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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「 II 」 FOURTEEN.
being in Archer's room for the first time in over four months should've brought more emotions out of her than it did.
however, things were all too familiar to Marguerite.
so it didn't feel foreign, a few days after the last time she had called Archer, to be sitting next to him in his bed, on his soft mattress that was softer than her last boy's, watching some comedy he'd recommended, her shoulder grazing his own.
in fact, she wished to be just a little closer to him. she just didn't want to scare him off like she had the last one.
the dark-haired boy. she had wanted to be his for as long as she could. but she screwed it up, and she didn't want to make such a familiar mistake again.
so she allowed their shoulders to graze as Archer laughed at something on the screen, something she'd tuned out.
Archer, Archer, Archer.
he was so much taller than her, his shoulders so comfortingly broad.
she must've spent too much time in silence, because he turned to her then. "everything okay?"
she nodded then, forgetting how to speak as she all too often did, so he pressed. "say something. i want to be sure."
sure. sure. sure.
she hadn't been sure of anything since that godforsaken day on the street corner, breathing in the scent of the whiskey the perfect boy depended on, e n g u l f e d in the feeling of drunken adoration, completely—
"Marguerite."
right.
her name was Marguerite.
"sorry," she said finally, "i was just thinking."
their heads were so close that she could feel the air change when he laughed. "darling, you don't have to apologize for thinking. okay?"
darling. darling. darling.
she wanted to be closer. wanted the distance to disappear. wanted to know, once again, the feeling of his skin against hers, his lips pressed to her own, his nose bumping hers clumsily as he leaned forward to know her more deeply.
and she certainly didn't trust her impulses, so she turned away. "right. sorry."
but he was still looking at her, still turned toward her. "you use that word too much, love."
love. love. love.
had she ever been in love?
did it even matter?
either way, she turned back toward him, eyes likely p l e a d i n g. so desperate. what a shame.
if he decided to close the gap, that would be his call. if he allowed her lips to graze his, that would be his decision.
but here, in this moment, she could only imagine how much her eyes conveyed the
desperate need
for him to decide.
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