye socket. Realizing what he'd done, I used the arm I had up to shove him back as hard as I could and this time it was his turn to say hi to the blacktop.

Gritting my teeth at his latest attack, I turned on him, dribbling with a look on my face that I hoped he read as /'Go ahead, try me again.' /He probably did, because he was up in no time at all, coming at me like a sprint runner. He grabbed for the ball while it was still in my hands and that was it. As he reached to go for the hoop I bull rushed him myself, sick of playing stupid games. He landed hard on his back, partly from the momentum I'd added to the fall, but mainly due to my weight landing on top of him just as roughly. I pinned him down at the hips with my own and held his arms at the wrists beside his head.

Neither of us spoke for a good minute or so, too busy panting and glaring at one another. Finally I let him go, purposefully digging my nails a little deeper into his pale skin as I sat up, still straddling his slender hips.

Still breathing a little hard, he sat up too, glowering at me now with more hurt than malice. I could tell he was partly sorry. Only for hurting me physically though, knowing it had been completely uncalled for but still standing by his anger. Whatever /that /had been caused by God only knew.

"I'm sorry." he told me, almost begrudgingly. I knew he meant it though, Brendon never apologized or said thank you to anyone unless it weighed heavily enough on his heart to do so. I wanted to say I was sorry back, but I really didn't think I'd done much wrong and until he told me what I had done he wasn't going to get an apology of any kind.

"You really scared me." I told him, still frowning as I dropped my gaze to his mouth, my hands choking on fistfuls of his shirt.

"Scared you or pissed you off?" he smirked, one of his hands coming up to soothe mine, attempting to stop my hands from strangling the cotton of his shirt. I couldn't help the smile that followed across my own mouth, even as I bit my lip.

"Both, you little bastard." I sighed, chewing my lip softly as my smile faded. "What's up with you? You've been off your rocker all damn day and after that little playground fight I think I deserve an answer."

Brendon's eyes avoided mine for a few seconds. Suddenly he was fascinated with the palm trees over my shoulder, the barely-there stars above us.

"I feel like I'm losing you. Every nutrition label you look at, every meal you compromise, every time you go for a run, I feel like you come back a little less you and a little more like someone I don't even /want /to know. Someone who's so tightly wound that she's no fun and so obsessive that she's going insane. It's like your brain is running so fast that you're not slowing down to see the world around you. I was getting so frustrated with not being able to feel you, not having you respond to me...and then last night, it was like you weren't even there at all. I'm gunna be honest with you Bailey, that was the worst sex I've ever had in my, albeit short, life because there was absolutely no emotion on your side. You were too wrapped up in yourself to connect with me at all, to have any fun. And I guess I was getting so frustrated that I let it get to me and finally snapped and I'm sorry, because I shouldn't have picked a fight with you. I didn't really mean to, it just sort of happened. I'm sorry though, okay?"

Wow. When Brendon gets to rambling there's really no stopping him. If what he was saying hadn't been such an issue I might have fallen asleep. He sounded like a freaking politician giving a really bad, yet amazing speech. As amazing as it was though, it had thrown me into emotional shock. My mind didn't want to process any of what he was telling me, it had been perfectly happy doing laps in a river called (cue Jamaican accent) De Nial. None of this was my fault, /he'd /been the one to push me first, /he'd /been the one to complicate things. Funny, 'cause /I /was the one close to tears.

My mom used to tell me that if an animal (like a deer) started walking out in the middle of a road, it always turned right back around and ran in the direction it had come from when confronted with, say, an eighteen wheeler. Well right then, Brendon was my eighteen-wheeler and I was one wide-eyed doe in headlights. Before I could let anything sink in I was up and running, jumping the fence we'd cleared on the way in and leaving Brendon alone with his messy apologies and justified yet complicated confusion. I ran all the way back home, breaking down into tears about half way there. When I snuck into the kitchen through the back door I could hear the boys playing Yahtzee! down the hall. It was a good thing we'd left, I hated Yahtzee!.

Bedroom bound and needing sanctuary I waited until I had locked myself in the master bathroom to begin gracelessly wiping at my tears with the back of my arm and the palms of my hands. The mirror seemed to mock me and I'd have screamed at my reflection were I alone, but as it was there were people down the hall who would have come running with worried knocks and annoying questions. I couldn't deal with any other living.../thing/ right then and was suddenly very grateful that we'd never gotten pets.

I surveyed my surroundings and got busy blocking out reality. Hot bath. Hot shower to wash away all the dead skin my bath had forced me to sit around in (which also served to remind me why I avoided baths like a macho man). Manicure. Pedicure. I did my nails about three times before giving up and settling on a clear coat. I dried my hair wavy, then set it in curls before straightening it out again. I flipped through every book and magazine our bathroom drawers had to offer. Romped through the medicine cabinet. Plucked my eyebrows. Brushed my teeth. I even fucking /flossed/. By the end of it all I was sitting on the bathroom floor, still clad in my towel, making my now shiny toes dance to music only I could hear in my head. Why Ashlee Simpson was stuck in my head I'm a little scared to try and figure out but let's just go with temporary insanity and leave it at that.

Don't think I didn't use this sudden outpouring of free time to scrutinize every inch of my physique, because I most certainly did. Part of me was glad to finally see a break in my body's annoying hold on flab but part of me was depressed with the knowledge that I still wasn't even a size 8 yet, let alone a 4. I'd done some research on the average size of store mannequins and figured out that they came to 4's. From that point on my goal was as clear as Brendon's martini glasses and set in stone. My nose wrinkled like bad dry cleaning at the sight of my thighs, my stomach as I sat on our off-white and dark blue bathroom tile, my arms, my hips, my feet, my knees, the underside of my knees, my nose...even my hands were starting to bother me.

Finally, as I massaged lotion into my overworked, near blistering feet, thoughts of going to bed began crossing my mind. What time was it anyway? I checked the tiny, one inch of space that the bathroom door seemed to miss on its way to the floor for any signs of light or life. None found, I washed off my hands, dried them on the towel that was still wrapped around myself and cautiously opened the door. The fan was on, as was the feeble table lamp on the opposite side of the bed, which belonged to my boyfriend. My heart sunk into a pit of warm, fuzzy guilt and hard-to-deal-with love at the Hallmark card worthy image before me. Brendon had fallen asleep sitting up against the headboard, book in lap, glasses drooping down him nose. Knowing it was the least I could do and praying with everything I had that he didn't wake up, (Funny, even after all my issues with the church, desperation could still easily force me into prayer) I walked around to his side of our bed and gingerly slid his glasses away from his face. I unlaced the open book from his pale fingers and marked his place with the folded glasses themselves. Turning the light off I sighed and hoped he'd reposition himself on his own later in the night because I was just too scared of waking him up to do more than pull the covers up to his hips and kiss his temple before whispering goodnight. I liked to believe that somewhere in his subconscious he'd heard me. That somewhere in his heart he'd forgiven me.

Like a nervous mother I kept checking over my shoulder to make sure Brendon was still peacefully unconscious as I quickly threw on some old drawstring cut offs and a faded Transformers shirt that I'm pretty sure could trace its roots back to Brent's closet.

Finally satisfied I crawled into bed beside him, keeping my eyes on him the entire time. Once settled I noted it was 11:23 pm on my digital clock. More guilt. Damn it...

Sighing, I looked back up at Brendon. My mind swam like a pod of dolphins through the memories of that night...through the memories of listening to my parents fight at this same time of night back in New England. Tears pricked at my eyes once more as the reality of my feelings set in.

I hadn't just been pissed off at my boyfriend for his immaturity. His annoying way of making me come to terms with the possibility that I was going about things the wrong way. No, this was way more than a self image problem now.

Let me back up a little. As kids, we all look at our parents, study their tragic flaws and swear through our broken hearts, burning lungs and swollen tears that we will /never/ be like them. We will /never/ do the stupid things they do. We crossed our hearts and hoped to die should we ever trip into their mistakes. Even /they/ did it as kids, shaking their heads at our grandparents. The same way I'm sure Ryan swore over and over again that he would never beat his children, and Brendon stared himself down in his mirror and promised that he would never let religion rule his life, so had I made a pact with myself to never get into a relationship with someone who had the audacity to hit me. I was so much better than that. I loved my mom, but she was insane for putting up with my father's bullshit. And as much as I loved him too, I had prayed countless times, even if it meant never getting married, not to get stuck with someone like him. It would never happen to me.

Now let's get something perfectly straight here: Brendon was in no way abusive, nor had he ever been. In fact I had even laughed to myself that he couldn't be because he was too shrimpy. Heh, poor baby.

Anyways, point is he had never before given me a reason to be afraid. Until tonight. Maybe this was over-analyzation (in fact I was almost sure it was), but growing up in a household like mine makes you dwell on things like this. Thing like this by the way was our little push n' shove party at the park. The way he'd knocked me to the ground and nearly punched me in the eye, then mocked me while I was down played over and over in my head like a sick home video. It wasn't his fault that he had been hurting. It wasn't his fault that he had been frustrated. But by the same rules, it wasn't my fault that now, I was scared. Not too much, but enough to make me sit there dwelling on it at...I spared another glance towards my clock...11: 59 pm. Enough to put me on the awkward defensive. Probably enough to make me jumpy for the next couple of days.

Wiping at my eyes I turned over, facing away from the love of my life for the second night in a row. /'I'm sure this is no big deal, I'm just insecure. I can thank my parents for that on Saturday. Right now, I need sleep.' /and with that, I closed my eyes and resolved to make a state of deep subconscious my immediate goal.
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