maybe if she had been called beautiful before with so much drive, she wouldn't have been so
stuck
on the one drunk boy from the street.
but he had meant it in such a way―
she was doomed right from the start.
༻❁༺
―on a girl with bad days, the first b...
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「 I 」 FOUR.
"Marguerite."
"really?"
"yes."
the center of the past two weeks' invasive daydreams sat across the booth from her, and she couldn't stand how unreadable his expressions were. she didn't know him sober, although she wanted to, so all she could feel was restlessness.
"that's french, isn't it?"
"yes."
it was so hard for her to say enough. truth be told, her breaths were still coming out too heavily, and she could only hope he didn't notice because it didn't seem as though a single fiber of her being would relax anytime soon.
"do you like Marguerite?" he asked, and this was a question a lot of people asked her,
but for a reason she couldn't put her finger on except the pulchritude of his presence, she only felt it necessary to answer truthfully to him. "not really."
"why not?"
"because of music. i want my name to carry musical significance, even if it's something pointless like Note or Song. i..." it was the most she'd spoken, to anyone, since the day she'd first seen him. "i always liked Presley. feels better."
"so change it." an intent look graced his features, and for once she could almost comprehend one-tenth of his depth.
"i can't just change my name."
"why not?" he repeated, and she didn't know whether or not he meant to insult Marguerite, but she'd never felt worse about the name.
"because." her breath escaped her once again. she focused her gaze on the bare table. "because," she all but gasped out.
a beat. then, "Morrison."
she looked back up. "what about him?"
"no," he answered, "that's my name."
"is it really?" just when she thought he couldn't grow any more fascinating, he drew her in again.
"it is now." and his look brightened just a little, and the brief smirk he aimed at her was enough to turn her humble eyes away.
"no. what's your name actually?"
"it's actually Morrison, Marguerite. i changed it." it looked like it was taking a lot for him not to smile, and it satisfied her too much.
"when?"
"just now. and i'm not going back." he was unbelievable. remarkable. she was certain she had never met anyone like him. "what about you, Marguerite?"
every time he said her name, it sounded just a bit more like
music.
"no. my parents named me Marguerite. i'm Marguerite."
whether i like it or not.
"well," he said, "i'm Morrison, and that's what i want you to call me."
want you. want you. want you. me too.
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