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 」 EIGHTEEN.
they spent that night at Tyler's house,
together,
Marguerite nursing Morrison back to sobriety so he wouldn't have the opportunity to wake up forgetful of her return.
of course, Morrison had never been a forgetful drunk. if he had, they would never have had a second encounter.
hours after Marguerite's return, the sky outside had darkened, Marguerite had three missed calls—from Archer, no doubt—and Morrison was nearly sober, his body too accustomed to the alcohol for him to be any sort of hungover.
he was one of those boys that just didn't get hangovers. another piece of evidence in the claim that Morrison truly was perfect.
now, he was sitting on Tyler's guest bed, wherein the two of them had spent numerous nights on the sheer high of each other's company, and she was as close to him as she could possibly be, her legs around his waist, her nose buried in his collarbone to breathe him in,
because she had gone so long without breathing proper air,
and she could no longer stand to be without it or even far from it.
she had barely been able to pry her fingers away since her return.
lucky for her, Morrison didn't convey any regret or backtracking regarding their exchange when he had been drunk, which was a relief to Marguerite because he was so much more vulnerable when he was drunk, and it still wasn't one-tenth of how vulnerable she was sober.
nevertheless, neither was speaking, but the two of them were breathing just a bit more deeply, which made Marguerite believe—hope—that he, too, had been just a bit
hollower
without her.
"you said you need me."
she blurted it out before she could think it through, words muffled by the skin of his lower collarbone, and her face began to heat up the second she registered her own words.
Morrison sighed deeply before speaking. "i didn't forget," he said in a way reminiscent of his reassurance at the diner
so long ago
that he remembered their first encounter.
she brought her fingers up to the back of his neck before lifting her head to look into his
somehow comfortingly dark eyes.
"but did you mean it?"
she had never really been forward with him about them, and she couldn't quite place why she had decided to start today.
his soft smile was one she had gone far too long without seeing, and it seemed to
r e j u v e n a t e
her.
although his response was insufficient. "you confuse me so much, you know that?"
he was the most frustrating boy she'd ever known. "that's not an answer," she answered, attempting to hold his gaze in an intimidating way but more likely looking like a toddler who didn't get her way, because he pressed his lips softly against the underside of her jaw.
she hated that she let out such a contented sigh.
"it's the best answer i have, Marguerite." then, a softer mumble against her neck, "m'not used to feeling like this."
like this?
there was no way Marguerite Clark, east-coast-college-bound and therefore the most boring person she knew, was making such a vision feel
such a way.
"you're always confusing me, Morrison," she explained with another pleasant sigh.
"and isn't that a beautiful thing?" he answered, reminding her of the time he'd stayed in her room
so many w e e k s ago.
so when Morrison brought his lips up to meet her own, strongly and surely and feeling
oh so right,
she took a breath to mumble against his lips,
"you're a vision, Morrison."
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NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR TO YOU: homestretch. she'll be completed before you know it.
