everlasting light. parker & mav
Aug 22, 2020 13:07:23 GMT -5
Post by 🌱 kaitlin. on Aug 22, 2020 13:07:23 GMT -5
MAVERICK POOLE
It feels like one of those days where the sun came up just to start fucking laughing at you.
Really, you should have expected as much when you woke up in yet another cold sweat, every single muscle in your body tensed and wanting to shake. You had stayed up for hours last night, tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling at first and then going out and crawling out onto the rooftop you weren't supposed to know how to get out onto and plucking the last cigarette in the pack out of its cardboard home and lighting it up. You'd sat there for you don't even know how long, until your body legitimately felt like it was going to collapse into itself and you were a little worried that you might fall asleep and roll off the roof and fall to the concrete walkway and just.
Well, just die.
That was the image that plagued you in your nightmares last night.
You'd woken up knowing that today would be shit, but you hadn't expected this. You hadn't thought that Nai would think it was a good idea to try and put you and Grady in a room together, hadn't expected that you would walk into homeroom and be intrigued by Presley Douglas all over again, hadn't expected Ally St. Cloud to find you in the ceramics room and
That's what leads you to smoke finally.
Well, smoke again.
You hate the fucking stuff, always have, and you hate yourself just a little bit more every single time you walk into the market and walk out with that little carton of cigarettes and a set of matches. You hate how quickly the packs goes, hate how often you make yourself hate yourself all over again. Worry that you're just committing slow suicide and are too afraid to really admit it to yourself every single you light one of them up, but you don't know how to stop.
What's that about the things you own ending up owning you?
Yeah. It's like that.
And it makes you want to fucking choke.
But you've always been good at hating yourself, good at doing the things that are bad for you, the things that are going to get you killed. So you go in search of Parker. She's never been hard for you to find, really. Something about the two of you has always been in an odd kind of sync, not exactly friends—but something. A person that you know you can depend on for exactly whatever you need from the other. You stride around the corner of the gym, your guys favorite smoke spot. It's a little bit out of the way, have to go through a strip of forest to get to it, but there's something calming about the trees. You spot her easily, have a knack for plucking her out of the landscape, and go to sit by her. You lean back against the brick wall, slump down until you're sitting a foot or so away from where Parker is on the ground. You extend your legs out in front of you, and tip your head back against the wall.
"Bum one?" you ask, speaking to Parker with really no preamble. The pair of you know exactly what you are to each other. "Smoked my last one last night."
Really, you should have expected as much when you woke up in yet another cold sweat, every single muscle in your body tensed and wanting to shake. You had stayed up for hours last night, tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling at first and then going out and crawling out onto the rooftop you weren't supposed to know how to get out onto and plucking the last cigarette in the pack out of its cardboard home and lighting it up. You'd sat there for you don't even know how long, until your body legitimately felt like it was going to collapse into itself and you were a little worried that you might fall asleep and roll off the roof and fall to the concrete walkway and just.
Well, just die.
That was the image that plagued you in your nightmares last night.
You'd woken up knowing that today would be shit, but you hadn't expected this. You hadn't thought that Nai would think it was a good idea to try and put you and Grady in a room together, hadn't expected that you would walk into homeroom and be intrigued by Presley Douglas all over again, hadn't expected Ally St. Cloud to find you in the ceramics room and
That's what leads you to smoke finally.
Well, smoke again.
You hate the fucking stuff, always have, and you hate yourself just a little bit more every single time you walk into the market and walk out with that little carton of cigarettes and a set of matches. You hate how quickly the packs goes, hate how often you make yourself hate yourself all over again. Worry that you're just committing slow suicide and are too afraid to really admit it to yourself every single you light one of them up, but you don't know how to stop.
What's that about the things you own ending up owning you?
Yeah. It's like that.
And it makes you want to fucking choke.
But you've always been good at hating yourself, good at doing the things that are bad for you, the things that are going to get you killed. So you go in search of Parker. She's never been hard for you to find, really. Something about the two of you has always been in an odd kind of sync, not exactly friends—but something. A person that you know you can depend on for exactly whatever you need from the other. You stride around the corner of the gym, your guys favorite smoke spot. It's a little bit out of the way, have to go through a strip of forest to get to it, but there's something calming about the trees. You spot her easily, have a knack for plucking her out of the landscape, and go to sit by her. You lean back against the brick wall, slump down until you're sitting a foot or so away from where Parker is on the ground. You extend your legs out in front of you, and tip your head back against the wall.
"Bum one?" you ask, speaking to Parker with really no preamble. The pair of you know exactly what you are to each other. "Smoked my last one last night."
