Jilted

Turn Into

Can’t say why I kept this from you

My those quiet eyes become you

Leave it where it can’t remind us

Turn this all around behind us

Well I know

How far I am to keep you out

I’d like to tell you all about it

The Year, Yeah, Years – Turn Into

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Christopher made his way back to his own home in New York, not too far from where Geviana lived. Barely registering that it was nearing three on his clock, he sank into the velvet cushions of his couch, ignoring how pissed he was. Effortlessly, he sank into a thankfully deep sleep. Until the jarring ring of the phone woke him up from his blissful dream world back into the nightmarish confines of reality. Fumbling with his hands, he grabbed the phone from his side table and pushed it to his face.

“Who the hell is this?” Christopher growled into the phone, rolling over.

“It’s me, Kyle. Did you go wild at my wedding last night or what? Where’d you go, Chris?” Kyle’s chipper and teasing voice was too much so early in the morning. With a groan, Christopher covered his eyes with his free hand, blocking out the morning sun that beamed through the bay windows.

“Kyle, it’s too early for this. Give me a call later,” Christopher slurred, about to hang up with Kyle’s laughter echoed through the other end.

“Too early? Christopher, it’s like two in the afternoon. Damn, you really must have gotten drunk,” Eric remarked. He was surprised that his usually meticulous brother was acting so…normal.

Two in the afternoon? Christopher rubbed his eyes, running his hands over his jawline, where stubble was already beginning to grow. He barely listened while his brother rambled. Lifting himself off the couch, Christopher stretched his cooped up limbs.

“Chris? What do you say, up for a game of ball before I have to go on my honeymoon?” Kyle’s voice interrupting Christopher’s train of thought.

“Hmm? Yeah. I’ll be there, give me half an hour.” Hanging up the phone, Christopher promptly stalked into his master bedroom. The darkness of the room leapt at him like a needy lover. Resisting the urge to just sink into his bed and ignore his brother, Christopher walked like a zombie toward his closet, absently picking out a t-shirt and some basketball shorts. Flicking on the lights in his bathroom, the haggard man that looked back at Christopher almost threw him off.

“Jesus,” he muttered, turning on the sink faucet. His silver eyes were large and dilated, and the dark circles underneath his eyes made him look like a crack addict. His wavy hair was tangled and stuck up every which way, and while he heard that the messy, bed head look as definitely sexy, his current bed head looked more like homeless and crazy rather than messy chic. Deciding to shower later at the gym, Christopher changed, ignoring the soreness in his back muscles. With one last critical look at his reflection, Christopher left his apartment.

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“Hey…Chris. I’m liking the look you’re going for today. Homeless crack addict?” Kyle joked as Christopher glowered at him.

“Let’s just play ball, alright?” Christopher snapped, grabbing the ball from his younger brother and doing a few dribbles to warm up. Kyle shrugged, not at all fazed by his older brother’s attitude.